As my sophomore year winds down and my time in Earthlodge comes to an end, I realize how much I’ve grown both as a person and a learner this year, and how much of that is because of this class. Simply put: I’ve gained sight.
My recognition of this change came last weekend in Kissimmee, Florida, when I was at the Quidditch World Cup with the team. About three minutes into my first game of the tournament, a guy from the University of Texas-Austin team hurled a bludger (dodgeball) directly into my eye, temporarily blinding it. Trying not to panic, after the game I iced my eye and began to blink continuously and frantically, hoping to regain some semblance of vision. No luck. Luckily, a few of my teammates’ parents were at the tournament to watch us play, and one of the mothers offered to drive me to the ER. Five hours, multiple explanations of way Quidditch works and a diagnosis of traumatic iritis later, I was headed back to the fields with about 60% of my left eye’s vision returned. The percentage has been steadily increasing ever since, and my vision is nearly completely back now. My black eye and hospital wrist band are the only remaining evidence of my optical crisis.
From the moment I realized my vision was gone, all I wanted in the world was to see normally again. I didn’t care that exams were coming up, that I was going abroad by myself, or that I missed my family. Every other problem I’ve ever had just seemed so ridiculous and trivial. Terrifying images of the countless changes to my life that would occur if my vision never returned spun rampant through my chaotic mind.
My point is that my slow re-development of literal vision made me realize how much more I notice and appreciate now in comparison to the beginning of this year, and even the beginning of freshman year. It reminds me of our distinction between a region and a place. I used to not think about where I was very much, because it all seemed so unimportant. The point is I’m here, why over-analyze?
It’s not over-analysis, it’s awareness. It’s the ability to look around, know which trees surround you, if you’re in a riparian zone or not, if you’re near a point or non-point source of pollution, etc. My heightened awareness was definitely in play during our recent canoe trip, as the entire time I found myself connecting puzzle piece after puzzle piece of class discussions to my surroundings. From the water tests we conducted to the simple appreciation of the cosmetic value of James River detritus, I felt more in-touch with my surroundings by far than ever before. And that’s not to say that this new awareness has crept up on me and jumped out just now. Reflecting on my blog posts this semester, I can actually track and see myself changing. The most obvious indicator of my increased perception lies in my spring break blog post. Even more exciting, I can see my classmates’ progression of perception as well. Anne, Kevin and Natalie have all shown an increased awareness of their surroundings this semester.
Aside from my heightened appreciation of the physical beauty of everything around me, I now see what an effect a person’s passion has on everything. Yes, it’s one of the key characteristics of an effective environmental leader, but in my opinion it is a vital characteristic of a successful individual. Take Ralph White for example. When we were walking down the pipe in front of the heron rookery, and talking on the beach, he simply came alive. It was as if the James River was his bloodstream and life source. His eyes lit up when he was speaking, his body language was bouncy, and you could just tell that he was so thrilled that we were there and ready to learn everything he had to teach us. Second example: our Potomac/James River debate last week. Kenta and Taylor were on fire. If one of them had asked to represent me in court that day, I might have said yes. Their charisma lets their passion shine through, and that is what makes it so powerful. However, I’ve also come to understand that everybody is passionate, it’s just that for some it just takes a little more digging to find. Some people were quieter during the debate, though they are some of the most environmentally passionate people in that room. Just as everybody expresses themselves differently, everybody’s passion is expressed differently. I’m passionate about the environment. I love the James River. However, I cannot begin to compete with the level of debate that occurred between Taylor and Kenta, because I’m an horrific public speaker. I prefer to let my environmental passion show through my dedication to science, to research. Ralph White prefers to show it through teaching. Some write about it, some attend protests, some volunteer. And no strategy is better than another.
Sight can have so many different meanings. I have my literal sight back, and will never again take it for granted. But this year with Earthlodge I’ve developed a new kind of sight, one that lets me appreciate where I am, what that means, and what is going on the ecosystem around me. I’ve learned to recognize the passion in everybody, and understand that everybody may choose to express that passion in different ways. I’ve learned that taking a step back and observing my surroundings is a better therapy than any psychiatrist, that a greater comprehension of the environment and the people around me is a better teacher than any book. I’ve learned so much this year being in Earthlodge, and the summary of what I’ve learned is so abstract that it can only be properly articulated in the words I spoke after stepping back onto the Quidditch field post-hospital on Saturday: I can see.