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| Sure the trees are nice, but where are all the people?? |
We are on vacation in the mountains, staying in a beautiful guesthouse
for overseas workers. Inside our cabin is comfortable and tasteful;
outside the large windows and spacious porch overlook an
unobstructed view of green, rolling mountains.
But
Juliana was a bit skeptical. “I like our house in China better,
don’t you? I like that the kitchen is small, and I like our
bathroom because it is small. I like how the laundry porch smells.
Don’t you like our China house better?”
I
tried to give a diplomatic answer about liking that one because it
was our home, but liking this one because it was really nice and
pretty. She was not satisfied. In fact, she was offended that we
did not come to the defense of our China home. She looked around
outside the windows and gave her final complaint.
“There
are too many trees. They block the view of all the other people!”
Ah,
our social little city-dweller. While we are basking in the natural
expanse, she misses knowing there are thousands of people all around.
I guess it is all a matter of perspective.
In
another week we will return to our China home. I return with mixed
feelings. I will be happy to get back into our own space, and I look
forward to a predictable rhythm of days. But I have recognized that part
of my predictable life rhythm follows the law of inertia. “A [Ruth] at rest
will remain at rest unless acted on by an unbalanced force.” An unbalanced force...yes, there seem to be a lot of those in my life, propelling me out of rest and back into transition.
While
Juliana is always ready for the next adventure, a part of me never
wants to leave where I am. Even if I am looking forward to my
destination, I inwardly cringe at the prospect of making another
transition. It doesn’t help that there is often a long day+ of
travel in the way. But I know this about myself: I do not like
change and I do not appreciate the unfamiliar.
The
first day in a new place is a shock to the system, as I scramble
again to find my bearings. I suspect part of this is related to being
highly sensitive. My senses are flooded with too much to take in; I
cannot appreciate it until I have a chance to settle down and absorb the small things.
The
first day back, I recoil from America. Even as I appreciate the
aesthetic beauty, I am turned off by the unconscious affluence and the ridiculous choices. Why don’t people walk anywhere? Why do people have so
much stuff? How can their possibly be 50 different types of canned
tomatoes??
I
wrinkle my nose at the California desert. Dry and lifeless. Who
wants a dirt yard and scrub brush “trees”? Don’t they know
rivers are supposed to have water in them? But I slowly adjust to
the desert, to the different colors, to the beauty of these resilient
plants. When we leave, I miss the open sky and the view of sunsets.
Those
first days in Georgia, the trees seem to close us in. The sky is so
small and the light is filtered through layers of humidity. Even at
night the air is warm. I am shocked and a little frightened to see
confederate flags on jacked up pickup trucks. What is this world we
have stepped into?
But
the trees win me over. They always do. Myriad shades of green flutter
in the breeze. The whole world is effortlessly covered in life.
Bright colored birds flit from branch to branch and deer graze
peacefully right in my parents' backyard. The southern drawl soothes instead of irritates. Maybe
this is my world after all.
I
have returned to China often enough to know what it will be like. My
heart will cringe as we land in the Beijing smog. The harshness of
language will bruise my ears. The first time I step outside, I will
be accosted by smells – pollution, stinky tofu – and noise –
horns and loudspeakers and stores blasting competing music. I will
dismally survey the gray and rust and faded yellow of ten year old
buildings already falling apart. Why do we live here again?
But
then I will return to those familiar spaces. The wind will blow the
mountains clear, and their rugged peaks will orient me again.
When we walk to our little vegetable shop, neighbors will beam and
hurry to welcome us back (mainly interested in the
girls). I will pile some eggs in a bag and choose from the giant,
dirt covered carrots while Juliana runs on the playground, thrilled
to be back in the land where there are always friends waiting
outside. It will feel right.
If I am patient, I will push through the disorientation and
rediscover the beauty in the familiar. Juliana will exalt in our
stuffy little bathroom because there is her Strawberry Shortcake
towel! And the tiny toilet is just the right height! And remember
this little bowl for washing our feet?!
I
will step out onto the laundry porch, looking beyond the endlessly
drying laundry hung above me, and appreciate the warmth of the sun
and the pattern of rainbows the prism scatters on the tile floor. I will settle in the chair next to the bank of windows, momentarily hidden from
all the surrounding neighbors and students. I will hear the chatter of birds and
the wind rushing through the trees.
We may not have the variety of
birds or trees of Georgia. Our mountain view may be obscured by apartment
buildings - and often by smog. But I will remember
that the sunset is still beautiful even when I can't see the whole sky. A solitary tree still ripples joyfully in the wind.
In the familiar, I will find balance again. In the balance, I will rediscover the beauty that is already all around.
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| Our unblocked view of all the people |
