Strangetown
So, Now that I am back form my trip, I realize how happy I am to live where I do. It was strange going to Wisconsin in the first place, and I kept asking people jokingly what in the world one does in Wisconsin. When I actually got there it wasn’t a joke any more. I was there and there actually WAS nothing to do.
We flew into Chicago and drove absently (with our GPS system) to a town called Lake Geneva. I kept staring out the window on the way there, resting my feet on the dashboard, trying to fend off the blistering heat while we fiddled with the air conditioner. I remember looking out over the flat green and getting very confused. I loved how lush everything looked, with green fields and silos…but I kept getting this strange unsettled feeling. And let me just add that I am a girl that feels her way through the world.
We all have own distinct way of taking in what we experience. There are four types of people, categorized by the way they experience. It’s just like the way we have a favorite hand, we also have a favorite way to process. There are the sensations types, who use sights, sounds, tastes, etc. to take in the world. There are the thinkers, who analyze and use logic. There are those who use intuition, and have a more psychic awareness. And there are those like me, those that feel their way around using their emotions.
This is only one idea, of course. It came from Carl Jung, and it always seemed to make sense to me. If we are strong in one, we are weak in the opposite. Feeling and thinking are opposites, and intuition and the senses are opposites. I always think that the more ways that you can experience the world, the better. It just takes practice to branch out and tap into a different technique.
Anyway, enough of that tangent. So I was looking out of the car window right? And I just get this weird vibe about the place. It was this strange deadening feeling, like stagnant water, or dragging your feet. I just didn’t feel energized. The world around me didn’t feel fresh. When I travel to a place I feel good in, I feel alive, and revitalized, like a great weight has been lifted and I am free.
When we got to the town I felt even more of the stagnant. The lake was beautiful but there were “private property” signs everywhere, and “no trespassing.” The water was so very clear, but it smelled of dead fish.
I walked up a few blocks, passing closed shops, and noticed the young life hanging out that could very well have been me… if it was my hometown. They were chattering at their favorite hang out…the only Starbucks in town. It was weird to think that I could have been a very different person from who I am now, just because of where I live, and who I know. But then I got to thinking, maybe where you grow up doesn’t affect who you become… but then again your past is such a huge part of your life. The biggest. It must depend on the person. I suppose some people are always being affected by their past, having it bend and tune their personality, but then maybe some people have characteristics that are present no matter what.
And who am I to say that this place was bad. It wasn’t, it was just different. People seemed happy enough there, some of them had been there for fifty years, never having left. It’s just a life that’s different, one that’s hard for me to imagine having myself. One that I don’t think I want. Buts that’s okay too. I doubt a lot of those people would want to live in Berkeley:)
The things that I really loved though, the cicadas, the fireflies, and the inns. It was absolutely amazing to come when we did… after waking up on our first morning in the Italian style inn from 1860 the air just buzzed! Literally there were locus everywhere! Lining the trees, flying in the air, sunning in the grass. Not only was it just locus, it was the 17-year locus! They come around only every 17 years. It was miraculous, listening the constant drone of a million tiny little red and black bodies... And those eerie orange eyes.
The first thing that I did when I saw them was to pick one up, just like I used to when I lived east. You take one gently between your finger just around the middle and you toss them into the air where they fly away. I’m sure the locals could tell I was just visiting, the way I was fascinated by the cicadas. Everyone else just saw them an annoyance, but not me. The same with the rain, everyone who lived there would flee at the first drops of a warm summer rain. But me? I stayed. I had to spin, of course.
We flew into Chicago and drove absently (with our GPS system) to a town called Lake Geneva. I kept staring out the window on the way there, resting my feet on the dashboard, trying to fend off the blistering heat while we fiddled with the air conditioner. I remember looking out over the flat green and getting very confused. I loved how lush everything looked, with green fields and silos…but I kept getting this strange unsettled feeling. And let me just add that I am a girl that feels her way through the world.
We all have own distinct way of taking in what we experience. There are four types of people, categorized by the way they experience. It’s just like the way we have a favorite hand, we also have a favorite way to process. There are the sensations types, who use sights, sounds, tastes, etc. to take in the world. There are the thinkers, who analyze and use logic. There are those who use intuition, and have a more psychic awareness. And there are those like me, those that feel their way around using their emotions.
This is only one idea, of course. It came from Carl Jung, and it always seemed to make sense to me. If we are strong in one, we are weak in the opposite. Feeling and thinking are opposites, and intuition and the senses are opposites. I always think that the more ways that you can experience the world, the better. It just takes practice to branch out and tap into a different technique.
Anyway, enough of that tangent. So I was looking out of the car window right? And I just get this weird vibe about the place. It was this strange deadening feeling, like stagnant water, or dragging your feet. I just didn’t feel energized. The world around me didn’t feel fresh. When I travel to a place I feel good in, I feel alive, and revitalized, like a great weight has been lifted and I am free.
When we got to the town I felt even more of the stagnant. The lake was beautiful but there were “private property” signs everywhere, and “no trespassing.” The water was so very clear, but it smelled of dead fish.
I walked up a few blocks, passing closed shops, and noticed the young life hanging out that could very well have been me… if it was my hometown. They were chattering at their favorite hang out…the only Starbucks in town. It was weird to think that I could have been a very different person from who I am now, just because of where I live, and who I know. But then I got to thinking, maybe where you grow up doesn’t affect who you become… but then again your past is such a huge part of your life. The biggest. It must depend on the person. I suppose some people are always being affected by their past, having it bend and tune their personality, but then maybe some people have characteristics that are present no matter what.
And who am I to say that this place was bad. It wasn’t, it was just different. People seemed happy enough there, some of them had been there for fifty years, never having left. It’s just a life that’s different, one that’s hard for me to imagine having myself. One that I don’t think I want. Buts that’s okay too. I doubt a lot of those people would want to live in Berkeley:)
The things that I really loved though, the cicadas, the fireflies, and the inns. It was absolutely amazing to come when we did… after waking up on our first morning in the Italian style inn from 1860 the air just buzzed! Literally there were locus everywhere! Lining the trees, flying in the air, sunning in the grass. Not only was it just locus, it was the 17-year locus! They come around only every 17 years. It was miraculous, listening the constant drone of a million tiny little red and black bodies... And those eerie orange eyes.
The first thing that I did when I saw them was to pick one up, just like I used to when I lived east. You take one gently between your finger just around the middle and you toss them into the air where they fly away. I’m sure the locals could tell I was just visiting, the way I was fascinated by the cicadas. Everyone else just saw them an annoyance, but not me. The same with the rain, everyone who lived there would flee at the first drops of a warm summer rain. But me? I stayed. I had to spin, of course.
posted by Integrity at 4:46 PM
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