Nomad-life and a new Education

Hello from the mountainside,

For the last 10 days, and foreseeable future, with a required trip to Pennsylvania sandwiched in, and before another wedding in Georgia, I am at a bus building camp in somewhat North Central Tennessee. The address is technically Spencer, but I am seven miles away or so, on Baker Mountain. The camp I am at is certainly rustic, but I have running water, a bathroom, and laundry, so that makes things manageable. I am sleeping on an air mattress and in a sleeping bag, but again, this is not the worst thing for me. The most fortunate thing is the group of people currently here. There are four (both a couple and a son and mother) who make it all enjoyable. There are a couple of permanent people (ironically, both Andrews) who are also very helpful, but have other jobs, so access to them is limited. The son, a young man, Brent, with unlimited skill and knowledge it seems, had been a guardian angel. This has made my experience here move to the positive side in ways unanticipated. Thank God for huge favors. The couple, Chris and Stephanie, are lovely people, and Chris, Brent, and I have developed a mutual working relationship that I believe helps all involved.

Certainly, there is so much I understand conceptually, but knowing how to do it is well outside my comfort zone. However, each day I find myself taking more chances to figure it out. Sometimes I feel I am inept, but other times I surprise myself. What I realizing is the cliche of slow-and- steady is not just a saying but a philosophy. It will maybe be a slower, but a more successful process. My bus building guru’s admonishment is “do not build yourself into a corner.” That is wise for two reasons. First, it wastes time and creates frustration, and second, it is expensive in terms of cost. The amount of money on little things previously mentions adds up more quickly than one thinks. The newest piece today, and fortunately because of help minimal expense will be installing new brake pads. I did some helping on the bug recently, and now I can add the bus. While I do have some important tools, I think I need to invest in a couple of additional things to make sure I have what I need if I have even basic issues.

As indicated in my title, this is an entirely new learning process, but also a useful one. I have often said some of the smartest people I know did not attend college, and that is proving true on an hourly basis at the moment. The basic skills of carpentry, electrical, metal work and welding are all essential to me through each day. Learning by doing (what I have referred to as experiential during my previous life) is what many people do every day. Even as I wrote this, I watched one of the Andrew’s strip wires with an attachment on his drill. It is so much quicker. I wish I would have spent more time with my father helping with projects. While he was a journeyman electrician, and he was an expert in that field he know other things, epitomizing the jack-of-many-things and a master-of-one (my paraphrase of the classic. As I write, the wind is coming up, the thunder is present, and in the span of three minutes I have ducked into the bus and it is pouring again. I am fortunate the “clubhouse” as it is called (where the bathroom, shower, and laundry are located), is 30 feet away. The group is bringing food back, and that should arrive soon, but I think they will be shocked by the downpour. It does seem that the weather changes in a relatively short distance here, and the changes can be quite dramatic.

As the back of the bus is still a shell (hopefully the solar, framing, wiring, and insulation will be in within the month), the rain on the roof is incredibly loud. I imagine that will change (hopefully significantly) when the solar is on the roof and the wiring insulation and wood ceiling are in place. it was typical when I was teaching I would wake up around 2:00 a.m. and ponder possible assignments. I am still waking up in the every early morning, but now I am pondering bus-building logistics, design possibilities, and things I hope to incorporate into my 105 sqft. of living space. In spite of my getting rid of so much, I think I still kept too much, in spite of the question I asked myself (not do I want or need it, but will I use it?). I suspect when I go back to Mallard to outfit the bus with the living essentials, even more things will be discarded or thrifted away. We think we need so many things. I am amazed how few things I find myself using daily. And I am not feeling unnecessarily shortchanged or deprived. My jeans get dirty and keeping my hands and fingernails clean are a lost cause. The other day at Walmart I purchased a fingernail brush, but I think it will take more than that. Soaking my fingers in soapy water for 20 minutes might help, but within an hour or two it will appear I did nothing to ever clean them. It is one of other learning elements of the nomadic life. While hygiene is still essential, what I am willing to manage from hour to hour is much different than my last year in the townhouse. There is an interesting dilemma at the moment. I am imagining how I can get some of those interior design elements into my tiny space. These are the elements of the bus that some inspiration comes from my friend, Hayley (look up dayzea on Instagram) and her shuttle bus. I must give her a shoutout for providing significant inspiration for my vision. Second, a shoutout to Rebecca (look up Eden.thebus on Instagram also). She provided the logo by way of a tattoo for my bus adventure to accompany my name of the YouTube channel I am documenting all of this on.

While there are numerous lessons ahead, of that I am sure, process, camaraderie, and progress are the hallmarks of daily life. Ironically, there are a couple people I know in the area (one from college and one from my days at Stout) I plan to catch up with also. Thanks to the people here, each of you, sharing this journey and making the days of trial and error, trial and success, and somewhere in between manageable. I imagine some days will seem like this classic tune, but for now, I am grateful for the new experiential education.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

Which Direction am I going?

Hello from the Cumberland Plateau and Spencer, TN,

I arrived here on Saturday night, almost a week ago, having traveled from the Quad Cities, with a stop in Fenton, Missouri, and then back through the tip Illinois and north to south through the corner of Kentucky. For the most part, the drive was good and the weather very reasonable. There was a slight mishap on the narrow two-lane Bridgeport Bridge between Illinois and Kentucky, when a larger vehicle also with wide mirrors, clipped my mirror. I thought I was as far to the right as I could be, but to know avail. The impact pushed my mirrors into my driver side window and shattered it. I pulled over at the end of the bridge and waited, but no one came back; so I drove about 30 miles to Paducah, Kentucky, covered in glass, where I stopped at a Safelite Auto Glass shop. A profoundly kind shop worker there, one named Logan, helped me clean up all the glass and attempted to put a temporary fix on my door. Unfortunately, the temporary fix did not work, and after about 30 miles I took the plastic off and drove the west of the way with no window. That extended time, which had me driving after dark, kept me from making my final destination of Wanderlust Waypoints. I decided, because I had no idea of the roads or where I was staying once I arrived, to get a hotel in McMinnville, a town about 20 miles away. Is it rain that evening, but fortunately not very hard so I had no water to really worry about inside the bus. So last Sunday morning, I arrived here to begin the interior bus build in earnest.

The bus building camp is very rustic, and even a little disconcerting, but there are tools in abundance, toilet, and shower facilities, and the proprietor and two people living on property are very helpful. Currently, there are about eight of us working on builds, and the majority of the people here are willing to work together, asking questions, offering advice, and coming to solutions in the building process. There are two people in particular who have unparalleled in their help, expertise, and kindness, helping this somewhat fish out of water work on his bus. They are both in their 30s. The window was replaced on Tuesday by Safelite on site, and the replacement mirror should be at O’Reilly Auto Parts tomorrow. Each day I have learned something new about reality of the shuttle bus industry, and what most of these places in Indiana did with a cab, engine, a drivetrain, and a chassis. What is built, at least in 1999, was nothing that tremendous. Two 16th or 8th inch pieces of fiberglass around 3/4 inch plywood is about 90% of the shell behind the cab. There is no insulation, and the wiring would make my electrician. Father roll over in his grave.

