wrestling with ignorance

These past couple days have been a whirlwind of cocktail parties, meet and greets,and panel discussions. Though I'm wound up enough that I haven't been catching too many z's, my body is well-nourished by a steady diet of catered hors d'oeuvres and fine sparkling water, and I am enjoying the company of my fellow scholars immensely. Yesterday I picked up a tux from Men's Wearhouse and today my visa and passport arrived in the mail, completing my check list of last minute priorities. It looks as if I can expect my transition from the States to Oxford to be about as smooth as one could hope for.

My strongest impression so far is how being immersed in the company of so many bright minds, in Washington D.C. during the height of the presidential race, makes me painfully aware of the power of my own biases and preconceptions, as well as the enormous scope of everything I don't know.

This morning we met in the hotel lobby to trek across Dupont Circle to the Aspen Institute, a prestigious think tank that hosts world leaders and insightful thinkers of all backgrounds, as well as functions as a repository of Rhodes scholars. The panel that spoke to us this morning included an insider from the Hillary Clinton campaign who was not only deeply insightful with respect to the inner workings of the Democratic party, but strongly invested in Hillary as a public servant and women's advocate (anonymous due to the off-the-record nature of our conversation). Listening to her speak in a compelling way about sexism in the media and the party, about issues that matter to women beyond "choice," about Obama's failure to unite the party in the wake of the primaries, and about his perceived egocentricity and hostility towards the Clintons I was moved emotionally as my understanding of Obama was deeply challenged. (Since the point of this post isn't to endorse my particular political perspective I'll refrain from going into any detail, though you can certainly email me if you'd like more info about the panel and our conversation afterwards). As I left the air-conditioned halls of the office building and walked into the slightly smoggy, mildly muggy noon D.C. heat my head was buzzing with unformed ideas that struggled to be articulated, yet never moved beyond a vague feeling of unease. Was my response to Hillary influenced by sexism? Is my eagerness to embrace Obama as a black candidate merely a lazy means of assuring myself that I really am a progressive guy "beyond" the issue of race? Just how much of my perception of the candidates and the issues is shaped by media caricatures? What is the role of the media not only in stoking inter-partisan rancor, but in perpetuating class- and gender-based differences between people? Could I really change my mind about my candidate, or am I simply too committed to my own rightness? Perhaps too scared to confront a world of complexity that refuses to conform to my comfortable political and economic narratives...

Somewhere in the middle of all that I hear Tim saying "have you ever had an original idea, kid?" As I sort through the hodgepodge of factors that influence my thinking, my attempt to answer this question honestly becomes more and more revealing. What does it mean to be a truly original thinker, and how do I move myself towards this? I recognize that when you speak with someone they can only ever give you their point of view, which is sure to be contradicted at many points by anothers. The process of bringing together it all together to form a well-grounded view of how the world works is is truly daunting. Right now all the questions and the flurry of new information and experiences has me stumbling through a sort of perpetual haze.

Another lesson from Alaska: "just shut up and listen." Hopefully I'll emerge on the other side of Atlantic sooner or later as a somewhat wiser man.

In addition to healthy intellectual growing pain, there are many other things to celebrate about this new time of life. I'm having fun, and am feeling the dawn of a new sense of freedom as I realize that, even more than Stanford, my time at Oxford has the potential to be whatever it is in me to make it. It's gonna be good.

Tomorrow we're heading to the Congressional Breakfast, chatting with Chief Justice Souter, visiting The Mall, attending a reception at the British Embassy, and heading to a play at the Shakespeare Theatre in the evening. Even as I enjoy all this, I am reminded of when Jesus warns his followers to "Enter through the narrow door, because wide is the door and spacious is the road that leads to destruction, and many are those who enter by it." The lust to pursue wealth, power, and significance even now exerts a faint pull, yet only by shunning those false idols can a man truly live. Pray for me, that in all seasons, both of blessing and of trial, that I would hold with an open hand before God the gifts he has given me along with the desires of my spirit.

The beautiful contradiction is that only when we stop clinging to our self-centered quest for personal fulfillment do we become capable of recieving even greater blessing without having it corrupt us. This is where I want the Lord to move my heart.

Two days and counting till I'm in the UK!

On the eve of something new

I'm writing this post from the Stanford House in D.C., where I arrived this evening after landing at Ronald Reagan International and awkwardly dragging my 120 lbs of baggage through the subway to the Woodley Park metro station. After two weeks of couch surfing in Seattle, Palo Alto, and San Francisco I must say I'm looking forward to moving all this stuff to a more permanent location!

