“Your heart is the size of an ocean. Go find yourself in its hidden depths.”                                                                                                          -Rumi

Know thyself is a famous quote attributed to Socrates by way of Plato. But how do we know who we really are? Are we whatever we prove ourselves to be, or declare ourselves to be? A quintessence of stardust? A cerebral pattern of electro-chemical reactions? Are we ancient spiritual beings suffering severe amnesia, encapsulated in flesh and skin? In Buddhism we are considered an amalgam, a collection of five aggregates giving the illusion of one unified ego. Could this be true? Or are we the sum of our genes organized in a specific pattern stretching back to our birth, and beyond. To stop and think about what really makes us who we are becomes much more complicated than it first appears.  

As Jung pointed out, we wear many masks depending on context. But I believe that there is a core self that stays ultimately the same. Some people subscribe to a strict set of traits that make up their identity, hardly venturing outside of their comfort zone. Others are more flexible, willing to venture past their perceived boundaries for the chance to cultivate themselves and hastened their development. I believe that we are here in this life to learn something, and to make a difference, to make our world better place and through this make ourselves better. We progress and take what we have learned to the next realm.

It is in this state of testing ourselves that we get to know who we are in a deep and profound way, a metamorphic process ripping apart our previous boundaries and transforming us into more self-realized beings, able to do and perceive far more than before.  In truth, we are the sum total of our experiences, what we do makes us who we are. Bruce Lee said to be like water. As it changes to fit any container, we should adapt to fit any situation. Those like Mr. Lee who can escape all personal tethers can shape themselves into something truly remarkable.

Let’s back up for some context. I was a history major in college. My parents gave me a choice after high school, either get a job or go to college. Being a completely aloof late teen, my path was clear. I had intellectual curiosity, but couldn’t decide on a major. I picked history because I had great social studies teachers in high school. They really made the subject come alive. I also loved stories of how my family came through Ellis Island, or my grandfather’s stories of being a sailor on the U.S.S. North Carolina in World War II. After finishing college, I decided to take a trip out West. “Go West young man” is a haunting echo from our collective past. I felt it like a magnet’s pull on my heart. I had read all about my country but had only seen a little of it, the East Coast. I had to see for myself what things were really like.  It was a transformative experience. I never felt so alive, so in control of my own life, so much wonder, power and freedom.

It was me, my girlfriend at the time—Lisa, a couple of backpacks and the rails. We zigzagged across the country for about a month in August of 2001. I saw Chicago, the Denver area of Colorado, the Flagstaff area of Arizona including the magnificent Grand Canyon, Walnut Canyon and the Painted Desert, San Francisco, parts of northern Oregon and Seattle. We came straight back afterward, three days with no shower, only a seat, a big window and our memories.  

Big memories like that feeling you get when you first see the Rockies and your heart sinks into your stomach, or when we traveled for hours through the Painted Desert in a lightning storm. We went to the ruins of an ancient Pueblo atop a high Mesa. The Hopi consider it a sacred place inhabited by the spirits of their ancestors. My hair was standing on end as I looked out for 90 miles in every direction intermittently witnessing huge, blue bolts crashing against the desert floor. Another memory, somewhere between Bakersfield and San Francisco I was shaken awake by a blonde, bearded undercover drug agent who shushed me and asked if I packed my own bags or if someone packed them for me. Later on, in San Fran I was privy to the Morrison Hotel, a small shack in the back of Lisa’s cousin’s house on Alameda Island. Jim Morrison crashed there after high school for a while, or so they say.

I remember jolly, toothless Native grandmothers at a stand outside the train station in Albuquerque who served me the best burrito I ever had. It had potatoes in it. I climbed Multnomah Falls—the second highest waterfall in the U.S. where legend says a native princess plunged to her doom. I saw the crater of Mt. Saint Helens and its aftermath in the surrounding land, a gray and barren place like the surface of the moon, but here and there new plants were springing up from the ashes. We crushed oyster shells underfoot outside a long house on a small island outside of Seattle. And I’ll never forget Carl the taxi driver poet who encouraged me to write a book, even a bad one, because it would make me look deep and profound, and then women would want to sleep with me. Carl told us all about Skin Walkers and how he had heard one on the roof of his Navajo girlfriend’s house one night years before.

It was in the depths of this country that I really began to find myself, learned to trust my instincts and not second guess myself all the time, be open though careful, eternally ready, and always flexible. “Reeds bend so they do not break.” I got a taste of real independence, deep personal growth and once that Pandora’s Box was laid bare, I craved more. I wanted to broaden my horizons beyond the borders of my own country. I would have what I asked for and more, but in return a new and strange feeling, one of our vast human interconnectedness--implying a deep personal responsibility, enveloped me, pricking at me in the most poignant yet unassuming way.

But what does this has to do with burning for change? I want to explain how it is that I came to my great realization, how travel and ultimately Africa herself changed my life, helped me find my center, cleared my perception, helped me test and explore more of the world and through that experience, explore more of myself, and in the end helped me to relax and not worry so much about matters that up close look important, but in reality are insignificant when compared to the bigger picture.