That being said, every single day has been a learning experience about what not to do when building my bus. Again, fortunately one of my building colleagues, whose name is Brenton (or Brent) is incredibly knowledgeable about most everything, and his willingness to work with me and teach me is beyond generous. Andrew, one of the people here on the property, is also profoundly knowledgeable and generous in his willingness to help. The two of them along with Brenton‘s mother have made the week really quite enjoyable and productive. Back in January and February, when I was painting the bus, all the lights, from headlights to tail lights, and clearance lights were all replaced. The clearance lights worked prior to replacing them, but getting to the wiring after removing the old ones, was incredibly difficult. So I actually hoped the Ford dealer would take care of that issue when they did some other work. That did not happen. In retrospect, that might’ve been a blessing because now the wiring, which was terrible, has been replaced. in the process I’ve learned about connectors called WAGOs, wiring ends called Ferrules, and crimpers called Kneipex. The need for soldering or connectors that require heat are no longer needed. It’s really quite wonderful. It took a day or two, but all the clearance lights are working. While not every day, regular trips to O’Reillys, Lowe’s, or a food store are par for the course. The morning seems to be talking over the strategy for the day and what best to work on first. Likewise, there are things to do to help them in their path. There are times I am a go-for and times I am doing actual work. I’ve also put my cooking skills to work for the good of Brent and his mom. I’ve also worked on some additional body work with sanding, painting, and there are some (hopefully) minor issues with the front fabricated door and its locking, but we hope to remedy that tomorrow.

What is certainly apparent is the importance of detail and considering every possibility of breakdown and making sure it doesn’t happen. This is where the expertise and knowledge of my two partners is invaluable. One piece of advice I was given my back in January was to not build myself into a corner. Between Brent and Andrew, I’m quite sure that won’t happen. The second thing really apparent is that things will not go as quickly as I hope, and understanding that is OK is an important lesson. In the meanwhile, I am sleeping in the bus in a sleeping bag on an air mattress. It is not luxurious, and being able to jump in the shower and be as clean as I’m used to being is certainly not something that will happen easily. However, there is a Planet Fitness in McMinnville. I will be making use of it with my membership. There is something of extreme importance to understand here in the bus village. We are community and no matter what your background you are just another builder; we are dependent on the graciousness of each other and our willingness to help the other person. It is an incredible equalizer and it helps you see people beyond your initial impression. There is a couple that have a long bus and are here long-term. They are gracious and kind, but not as much a part of the community. There is another couple who have been here in the past and are back. Their camaraderie and willingness to ask questions and offer thoughts make them a wonderful part of our group. There is a second Andrew here and he works a lot, but he is sort of the caretaker of the place, and I appreciated getting to know him and learned that he has a background in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Those connections are important when it comes to appreciation and consideration of the other person.

And yet, the outside world continues. I spent part of the last two days trying to manage how to move money from here to Europe, and I still don’t have it completely figured out. I’m not sure Labor Day weekend is the best weekend to accomplish more. I also spent time this week, managing mail, prescriptions, health, insurance, and all the other things that sit in the background, as I am somewhat isolated here in Central Tennessee. Fortunately, the weather has been outstanding. It does seem a little bit like fall, and it is strange to not be back in the classroom. Thank you to all of you who have reached out and responded on Facebook, TikTok, or Instagram. I will continue to post the progress, and I still will need to be back in Pennsylvania before the end of September. You can follow me at some of the hashtags that are connected to the post. I wish you all a happy holiday weekend as we head into September. My music video for this post seems to describe life as I am experiencing it at the moment.

Thank you for reading.

Michael

Lonely Wind

Robby Steinhardt

Hello from a Starbucks on Clinton Street,

It is in downtown Iowa City, where I once wandered as a student in 1982. Hard to believe it was that long ago, but it is the beginning of another academic year and there are students everywhere. I have been managing things as I work toward getting serious on my bus build, and to be honest, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed, perhaps a bit frightened, and most importantly, a bit displaced. There has been significant reflection on the idea of place over the years; additionally, my consideration of family and belonging have been constant elements of how I understand life. As humans, we are incredibly dichotomous; we simultaneously desire something and push it away, or so it seems. Even though I am well aware of this sabotaging tendency, as well as wish I could remove both the feelings and the actions, it seems Paul’s statement in Romans about that which I hate I do is alive and well within me. I should also be kind, acknowledging a number of people have worked diligently to welcome me, to allow me to feel loved and appreciated, and that has been something experienced for many years, but often I do not manage that care, that love consistently or adequately. Perhaps the important question is simply why?

While I have often pondered, regularly examined, and continually reflected on this seemingly contradictory behavior, what seems most apparent to me as I write this post is perhaps it is fear; perhaps it is somewhat an impostor syndrome, believing, in spite of myself, that I am unworthy of belonging. While I can more than adequately determine what I was told as a child is utter bullshit, the deep-seated feeling created is just maybe it was true. I was not planned for a biological mother; I was not expected nor appreciated from an adoptive mother, and those two events set up a strong sense of abandonment and malignity that I have struggled to overcome for almost seven decades. While there are certainly moments, and even periods, I have felt respected or capable, the belief that I was a desirable person has not been something often experienced. What does it mean to be desirable? It is certainly more complex than many think. There is the physicality of being alluring, and many first consider that aspect – equating it with being seductive, perhaps even fascinating. But desirability has to do with so much more – what makes one preferable, gratifying or acceptable? That goes far beyond one’s initially noticed attributes. As I have often noted, I will never win a beauty contest nor would I qualify as a Chippendale, so I must have something more enduring. I remember a young freshman student once batting their eyes when I told them they needed to revise a paper. The long-story-short was I informed them that intelligence was life-long and more abiding. Beauty or cuteness would change with age.

I recently wrote about the reality of aging, and while I am still the same basic person I have always been, how I express things, how I respond to situations or others has moderated, and yet, the underlying reasons or the things that most affect me emotionally have remained rather constant. It is, in spite of the counseling, the intelligence, the concentrated work I have done, and even the degree to which I understand how such events, though decades in the past, can still cause me to respond as I might and feel as I do. I still believe the post written to my adopting mother over a decade ago is the most consequential thing I have ever written, and it has helped me move beyond the hurt and damage in ways probably beyond what I know, and yet, there are still those moments. The frightened and confused little boy can still come to the fore. The demeaning and abusive words still have the power to cut deeply and quickly. The sense of being unworthy, undesirable, penetrates my soul in a way that all the success, all the schooling, and all the things accomplished disappear and the boy who heard he was undeserving to be in their home can fill my ears and sting me in a way that is still incredibly powerful.

There are moments I wonder what is the piece, the element of my life still needed to bury those demons once and for all? What might I do? How can I achieve whatever it is that will exorcise that brutal monster, who or which, in spite of everything achieved, can still convince me it is not enough? Much like I hide the physical malady that has been my daily companion since the Fall of 1997, I can most often hide the emotional malady that was created when I was adopted in May of 1960. To be fair to my adopting parents, I do not believe either intended to be difficult, or certainly, by today’s standards, abusive. I do believe my father wanted my sister and me with every ounce of his being. My mother, I suspect, was both unsure of, and under-prepared at best, to take on two additional (one pre-K and the other barely kindergarten age) children, but to be kind, I honestly believe she did the best she could. During my most recent trip and time in Iowa, I met with childhood friends, some of whom it’s been 50+ years. Amazingly, each of them, unprompted, spoke of what they saw in our household and how they felt badly for us. One in particular spoke of how they reached out to my sister, Kris, and even helped her run away to avoid the abuse. What was more remarkable was how their reflection helped validate some of the things I remembered or felt, and even in that moment how I felt as they spoke. There was no anger, but there was a sadness for my sister and brother, but also for my mother. What a terrible way to see life. What a horrendous way to experience daily living, even on her side.