The hassle has been well worth it, though. The past two weeks spent with dear friends have given me both the opportunity to reconnect with people I love and to say my final (for now) goodbyes to the West Coast. Among my favorite memories of these times are kayaking in Eliot Bay with Sean, blasting "Pienso en Ti" at Mike's place, views of the Seattle skyline at night with Jackie and Alana, a baked Ziti party during my first night in Palo Alto, fountain hopping with the Chi Alpha kids, and a Wu Shu lesson in Berkely with Dan.

Beautiful as these times have been, I'm readier now than I've ever been to step into my new role as a Rhodes scholar. At 3pm tomorrow I'll join a talented and diverse crew of students from the U.S., Bermuda, Kenya, Jamaica, and St. Vincent at Jury's hotel for several days of orientation and socializing before heading out across the pond. At the moment my enthusiasm is tempered by a bit of weariness from all the travel and nights of light sleep on couches and floors (thanks for the futon bed, Alan!), but at the same time I am ready to embrace this new season and to run with it for all it's worth.

Not much a of a reflection, I suppose, but for those of you staying tuned I at least wanted to throw out an update. If there's one takeaway that I've drawn from this past month, it is that goodbyes are worth doing well. I'm glad I've taken the time to say mine. (even if I will see many of you on the other side of the Atlantic!)

home

What a joy it was to see my family last week, as the Yankee Boy motored its way into Squalicum Harbor. Our families were standing in a crowd on the edge of the dock, smiling, waving, and occasionally cheering as we pulled into our spot. I stood on the bumper that runs along the side of the hull, the water of the harbor gently parting beneath my feet, and leaped onto the dock to hook up our tie lines. "Hi guys," I said, as I looped the spring line around the cleat. I saw my mom, beaming in that way that only a mom can when she sees her boys for the first time in months. I saw my little brother, lanky as ever, but by now definitely taller than me. Bethany was wrapped up in Ben's tan Carhart jacket, and I was struck by how much a woman she looked with her layered hair and understated yet elegant sense of style. Dad stood behind them all, faintly smiling, eager to open the doors of our home to me once again.

I stayed in the fisherman's reality for a couple moments longer as Jim slowly idled the boat against the dock, the fenders swelling as they absorbed the weight. Then we had the boat tied up, and I walked over to embrace my family.

I've been home for over a week now, trying to process all that happened in Alaska, invest in time with my family, and prepare for the rapid approach of my first fall term at Oxford. My mom told me the other day that I seemed happy, yet shaken in a way that she had not seen in a long time. My family sees in to me in a way that I am sometimes unable to see into myself, and conversations like these help me to make sense of what I am thinking and feeling. Alaska strengthened me, but it also stripped me of a lot of certainty. I loved the men of my crew, and miss them even as I write this, but they broke me down even as they imparted to me the wisdom of 80 collective years on the sea.

We went on a two-night hiking/camping trip this past weekend. As we climbed the highway 20 past the Gorge, Diablo, and Ross dams on our way to Washington pass I remembered that not even the Alaskan wilderness can compare to the majesty of the North Cascades. Some of the most beautiful places on earth have always been in my backyard, but it has taken many years and hundreds of miles for me to begin to understand this.

And for the first time in years we were together as a family again in the outdoors. This sort of outing had long become impossible for my mother, and only recently with her new transplant has she been strong enough and healthy enough to make the trip. We made camp, finished off a couple cans of beef stew (the whole family now competes with me for top eater!), and got up early to prepare breakfast before heading off on our hike. The Heather Pass trail works its way through some truly breathtaking scenery, but rather than waste space trying to describe it to you I'll direct you to the Picassa album I just started working on (sorry if all the photos still aren't up yet--at least Alaska pics are there).

Mountain air. The whisper of the wind in the valley. Limitless sky. The sapphire blue of glacier-fed pools. Freedom. Family. God is here.

As I reflect on that time on the mountain, I believe that it was a time of healing for us, individually and collectively. What a gift.

On the way home took a detour and stopped at the Diablo dam lake for a picnic lunch and some swimming (Ben's idea, not mine--so glad he thought of it!). The lake is a surreal blue-green color, and the water is cold and fresh. In the hot, dry mountain air my father, brother, and sister and I jump in while mom watches from the shore. Surrounded by the mountain peaks, with the sun blazing from the deep blue sky we once again experience the joy of unconcerned freedom, of childlike innocence. Bethany and I discover a line of logs anchored to the lake bottom with long chains, and roll uncontrollably when you try to stand on them. Log rolling competitions immediately ensue, our laughs and shouts reverberating off the canyon walls. The score: Aaron, 1; Bethany, 1; 2 ties.

The restless energy that lets me know it's time to leave has begun to set in, yet I am still at peace with where I am. Yesterday I spoke with a loved one about the gift of health: trials come, and when they do so does the grace to handle them, yet we are only ever given the present moment to enjoy. I'll be in Oxford soon enough, and when I do it's going to be good. But right now I'm here for a few more days--exactly where I need to be.

Aaron