Back to Reality; A FINAL Epiphany

A taste of beauty Prologue: Before writing the final, I read through all of my blog posts from this semester to refresh my memory. I decided to essentially rewrite my first post, but instead of framing it simply as a memory, I reworked it to display the travel epiphanies I experienced and incorporate some of the books we’ve read. It is a personal essay, and hopefully reflects how much I’ve grown over the past semester. Enjoy!

       I used to think “epiphanies” were cliché. Silly comments made to make someone feel special. After all, life is all about learning, and learning is a process, not a “sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something,” as defined on dictionary.com. How is it possible that in a single moment, everything can become clear?

   That was before I spent a month on a kibbutz in Beit Shean, Israel. Suddenly, I found myself speaking like all of those people that frustrated me so much, and I finally understood where they were coming from. I was introduced to a new lifestyle, and I didn’t want to leave it.

    Just like Gustav von Aschenbach in Death In Venice, on the kibbutz, I saw beauty for the first time. As “Aschenbach noted with astonishment that the boy was of a consummate beauty (45),” I too was astonished by my surroundings. Nothing matches the blending of hues that make up the sunrise in Beit Shean. Waking up at five AM for the first time, walking to work, and watching a whole community start their day at the same time, gave me a whole new definition of awe. Just like Aschenbach felt compelled to follow Tadzio, I felt compelled to take in all the beauty I could. I took my time in the morning, appreciating all the scenery around me. After work each day, I rushed out of the kibbutz boundaries to swim in a natural spring, and I felt like I was swimming in a Bible scene. As I floated downstream, I was reminded of Moses in the basket floating down the Nile River, to Pharoah’s daughter, among the seemingly endless rows of reeds. I had seen nothing like this before, and I just couldn’t get enough.

     Just like Charlie in Mosquito Coast, I quickly learned that there was life beyond America, and though uncomfortable at first, it was possible to live in a world without materialism. Each day, I woke up with the sun, changed into my finest white Hanes T-shirt and baggy shorts, and met my friends in the dining hall to caffeinate. After our 15 minutes of hydration, we went our separate ways, to either fold laundry, pick the organic food, or prepare it, for the entire kibbutz to eat for lunch. Each of us played our part, and no one ever complained. We worked alongside people who had lived on the kibbutz for their entire lives, and never felt less than important. We were all equals and for the first time, felt like an integral part of the community. Instead of spending our evenings at the mall, or wandering around as tourists, looking for souvenirs, we spent our time around a bonfire, singing childhood songs and appreciating each other’s presence. As Charlie began to except that America had disappeared and this was his reality, I also began to believe that there was nothing beyond the boundaries of Beit Shean. Everything I ever needed was here, and if it didn’t already exist, I could create it.

    Just like Z in A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers, I soon learned that it was possible to communicate without words and build a relationship without a common language. As Z had her moment with the man, when she felt her “heart melting (53),” I too was able to establish a similar bond. Though my relationship was not romantic and I didn’t move in with my new friend, I was able to connect with him on a level beyond dictionary definitions. After we met, we spent every night together, and talked until our eyes were ready to close. He did not speak my language, and I had to borrow his words to get my message across. I learned about his life; what it was like to grow up in this small community and never leave, and he questioned me about mine; what it was like to leave my family for three months and fly across the ocean. We shared stories about similar experiences, and contrasted those that were completely different. I spoke of driving 45 minutes to get to school, while he explained what it was like to only bike for five. We learned from each other, and were able to understand each other’s intentions, even if we didn’t have the words to convey the proper meaning. 

   Like all of the other characters we’ve encountered along our journey through travel fiction, with each epiphany, I became more comfortable with my surroundings and didn’t want to leave. Six months ago, if I had become sick in Beit Shean, like Aschenbach, I would have died with a smile on my face. Like Charlie, I had come to believe that no world existed beyond kibbutz life, and I was okay with that. As Charlie was content living in “Acre,” I was happy where I was, and did not need to return to the life of materialism and hierarchy. Like Z, I had found a community for myself, and was finally beginning to fit in. I was learning the language, and no longer needed to steal words from others. I questioned whether it was right to leave, or whether I had finally found a home for myself. Though I didn't want to admit it, I was quickly becoming lost in my own experience.

    But unlike most of the characters we’ve encountered, my trip came with a return flight, and parents who were waiting for me to come home. I didn’t have time to get sick or get lost in my own thoughts. Even if I didn’t feel ready to leave, I didn’t have the funds or support to stay. I had to get on that plane, and face reality.    As Z writes at the end of her journal, months after she has returned, “I think maybe I will never go back to England, the country where I became an adult, where I grew into a woman, the country where I got injured, the country where I had my most confused days and my greatest passion and my brief happiness and my quiet sadness (353).” Though it was three months, and not a full year, it was in Israel where I became an adult and experienced every feeling on the emotional spectrum. It was my first time living without parents for an extended period of time and living the life of the “other.” Just like Z, I learned a lot about my self and wouldn’t change any aspect of it, but maybe I won’t be going back so soon. As Z says, perhaps it is only when you let go of something that you can actually learn from it.

    Though I spent three months in a foreign land and had many revelations, it was this class that has been the most prominant travel epiphany for me. At a time when I was so lost in my own memories, it taught me the importance of letting go of my experience, in order to truly appreciate its value. Through the stories of Aushenbach, Charlie, Z, and all the other character we've met along the way, I learned that travel isn't everything; it's the reflection and finding your way back that really counts. It was not until I was here, in my New York City dorm, that I realized, my family and friends are my roots and reality, not a kibbutz.   Epiphanies may occur suddenly, but just like learning, there is a process to understanding them. It took me half a year to find my way out of my experience, back into reality, so I could finally understand what I went through. Now, I am able to appreciate these realizations on a whole different level, and grow from my experience, instead of getting lost in my own memories. I’ve come to see that NYU and the kibbutz are not so different after all. Here, I am still surrounded by people of cultures, and we’re all here for one reason: to learn. We all eat in a dining hall, and live in the same buildings. Though everyone may understand English and speak the same words, we all carry different definitions, and Gallatin is all about learning to understand each other and establish those relationships without words. Living a life without materialism has helped me appreciate all of the materials around me, and has helped me focus on my studies at school, instead of getting sucked into the bright lights of city life. No, there’s no natural spring to swim in, but there is still thousands of years of history all around me to explore. For now, Washington Square is my playground. As long as I don’t forget my family and the people that keep me grounded, I’ll be okay. After all, it’s not until I let go of my last adventure that I can truly experience my next one.