Even now as I write this there is a sort of melancholy because I see all the ways it has affected me. How it has influenced periods of my life, from relationships and their failures to schooling and some of its successes. From times where I avoided responsibility to way too many times when I used excessive drinking to cope. Even now as I embark on this excursion, this nomadic existence, it is both escape and freedom. It is taking charge of my life and feeling like I have little control over anything. Again, there is the dichotomous reality I have existed in over what seems forever. This song certainly is a prequel to their more well-known “Dust in the Wind.” It realizes the temporal nature of our brief journey, and while there is a sadness to the song, there is the sort of Psalmodic lament reminding us that life will continue and we need to move forward. Living only a lamentable life is no way to walk our journey. There is a beauty in reflection and realization. There is opportunity in it to move forward. My choice to travel, somewhat in solitude, should not surprise me, and it probably does not surprise those who understand me. Earlier in life I needed people for validation. That is no longer the case. There is no reason to be validated, there is only an opportunity to “carry on” as a “wayward son,” the person who was told he was not worthy, who has never been a biological parent, and yet the figurative father to many. I have honestly been blessed by so many. Driving has always been cathartic to me, a time for thinking and examining. Now as I continue on to Tennessee to build, the road is laid out. The possibilities are endless.

While the video below is not with some of the original members of Kansas, which is still perhaps my favorite band, and one I saw in concert a number of times, it is a poignant live version.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

American Gothic and My Iowa Roots

Hello from rural Mallard,

It’s about the end of the day, the sun is setting, I can smell livestock from the hog containment facility down the road, and yes, there are flies (scads of them). It was a productive day as I got the weather stripping for the main bus door ordered, and the majority of the painting of the two doors completed (e.g. sealing the seams, taping the area, painting the trim, and painting the storage door, and installing the foam sealer on the inside to waterproof it.). The trim and black is painted on the front door. Some additional taping with happen tomorrow and the final green will be done. Also I ordered a replacement mirror for the outside as one of them was cracked (not sure when that happened), and it will not pass inspection that way.

Driving to Spencer, and later to Emmetsburg, I listened to some interesting pieces on Iowa Public Radio, and being back in my home state the reality of farm life is unavoidable. The acres and miles of 8 foot high corn rows and the incredibly clean rows of soybeans (not like I remember when I walked beans for Jake Goede) are in every direction. As you drive by the hog containment facility up the road, the aroma of livestock is unavoidable. And number of flies is unfathomable. As I sit in the wrap-around porch and dusk begins to settle, the different hues of green are tranquil, beautiful, and calming. I hear the locusts, and the chickens and horses have bedded down for the night. Already there is a layer of fog above the beans across the road. The humidity was significant this morning, and did burn off a bit late afternoon, but it is back. The substantial rains from the weekend, which have hammered the upper Midwest, and shut down the Wisconsin State Fair, have created issues here on the farm as the already saturated earth and rising water table has flooded the basement. The removal of water has been constant since Saturday morning. It does seem some progress is happening, but it is an unceasing process at the moment. Certainly storms seem more persistent, more pervasive, and more phenomenal in nature.

As I go to the diner in Pokey (as the locals refer to Pocahontas), conversations from the tables are markedly different than what I hear at the New Bloomsburg Diner. Men sit at one table and their spouses sit at the next table. The conversations are completely different. Often the women speak about family and plans; the men speak about weather, tariffs and how it affects agriculture, or something that is happening in local politics. The politics of Iowa, one of those “flyover states,” is more significant than many realize, and for more reasons than simply having the first caucus in our electoral process for many years. There is an irony in that while the University system is under attack, the importance of the Iowa State System (e.g. ISU, UNI, and the U of Iowa), be it agriculture, science and technology, engineering, computer science, writing or health sciences, has influenced the country and the world through its innovation. From feeding to healing the world, from innovation in technology, engineering, or communicating, the “tall corn” State is much more than fields.

The famous (and for some infamous) Grant Wood painting “American Gothic” has been interpreted in a variety of ways, and the questions of Wood’s intent still create discussion. Looking at the role of farming, whether it be for the State, the Nation, or the World, Iowa has led the way since the the late 1900s and certainly into the 20th Century. Currently (as of 2023) Iowa ranks first in corn, pork, and hides. It is second in soybeans, soybean meal, and vegetable oil as well as turkeys and eggs (which surprised me). The state is fourth in beef production and second only to California in total agricultural receipts. So that dower looking couple (which was modeled by Grant Wood’s sister and his dentist) perhaps should have been a bit more joyful.

Even today as I drove the two-lane highways, the trucks, the livestock haulers, the semis, and the pick-up trucks pulling anhydrous or trailers of hay the reality of agriculture from every corner is unavoidable. The gravel roads and two-lane highways abound and they are a mile apart. The weather can change in an instant, and I experienced some of that late morning as I met a college classmate today. We watched the regional news as we ate and the number of storms cells popping up changed by the minute. Watching the power of nature on the rolling Iowa bluffs is incredible and awe provoking. And yet what makes it so profound to me is it transports me back to my childhood and how we would watch the cloud move and change colors as a storm developed. The tornado sirens would have us scurrying for the basement. It is common to see the cloud bank as the storm rolls across the Iowa fields, hills, and farm houses. Ad I drove to my hometown, away from the storm front, I still found a cell of intense rain that slowed 65 mph traffic to 30. And yet in spite of the weather, the changing markets, the whims of the political winds, the Iowa farmer manages, and as shown above, thrives. It is by luck? Perhaps there are moments, but farmers are scientists, agronomists, botanists, geologists, and pedologists. They are veterinarians, business persons, and mechanics. And they do this with no guarantee of success. This is the world I grew up in. These are the people I went to church with and saw on the street where I grew up. I did not really give it a second thought, and perhaps too often under-estimated the miracle workers they are.

The story of Grant Wood’s painting and the reaction to it was ( and probably still is) varied and complex. As I look at it, I see the intensity of what the farmer must feel almost daily as they survey all the pieces of their daily existence. The gothic church-like window in the house is a reminder that they are dependent on something and perhaps someone outside themselves. The suit coat over overhauls with a white shirt is a stark reminder that it’s all connected and her jumper over a black dress and the small broach with pulled-back hair demonstrates an attempt at femininity with the appropriate understating of any sort of flamboyant gestures. Life was connected to the land , to God, and family. While there is no hint of a family in this picture, most had children who would become farmhands and eventually the person to take over the farm. Generational farming was something normal among my classmates, people in my church youth group, and even in my own family.

My return to Iowa has been enlightening; it has been a time of reminiscing about and appreciating the incredible things I too often took as commonplace. It is anything but. I am grateful for the reminder.

Aspiration is Life

Hello from the Main Bus Station in Kraków,

This is when this post began, but the lack of synchronization with devices from WordPress seems to have lost it. However, with minimal revision, the post remains relevant. Reflection is a central element of life for me. Recounting, reimagining, reconsidering what has happened, where I have been, and, perhaps most importantly what I learned from it are constant companions. However, before you think I merely live in the past, let me assure you that is not the case, I am always ready to embark on the next adventure or discover the next thing that adds to my own quilt, my tapestry of existence. Earlier in the week when initially writing, while eating dinner with one of my important contacts in Kraków, I learned more about them in a couple hours than I did from days and weeks spent in the past. While some of my impressions of them were only solidified, important pieces of their story were added, making my picture of them more three dimensional, and furthering my admiration of what they have accomplished and who they are.

