My family moved 5 times from Delaware to Michigan to Massachusetts to Colorado before finally settling in Wyoming. I hesitate to speculate what effect moving every couple of years had on my development, but I know that I love meeting new people, having new experiences and visiting new places. I was in 9th grade the first time I traveled without my parents. Our church marks the transition into high school with a journey to visit the Hopi and Navajo nations in Arizona and New Mexico. The travelers spend 6 months preparing, and then we embark on a 10 day bus ride where we learn who we are, what we have to be thankful for, and who we would like to become. This was my first experience discovering the politics involved in an image and understanding that what you see is not necessarily what is actually there. When we arrived at the elementary school, the children were literally paraded in front of us, and we were encouraged to believe that they were happy and well taken care of. In speaking with the kids individually, however, we learned that their teachers were usually at best indifferent, and that they were usually barely fed. Still, the happiness of childhood persisted, and we learned that we had a lot in common.
Everywhere we went, we encountered kindness and beauty. In spite of the fact that most people had very little, they were always willing to share. One of the industries was weaving. Patterns and knowledge are passed down from generation to generation, and the women make extraordinary works of art.
Throughout our journey, we saw stunning example of the impact of decay and the resilience of permanence. Both were awe inspiring.