I love life. It is to be lived, embraced. Thoughtfully, I am a purveyor of experiences–an engager of the human condition. Exploring outdoors and travel are as essential as food and air to me. Time, energy, and resources are spent trying to take in the next thing, explore the next place, or fulfill some deep wondering. I can’t seem to get enough–enough culture, enough diversity, enough serving others, enough curiosity about how others live, enough exploring, enough inhaling of new-to-me experiences. As I slowly meander the waters into adulthood, I am compelled to ask why and how I can sustain my perpetual curiosity about our world. It seemed to work well as a single young adult, but as I fulfill one dream of having a family some of the other dreams have had to be put on hold or even sacrificed. And I begin to wonder if my curiosity has gotten out of hand…if it is even meant to be sustained. I have always seen my lust for life as a strength, but then I had never thought about what it means to sustain enthusiasm and curiosity.
Until recently.
With this being one of the warmest winters to date (welcomed bittersweetly in my residing northern climate), I cannot help but begin to wonder what my need to consume experiences does to our planet. Despite my efforts to “leave no footprint” when I camp, hike, rock climb, or kayak, I wonder how my tread affects the local ecosystems. The planet is only one aspect of this. How does my need to consume new and bedazzling and enriching and beautiful and endorphin-inducing experiences affect my long-term finances? How does it affect my relationships? What sort of rub does it leave on my soul?
There are times when I sense myself trying to absorb a one-sided-what-can-I-gain-from-you experience with a person, instead of an authentic exchange. This was first exposed to me while traveling a museum in Spain in 2002. Joining a group that had a tour guide, I was exhilarated by the artwork and ancientness of the architecture we explored. Our tour guide was particularly passionate, and really lost his cool when someone in the group next to us tried to take a picture. He explained to us that the flash of a camera wears down the paint on these glorious paintings–if they are repeatedly exposed. He went on, yelling now, his right fist clenched to punctuate his vigor, “Where you are from–in America–you do not have things this old. You cannot appreciate the labor of this time period. There is NOTHING like this where you come from. NOTHING!” Gulp. I didn’t take the picture, but I could feel my face flush with embarrassment. That was the first time a scant conviction seemed to creep into my soul concerning my need to consume.
My need to consume: consume experiences.
Let me be clear, curiosity, in and of itself, isn’t a bad thing. Curiosity is the material that inventors, artists, and scientists are made of. Curiosity does change the world for the better. But the way we go about it, the ravenous consuming of our curiosity is what can lead to the soul’s choking.
I am trying to be aware of the spaces I just woof down for the sake of my pride. I am trying to slow down and be curious about minutia instead of just foreign and far off places. I am hoping to leave this world quietly without having made a buffet of our planet for my personal gain. I am trying to see people as not something I can sap life out of but something that can be an exchange. I am trying to remain curious without sacrificing being true to myself. I am trying to teach my child that we ought to be curious and enthusiastic about the world around us, but that it doesn’t mean we have to go somewhere every day. I am trying to honor the seasons of life–of which some seem mundane and deprived of anything new, and others are so full of newness my spirit is overwhelmed. I am trying not to use my faith and my curiosity about God to justify my need for new experiences.
I am just trying to walk in who I am: curious and consuming more mundane. And I can be at peace with that.
CLUB MADDOX 