That sort of adding to the story, the developing of something more complex does justice to the profound individuals most of us really are. We spend so much of our lives rushing about that too often we hardly scratch the surface of the other, missing completely the giftedness of another person. Sometimes it’s because we think we already know; sometimes it is because we are unable or unwilling to invest the time (the unwillingness is selfish for the most part); sometimes it is because we are frightened to do so. Regardless, the consequences of this lack leaves us less complete, more isolated, and too often we do not realize it. Is it simply busyness? That is an easy way to perceive it, but I think it is more complex, and perhaps more insidious. Complexity might seem reasonable, insidiousness sounds a bit more ominous. I think the sort of Machiavellian aspect of this malady, which is what I will argue it is, is we spend too much of our life “going through the motions.” We seldom put the effort we are capable of into something we should, and it relates to all aspects of our life. Certainly there are mitigating factors, but the repercussions matter.

Recently I listened to an interview of the movie director, Michael Mann, actually recorded some years ago (he directed the movie Last of the Mohicans, and others). Being transparent, it is one of my favorite movies (I still remember seeing it in the theater the first time, and I have watched it too many times to count since, including again last night). In this lengthy interview about the movie, he speaks candidly about the amount of work he did before hand, the incredible research into 1757 upstate New York, into the Six Nations, the British and the French military, the building of a set, lighting, music, and the skills needed by both the main and supporting cast of such a complex movie. His attention to every detail, into the minutiae of like the weight in the seam of a uniform was stunning to me. If you have watched the movie, I encourage you to listen to his interview. What caught me, awed me, was his push to achieve something as close to perfection as possible. And yet, while listening to additional interviews with Daniel Day-Lewis and Madeline Stowe, it was evident that his method and attention to his craft is infectious. He gathers people to help achieve that vision, that goal. That takes a special skill. I think it goes back to his philosophy that he wants a life of aspiration, and he does it. Aspiring to go toward the best one can do should be invigorating, it should be motivating, and it can be life-changing.

Even as I approach 70, I wonder what I might do to improve how I go about my life. While in Poland, a precious friend and I were sharing our favorite movies. It was validating to hear that two, and their most loved as one, were the same. One was the movie noted above and the other being Dead Poets Society. I have written about that movie in other posts over the years. Another movie that I find moving, and mostly because of the depiction of the incredible group of people the movie examines: The Last Samurai. Their adherence to a life of Bushido was profoundly moving to me. The “way of the warrior” as a moral compass is more than instructive to me. It is that sort of aspiration that can change someone and influence all they meet. As I find myself pondering travel, improving all I do, imagining how I can make thoughtful changes to my life, I am inspired. While I can feel contentment, I hope to never merely feel something is good enough. Thanks, Dad! That admonishment about being average is well-engraved into my heart and soul.

Going back to my favorite movies, I think it is perhaps the ability for someone to lead, to make a difference to another, to risk out of a sense of justice that connects these movies as well as draws me into their story. The life of Hawkeye as the adopted son of Chingachgook and someone determined to both revere his adopted culture but forge his own life is something to behold. While there is much one can argue from both sides about John Keating, magnificently portrayed by Robin Williams, his care for his students is undeniably strong. Finally, in spite of the sort of White Savior thought behind the using of Tom Cruise’s character, the movie does a profound job of depicting the true nature of the Samurai through the character of Katsumoto, acted profoundly well by Ken Wanatabe. In fact, he would learn his English lines as the movie progressed. Even that provides insight into the hard work done to create a movie and why we are so moved by what we experience through our viewing.

The irony of focusing on something created to understand what moves me toward aspiring to be more is not unnoticed, and most often the scripts are written and developed to sell tickets and make money. That is a simple fact. If you have gone to an AMC theatre post-Covid, Nicole Kidman is reminding us what movies do. They transport us; they suspend reality, which can be momentarily efficacious, but what do we do with the inspiration we might feel. To merely let it pass seems so wasteful to me. I wish to inspire others, to make a difference, and often my position (e.g. pastor, server, bartender, instructor, professor, mentor) has provided an opportunity to do exactly that. And like most, there were moments of success and failure. There are times that I am graciously and painfully aware of both. Aging is a profound equalizer, but also an opportunity to reflect, refocus, and move toward improving how one relates to the other. And yet, even now, I fail to manage that at times (a recent evening was a prime example). However, I can move ahead, always attempting to improve. I admitted that I responded less than I might have. I am not sure the other believes they have any part of the situation, but there is nothing I need to do to convince or explain. That merely continues the difficulty, or so it seems. Aspiring to improve in all circumstances is what I need to do. It is what I hope to do. It returns me to what inspires me, what moves me, what compels me to improve and grow? It comes from reflection on life; it comes from movies that affect my state of mind. It comes from examples of others. The music below is related to the concept of Bushido. Amazing to have such discipline and focus.

Thank you for reading.

Michael

Simultaneously Living and Dying

Hello from Starbucks,

I have been working on a wedding homily for a former student as well as working to acclimate back to a time zone six zones different than the last month. All in all, the first is completed and the second is in process. While there is certainly an element of being cliché in my title, it is something I am pondering more consciously than I have at other times. As my last post noted, life is something that simply (and it is actually never simple) happens. It matters not how you want to divide it: hours, days, weeks, months, seasons, years, decades . . . it does occur with a certain degree of consistency, and yet always a bit unpredictable. What makes it adventurous or more? I think that is both an issue of our own decision making and the things that are beyond our control. It is both anticipation and expectation. And yet how often do we really focus on either of those adjectives? Too often we go through our days in a rather robotic manner, merely working to get to the next day. Why are we content to do so? Just how did we buy into the process of existence is adequate?

Much of what seems now a daily occurrence, from what we see and hear to what we can do or even say, seems to be moving beyond our control, especially if we do have have the same view, the appropriate influence, or sufficient access to someone with power or resources. And the number of texts, emails, or other items that bombard me hourly are often overwhelming. I am at the point I do not want to hear it, and yet that precisely what many hope. I will simply tune it all out. I will step back and throw up my proverbial hands and stop. Over the last months, since returning to Bloomsburg, elements of my life have felt out of my control; plans made, depending on others, and feeling like I have grasped at branches of a tree in a summer windstorm seem to characterize things since March when I came back at the invitation of my former employer. A lack of process management on the part of all, as alluded to previously, ended up in a cavalcade of misunderstanding and the university owing me (at least to me) a significant amount of money, which 60 days later and now closer to 90, is still owed. What I have realized recently is how difficult the sort of transient existence since I left Bloomsburg last fall has been. It causes me some pause, and while I am committed to finishing the bus and managing that for some time, I am considering the best way to do that. What the past 9-10 months have reminded me of is the need for a sense of place. It is a concept that has affected most of my life. The rhetoric of place has been a significant personal and professional focus for the better part of two decades. Perhaps I still need to compose that scholarly piece, even though retired. Sometimes it is a question of being happy or being right (thank you Alan Jackson). As I prepare to head back to Iowa and focus on the bus again, there are so many things running through my head. Reconsideration of places, people, events, and wondering how I fit into it all.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to speak with one of my favorite people, catching up after too long of messages and texts. The significance of their existence in my life goes beyond what words can adequately portray that is for sure. I had so much to learn when I first met them. I was back home after my discharge from the Marine Corps, and as noted in other posts, that family changed my life, from learning about myself (which was painful at times), appreciating language and culture in ways this NW Iowa boy, who did not know a lot, could have never imagined, and finally and perhaps most importantly, taught me about family, caring, and loving in ways never experienced. That seems so long ago, but yesterday’s conversation made it feel like it was recently. That infectious laugh can transport back to another time. And my recent choices about location and residing are directly connected to what they taught this 20-something. There seems to be an incredible dichotomy in my daily existence at the moment, one that is most times a bit disconcerting as I try to manage what comes next. There are the larger pieces of the bus and then the trying to manage maintaining an address and all the specifics that occur with that as a retired person. It seems that I needed to do a bit better planning. I thought I had it figured out, and to some extent I did, but there are more complications than I imagined. Working through it, and that will be a lot of the details over the next 48-72 hours. Details and process: somehow I think I did them better in my work at the university than I do in my daily life. Everyday, there is something new, something unexpected, from managing Medicare and insurance to figuring out the best manner in which to establish some sense of process. Those who know me know I am a creature of habit, and that is being kind, so trying to create a tiny home while simultaneously existing, developing a long-term plan when it is something I have never done, and establishing a sense of comfort has been a bit of a struggle.

Later today I have a memorial service or gathering to attend for the wife of one of my morning group. She was only a couple of years older than me, and he is perhaps a year or two older than that, but it is serious reality check when people your age have ended their earthly journey. What is old? What do I consider old at this point? I am not sure I think of people as old. What I have found myself saying when someone is in their upper 80s or 90s is they have lived a long life. I remember the words of a great-aunt whose 100th birthday was on the day my elder brother was buried at the age of 26. I remember her saying, somewhat matter-of-factly, but also with some sadness, it should have been me who was buried today. That was a profound statement as she knew she had lived the life she wanted. She would live another three years. In the past hour, speaking with a former student, he noted his father was getting old (which is my age) and I noted that I did not think that was old, but he noted he saw significant aging in his father. What constitutes aging? Is it wrinkles, infirmity, lack of mobility? Is it perception? Certainly it is real; it occurs. Again, considering the previous blog, is it cliche to say “It’s just life?” Another of the things often said at the morning gathering is “growing old is not for sissies!” or some facsimile of that. There seems to be little question that the consequence of aging is profound. And yet how much of it is attitude and how much is physicality? I do not believe there is a recipe card. And as importantly, I do believe we have some degree of agency in spite of genetics or any other predisposed thing.

Certainly time keeps moving, there is no stopping it. I started this blog in mid-July and it is now the first couple days of August. It’s been a whirlwind couple of weeks and within the next few days I am headed back to the midwest. Some significant bus things are completed, but there is more to do. The picture above is of the fabricated front door on the bus. It’s been a while coming, b ut I am excited to see it. Monday will be a busy day. Tying up all the loose ends; organizing all the things I want to get completed. And everyone has a schedule. It’s been an incredible six months, with so many unexpected things, but also some amazing things. The meeting of four young people from Ecuador this summer has been such an incredible gift. They give me hope. They are all such stunning and incredible young people: good, smart, kind. Working for a friend and helping them as they move toward more things to do. And yet, it is time to focus on what I need, what I must do. It’s been a dance. If I knew everything I would manage would I have done it? I think so. The intention of coming back to Bloomsburg was to help, while that specific thing did not happen, I would like to believe I did some things to help others. That is what I believe makes the most difference. While I was in Europe, the number of times I was approached about America today was innumerable. We never know what will happen beyond a certain degree, regardless of how carefully we plan. Earlier I noted Alan Jackson in the blog. Now I will note Garth Brooks, and his incredible song, “The Dance.” This version reminds me of a time when we believed so much differently. I was a third grader when this occurred. I am glad I am still dancing.

Thank you as always for reading. Keep dancing!

Dr. Martin

“There’s Just Life”

Buenas tardes por Murcia,

La semana ha volado, pero creo que lo mismo podría decirse de las tres semanas aproximadamente que he pasado en Europa. Powrót do miejsc, w których już byłem, a także odkrywanie nowych miejsc w różnych krajach lub w obrębie tego samego miasta pozwala mi rozwijać moją perspektywę, ponieważ zmienia się moje zrozumienie ludzi i siebie samego. Og selvfølgelig, selvom hvert sted har ensartethed, har der været ændringer. Men de mest tydelige ændringer er i menneskerne og hvordan de er vokset, modnet, og hvordan jeg er kommet videre i deres liv. If you have not given up on reading by now, I will summarize in English.

The last week has flown by, but I can say the same for my entire time in Europe. Returning to places I have been before and discovering new places in different countries or within the same city allows me to develop my perspective as my understanding of people and myself and the changes. And of course, while each place has its own uniqueness, and consistency, there have been changes. But the most obvious changes are in the people and how they have grown, matured, and moved on in their lives. From high school to college, from instructor to being mom or engaged, to growing and working toward the goal of happiness, from being a student to bringing students, and now traveling retired, we are living our lives and painting our own pictures. Undoubtedly, we find that process to be different, not only from the other, but more often than not as something divergent, unpredictable from what we expected, perhaps even unrelated to what we hoped.

There have been numerous times when I have pondered the actuality of life to what I imagined it would be. As a mid-Boomer, I bought in whole-heartedly to the quintessential America dream: the house, the spouse, the 2 1/2 kids, a dog. Most my age know this expectation. It was what you did. Now, some half century later, I have no house, which was a choice – I sold it, no wife, which in two cases was their choice, no children, which is what happened, and no animals, though there were some along the way. So what does that mean? It must mean something different than simply not achieving because often I hear from former colleagues, classmates, or friends and read from posts on my timeline or comments on other social media that people are envious, sometimes jealous. So what makes one’s dream a reality? Do I have a dream life?

I do not consider myself any standard bearer of any sort that is for sure, be that as a paragon of either success or failure. I would not wish some aspects of my life on anyone else, and then there are opportunities and experiences that set me apart from many others. I am well aware of that. It is only recently that I have been able to articulate what I believe is central to what has happened to me, where I have been, or what I (or others) might believe count as accomplishments. Recently during a conversation with my former exchange son, as I fondly refer to him, I noted that life will confront us from time to time with substantive choices. Generally, we are unsure of which choice we should make, of which proverbial path to follow. As I look back at those points for me retrospectively, seldom were they part of some grander plan I had in mind. In fact, what I know now is I seldom had any grandiose idea of who I was or where I might (should) go.

As I reach the place that one calls me a septuagenarian, I am keenly aware that most of my life is a life of consequence. This means whatever choices made were simply they were made in the moment. As I have grown older, I think I ponder options and consequences more carefully, there is not the impulsiveness that characterized my earlier life. What is more likely now is the choice is made with more intentionality, but also with less wondering about what is I made a different choice. As I told Anton, regardless the choice, move forward doing it the best you can. Do whatever you do well. I think my father’s directive about average finds its way into my life practice once again. Too often we walk through our lives as if they are some deterministic continuation of events; we’re merely little more than the feather (remember Forrest Gump ) blown along by the breeze. Many with whom I intersect, interact, noted that retirement would be different, and they are correct. There is a freedom of schedule I have never known, but there are still decisions, possibilities, and things to imagine. I retired at the same age as my father. I think he would have worked even longer if it were not for my mother’s failing health. I do believe I worked as long as I believed I would be effective, and I did not want to be the person who should have retired a year earlier.

And yet it is fair to ask what makes life meaningful? What makes it feel like it matters to more than myself? During this week in Murcia, I have been blessed to meet yet another incredible person, an engineer, a mother, and someone who is beyond insightful. In fact, she reminds me of a former colleague at Stout. Their ability to see through, to perceive, to intuit are like nothing I have ever experienced or anyone I have ever met. Between intelligence, empathy, and goodness, my life was made better. Even beyond all the people I have blessed to encounter, I still question how I might still make a significant difference for the other. It is easy to settle for less, to be lured into acceptance of something that is simply adequate. The title of this post might imply just such a path, but nothing could be farther from the truth.

Too often we are pushed to see life for something that requires more, something that somehow demands either we move beyond or live within the boundaries others decide, the normal as it is often defined. The great majority of my former students believed they were required, expected, demanded to attend college. When I told my first week freshmen this was not true, the shock they often exhibited was readily apparent. When I told them average would leave them unemployed, they often believed me to be harsh. By the fundamental reality of being societal, we buy into so many things. And yet, Doc Holiday (one of the best acting jobs of the late Val Kilmer) notes in some of his last earthly words, “there’s just life,” one should argue that this complex dentist/gambler/gunslinger/friend dies unapologetically. In spite of his difficult death from the consequences of tuberculosis, he had few regrets. His friendship to Wyatt Earp had no bounds, and he was genuine, regardless the circumstance.

As I get ready to return back to the States, once again my experiences have added complexity to my world and how I understand my place and path. The majority of things done over the last three weeks involved familiar places, familiar people, with a couple additions in both categories: a more complete view of two cities and an important addition in a couple places – some new faces and even a couple countries (Iraq, Germany). I remember a former student referring to me as a jet setter because of my travel. That travel is not about jetting off anywhere; for me it is life, just life. It is another way to learn, to appreciate, to comprehend. It is what life is. As I shared this morning, I do not have any difficulty with the person who does not know. Where I find a difficulty is when someone believes it is not necessary to know, a willful ignorance of something. So much like Doc Holiday, for me my life has been unexpected much of the time; it is been eventful and surprising at times, but all in all, it is what it is because “there’s just life.”

As always, thanks for reading.

Michael

Appreciation for the Other

Hello from a coffee shop in Kraków,

At the moment, I am neither in a Starbucks or a Costa, but somewhere I found close to my Air BnB, which is out beyond Ulica Floriańska, which has New Years Eve memories more than once. The coffee shop is called Green Coffee Nero, and it somewhat reminds me of The Motherlode, a blast from the past for my Houghton friends. I got up extremely early this morning to fly from Copenhagen to Kraków, a relatively short trip except when your luggage somehow did not get on the plane. As I sit here, my time in Houghton comes back again as I am listening to a song playing here from the first Tracy Chapman album, “Talking about a Revolution.” Certainly there is a revolution occurring in the States at the moment, but one in the direction many had no idea could happen. While my disdain for some of the methods of our current President are well-known, there is little doubt that the move to the right, and what I believe is a homogenization of the country, certainly at the expense of “the other,” is occurring. And yet, it is more complex than merely whites (and I am not understating the alarm of what is happening with the actions of ICE) at the expense of those who are not Caucasian.

While I have not dig deeply into the specific numbers of the 2024 election, there is no doubt that the re-election of Mr. Trump occurred because of more than the MAGA supporters of his policies. If I remember correctly, the Hispanic vote for President Trump increased by double digits. Additionally, he did better with both black men and women. The other demographic he showed significant change from 2020 election was in white males under the age of 50. And while, indeed, President Trump did win the popular vote in the 2024 election, his margin was not anything approaching overwhelming., though one has to admit the coalition he created seems to defy what many people believed possible. Nevertheless, his electoral college win was significant. And as my Danish friend and attorney has reminded me. We still have elections and we have the ability to question and change. Certainly there are some questioning that, but I do believe our grand experiment is resilient. Each time I have walked around Europe, even from that first time as a sophomore student at Dana, I was amazed and intrigued as I heard the different languages and observed the similarities and differences among us as peoples. I was first fascinated by language from my time in the service and immediately following. When I returned to Sioux City, we had a new pastor and family at my home church. They had spent time in Germany as a family and now German was part of their vernacular. I realized quite quickly how left out I felt when I was at their house and the conversation moved from English to German. Soon thereafter, when I enrolled as a student at Iowa State University I chose to take German because of that intrigue, of the listening to people I knew speak another language. While my initial foray into that was not completely successful, the seed was planted. Now almost 5 decades later, language has been one of my major areas of study and while I am no linguist, my enchantment with language continues. Learning another language acknowledges the actuality, the corporeality, of the other. During one of my trips with students to Eastern/Central Europe, I had dinner with two incredible young men . One evening when we were free from meetings, I asked them what the most important thing they had learned during our trip. One brilliantly answered (paraphrased), “While we are important as Americans, we are not as important as we think. There is so much of value outside America.” What an insightful and accurate thing to say.

As I walked along Rynek Glowny and the main square yesterday, the number of languages I heard (and could identify) were numerous: Polish, German, Ukrainian, Arabic, Spanish, English, and there were more. This amalgamation of cultures was invigorating to me. It was a beautiful, and quite warm summer day, but the people were just happy; they were celebrating. The bustle of some juxtaposed to those merely sightseeing was palpable. Even as I walked back home after 9:00 p.m. last evening, the square was teeming with people and again the cross-cultural nature was astounding. Certainly, the difference in size and proximity to another country and language affects this melting pot, and I know that there are struggles in the EU with immigration, with economics, and yet, because of the current situation in Ukraine, but there is something incredibly positive in such an experience. When I was in the Marine Corps, and quite young (17 when I enlisted), somehow I realized that a self-expectation that someone should speak English to me when I am in their country seemed a bit arrogant. One of the things I have realized as I considered Lydia, (the incredible Austrian woman I cared for) and those like her who self-exiled to America after WWII, was how much they gave up to become Americans – often their cultural traditions, certainly the speaking of their native tongue, and even some of their national idiosyncrasies. How much of that was willingly and how much of it was expected or believed to be expected? I wish I were insightful enough then to have those conversations with her. I do remember her once saying she took classes to try to erase her accent (it did not work), but even the attempt to do so says so much. I remember her noted that she and George often worked more than one job to make ends meet in those early days.

In the years since I was that young Marine, I have changed so much in my appreciation for the other. My life in the educational realm has afforded me the opportunity to learn, acknowledge and treasure things I could have never imagined as I grew up in Sioux City, a pretty basic NW Iowa town. I am not disparaging that foundation. It has served me well, but there was so much more to learn. It the years since graduation (and quite amazing for someone who never visited anything beyond a neighboring state), I have been to the Asian-Pacific, in all fifty states, through 90+% of Europe, Russia, the Dominican Republic, the Bahamas, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Panama, Ecuador, and Canada, and there are still things on the bucket list. In every single place I have grown; I have changed; and most importantly, I have learned how much I have yet to learn about others and myself. How do we learn and assimilate knowledge and experience? It causes me to consider yet another thing I wish I understood more completely. A particular fascination for me is trying to imagine what infants are absorbing through their eyes as they look everywhere. What is being imprinted on their brains in those early weeks and months? One of my former Polish instructors has a little girl about 10-months-old. She is adorable and her eyes are incredible. She says so much with them, but simultaneously, she is taking it all in. There is no difference in her as a beautiful person of Polish and Columbia heritage or that 10 month old Dominican, Ecuadorean, Dane, or American. Their humanity is first. How have we seemed to lose that mutual humanity we all share? Am I being unfair in that assessment? I am not sure.

What I realize when I consider the other person is the giftedness of each individual, what their culture brings to our world, and how much I learn from them. At one point, I remember struggling with one of my students who comes from another culture. She was born in the States, but at the time it seemed, in what was my narrow opinion as I now realize, that she did not exhibit enough appreciation for our American culture. She is dear to me, but that was a tough time in my relationship with her. It’s about 10 years later and I realize now she was not only correct, but justified in her attitude. I thought I was sincere and correct in my view. While I was sincere, I was anything but correct. Even now, walking around Kraków these last couple of days, as well as Humlebæk or other places in Denmark last week, there is so much we might do to improve our society if we would take the other seriously. This is not meant to demean my country, but it seems our national arrogance keeps us from being our best selves. Next week I am off to another country and to visit another amazing student from my past. She was one of an entire class of international engineers who were in my 2nd semester Freshman Writing class. I am blessed to have two of them still in my life. I learned so much from them, even though I had to leave early because of health reasons, so I was not able to finish that semester. As I work on some other writing, the importance of the other, of travel, of language, of food all blends together because they are interconnected. I often say learning another language reveals so much about the people who speak it. You learn a great deal about how they think as well as what they value. Those are profound insights. And sampling and learning about their food as a cultural insight is exciting, and tasty!! Another benefit of knowing others from other countries and with different experiences is you learn from them in ways too numerous to count, and often what you learn can inform your opinions and perspectives in ways not expected.

Again, when recently speaking with Anton’s father, his appreciation for the American electorate and America’s system was instructive to me. While I understand our system quite well, hearing the perspective of this Danish lawyer was both refreshing and helpful. Speaking with my professorial colleague here in Kraków in the last couple days, or with people here from three generations over the last two days, I have appreciated their perception of what is happening in our country as well as in their own, but as much, it was refreshing to consider how the two countries have mutuality and importance for the other. I am sure there will be a similar conversation and thought when I arrive in Spain next week. While there is a certain ethnic purity in these countries, it is impossible to not see the effect of the EU on each of them, and certainly their opinions vary from country to country and person to person. That is normal, and it is what makes us so different and yet interdependent. Each time I travel I am compelled to reflect on who I am as an American, and how I understand my own country. That is not a negative thing . . . it is precisely the opposite. I am still patriotic, and it does not go unnoticed that tomorrow is the Fourth of July. However, we are only 249 years old as a country. The university I frequented here in Kraków was founded in 1364. Denmark was a powerful nation as early as the Middle Ages also . . . the Kalmar Union established Danish rule over Norway and Sweden, and their power as Vikings begins long before 1000 AD. Again, this is not to take away from what America has meant to the world, but there is so much to learn from the other. In the meanwhile, I keep traveling and learning. It is surprising that it has been six years since I was last here on Kraków for more than to fly through. Certainly, I am not sure what the future holds, but as I wrote in a recent Facebook post, it is my favorite foreign city.

Thank you as always for reading,

Michael (the wandering nomad)

Truly Unexpected or Simply Avoided

Hello from the Beetle,

I am waiting to meet someone, preparing to share breakfast and listen to their stories about being in a new place for their summer. Four amazing young people have traveled from Quito and Cuenca in Ecuador to spend a summer learning new skills in the restaurant, and in some ways they are like new exchange students to me, but college age rather than high school. Much more like what Ana was when she was here from Russia. All four have strong English skills, having obtained an International English Language Certificate. I am always amazed and blessed to meet individuals from another country, another culture. I learn so much about our world, but, as importantly, maybe even more so, I learn about myself. And in the coming week, I will fly to Europe, specifically back to Denmark and then to Poland, visiting Anton and his family as well as dear people I met during my journeys to Kraków. Each of them have blessed my life, teaching me so much about things I would have never imagined.

During the last few weeks, much of my time has been spent reconsidering what I do, where and how to do it, and facing again the consequences of being an incredibly premature birth in the 1950s. It would be easy to lament the health struggles (many of them precursors to what exploded in my 20s and have been a constant companion since) that I have experienced beginning from preschool). Back then, no one expected what were seeming nuisances were tell-tale signs of my eventual Crohn’s Disease and since that initial struggle in early 1984 now much more. Lamentation has its place, but when pondering my own circumstances, I seldom find it helpful. I remember studying Psalms in seminary and spending particular time on the Psalms of Lament. In the midst of the struggle there is always a time to give thanks for the love of God. I am feeling that at this point very poignantly. As many know I have battled a variety of health issues since I graduated from Dana, and there have been some dark moments, but in truth Psalmic fashion, there has always been a light in the midst of that darkness. Between amazing doctors, Gastroenterologists, Oncologists, Homeopaths, RNs, Enterostomal Therapists, family, and friends, I have never been alone. There is always a freedom in the midst of the chaos that illness can create. There is always the right of the person to respond in a manner they find most helpful. From the very first time I learned that I had an inflammatory bowel disease until now, I have refused to let it control my life. Certainly there were times it controlled more than I wished, but I still had agency. The exigence of any situation is there if we decide to use it, to understand it, to manage it. We can listen as well as we hear, if we allow. Certainly there are times we will disagree with the path someone chooses, there are things we might do differently, but how one decides to battle is their own to make, a path on which to proceed. What we can do is assist in prayer, in care, and through little acts of kindness.

I remember when I was a parish pastor this was one of the most difficult times for families. To allow a lucid person to make their own health decision is both appropriate and charitable, but, often, it is not an easy thing to do. It is much like what happens when someone is at the end of their life. Too many times we are not ready to let them go, but that is through our own needs or unfinished business. More simply, and most definitely more difficult to hear, it is our own selfishness. We still have things we need to do because of that person. One of the more selfless things we can do is offer permission to leave this life. I am a firm believer there is a quality to life, and when life goes below that threshold, and that place is as unique as we are as individuals, death can become compassionate. Even in the last 24 hours, I had a chat with someone about how God fits into all of what we do. As noted recently, my own faith process has been anything but what I expected. I find myself regularly questioning the hows and whys, wondering what power or possibilities I have in the midst of daily existence. Often we are controlled by external factors, and that is always the case to some extent, but to what degree do we have agency? Who decides the exigence we have in any given circumstance? Is it really there? Does it ebb and flow like the tide I imagined when I was standing on the shore of the strait between Denmark and Sweden over the weekend? Perhaps that is where my title for this post is most apparent . . . are most things left to chance or is the agency we have come mostly through avoidance, ignoring the things we wish not to deal with or manage? Perhaps we have been conditioned to avoid that which is unpleasant, much like a terrible tasting medicine that chokes us with its terrible taste. And yet, there is the possibility of gaining strength when we walk through those things that we would much rather keep at arms length, circumvent. As I ponder things I wonder if I am being selfish, wishing to carry out the plans I have. As I imagine the reality of a body that has fought so many battles, many before I even knew what was happening, I am not sure if all of it has made me stronger or merely tired me out. Perhaps there is some of both.

As I work toward returning to building the bus on a full-time basis again soon (after more of a hiatus than planned), and in many ways there was nothing more I could do as the doors are being completed, I still wish I could simply have it all done. There is a lot to manage yet, and with some of my new realities, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. I am not sure the best way forward. Just wanting to do what was originally planned is certainly the easiest way. And listening to the professionals, it seems there is a good plan forward that will allow most of that. It is always amazing, regardless how much one plans for contingencies, there are always unexpected (or maybe the less than totally expected) possibilities that can stump us. This gets me back to when it is truly unexpected or simply avoided . . . wished away if you will. While speaking with Anton’s father this past week (I have been pondering this blog for a while, so I am now in Denmark, with trips to Poland and Spain still to come.), he offered a wise response in our conversation using the prepositions of “from” or “with.” It was an incredible insight I had not expected.

The last few days have been a bit of a world wind as I am working to manage a multitude of issues on both sides of the pond. I do think I am on top of things for the most part. Some serious organization of both personal and business issues as well as some immediate and long term planning. What I have learned about myself is I seem to be Dickens’s Tale of Two Cities at times. The oxymoronic ability to be both on top of things and seemingly clueless is the proverbial blessing and curse. I remember being told of a particular diagnosis of this had me quite angry at one point, and perhaps more frightened and embarrassed. Even though the psychologist assured me that I was very capable. My response at that time was to tell her to f-off. Now 20 years later, I might finally be willing to believe it is possible. Some of it comes out as OCD, which I believe I can handle most of the time. Some of it comes out as feeling inadequate and under-performing, not living up to my standards (and they are probably self-imposed). I wonder if being retired will change those expectations? I am really not sure. So much to imagine and ponder; so much to realize and reflect upon. Life has never been boring, that is for sure. One of my favorite movies is Last of the Mohicans. This version of the theme is haunting, but life is quite honestly that.

Thanks to those who have reached out and as always thanks for reading.

Michael

Hej fra Humlebæk

Indeed, Hej fra Humlebæk!

I am back two years later almost to the day to visit Anton, Carla, Anne Marie, and Hans Christian. My first visit for Anton’s graduation from gymnasium was wonderful, and now, returning again to their beautiful little village on the coast is as tremendous as the first time, but having a bit of familiarity makes it even nicer. I often told my students after education, the best way to spend (invest) your money is on travel. It is also an education, but has long term benefits of a different kind, paying you back for that investment, long after the trip is completed. It is a cultural education, having the potential to teach you as much about yourself as about others. While I have only “technically” had two exchange students, Anton from here in Denmark and Georg from Estonia, I claim Ana from Russia as a third because she spent significant time at the Acre, and she continues to be a profound blessing in my life. In fact, six years ago today, I was in Moscow having dinner with her and her friend Dasha. What a wonderful dinner on the 86th floor of a building in Moscow City.

My first full day back in Denmark has been both relaxing and enjoyable. Anton and I took a walk down to the train station, where I arrived yesterday, and we had a wonderful pastry and a cup of something (he had iced coffee and I an iced chai). We spent the time reminiscing about his year in Bloomsburg and then talking about what he is studying. He is pursuing a degree in Architectural Engineering, and it is both not surprising, but interesting how his commitment to sustainability corresponds to that of his sister, Carla’s, who is completing her Masters in Electrical Engineering. They are both so incredibly intelligent and lovely people. I have teased they are twins, though a different age and opposite gender. Their resemblance as siblings is undeniable on multiple levels. And as importantly, their mutual love and care for the other might be unmatched and beyond what some could imagine. While I learned some of this long before I met Carla in person, in the three times I have now been in her physical presence, the reality of my belief has been substantiated beyond any doubt. And in the two years since I last saw them all in person (almost to the day), Anton has grown and matured profoundly, and his love and care for her and his family has also matured in a beautiful manner. What I know even more is how blessed I was to have him live with me for his exchange year.

My exposure to anything Danish started when my Lutheran Youth Encounter (LYE) team visited the campus of Dana College during the fall of 1978. Having some experience with Scandinavians because of my family’s Norwegian heritage (and particularly from my Great-aunt Martha (Hannestad), I had some understanding of each country’s strong national pride. I can still remember her saying some of her prayers in Norwegian. She had immigrated to Iowa from the Bergen area of the Norwegian Peninsula. Of course, as mentioned in earlier postings, Mr. Larry Flom (my high school history teacher) whose intense love of his Norwegian heritage, which was proudly on display in his classes, influenced that perception too. Likewise, my grandmother (and even as an adopted person- my grandmother and my adopted father were cousins) was also a Hannestad. The name of my Grandmother’s bakery was Scandinavian Bakery. So the memory of krumkake, fattigman, lefse, and yes, lutefisk are not merely conceptual. Arriving in Blair, however, that Viking mindset would become widened and culinary traditions of æbleskiver, frikadeller, herring, medisterpølser, or even the smörgåsbord (though technically Swedish) became part of my go-to daily existence. In fact, the most amazing smörgåsbord I ever experienced was in the main train station in København during my first trip to Europe. Perhaps my favorite Danish sweet might be Kringle. Of course, Sights and Sounds of Christmas, the yearly gift from the campus to the Blair community, taught me about the heart-shaped Christmas decorations, Santa Lucia, and even composers like Buxtehude. One of my favorite Lutheran hymns is “Kirken den er et gammelt hus.”

From that first visit to Denmark as a 25 year old until now, at almost 70, the person I am is quite different, though, as recently written, the foundation of the me of today probably occurred during that journey. I remember walking through the streets, the cathedrals, the museums, and yes, a night in a bar in Østerport, where I was introduced to Akvavit and Carlsberg beer. I also remember the statues of the Apostles located in the National Cathedral of Denmark. I can still see in my mind the particularly striking one of St. Bartholomew. In fact, I might try to visit it 45 years later to refresh my memory. As a soon to be septuagenarian, my perception of Denmark and appreciation for the culture has exponentially increased and grown. Some of that significant growth is because Anton spent his year with me. His intuitive and critical thought process was apparent even in the early hours of his jet-lagged 16 year old self those last days of August 2019. His ability to respond to the narrow/minded, sheltered, classmates who quizzed him on whether he was a Democrat or Republican a number of times as they walked around the Bloomsburg Fair still makes me smile. He responded calmly, “I’m Danish.” In fact, I think he was (and is) wiser than some adults I am currently engaged with in a political discussion. The larger picture view of Danish society is evident on a daily basis, from their social awareness to their involvement with more global issues. I think it summed up again by both the 16 and the 21 year old Anton. When asked why his English was so strong or why he would learn it, even as a 16 year old he thoughtfully responded, “There are only 5 million Danish people in the world.” Now as a 21 year old, and one even more globally experienced and aware, he studies architectural engineering and is committed to understanding sustainable architecture. He is a thoughtfully and honestly sincere global citizen. However, additionally, and perhaps more importantly, I think he epitomizes what I see in Denmark in general.

As I walk the streets of Humlebæk, I cannot help but be impressed with how well people care for their properties. Hedges surround the houses, lining the streets, and even in the areas that are more apartment-prone, care for the land is apparent. Things are clean and people of all ages are biking. The care of all things and all people is so apparent and admired. It’s now a couple days later, and now 5:00 a.m.. Last evening, I had the opportunity to celebrate Skt. Hans Day, for a second time. It is the Danish celebration of Midsommer, the day that is considered to be the night before John the Baptist was martyred, and also to gather with family and friends. It was a lovely time. Just like my previous experience of two years ago, people were quite gracious with my less-than-minimal ability to speak or understand Danish. I had the most meaningful conversation with two about the politics of the world right now. There was really quite a bit of grace for all going on and a beautiful willingness to share and listen. It was inspiring and gave me a sense of hope that the world can still move forward. As I noted toward the beginning of the post, travel is a cultural education, a time to learn about others as well as an opportunity for self-reflection. I leave you all with the hymn I noted above. I still remember singing it in Danish while at Dana.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael