ChezWhat?

I am an Oregonian, specifically a Portlander.  If you have ever seen the show Portlandia, you know it means something sort of odd.  I jaywalk unabashedly, I wear sandals as long as I can, I recycle and feel guilty if I don’t.  And when it gets cold most Portlanders are mostly oblivious.  Some have nice coats, like the professionals, or the outdoorsies, but most get by most of the year in a windbreaker and sandals.

Hippy Portland.  Why am I wired to like it?

Because here, for whatever reason, we can kind of get away with shorts and sandals and a jacket even when its cold.  Sometimes someone puts on a sweater, or wears pants.  My husband for instance, who wears his sandals even to walk in subzero temps, mostly because his sandals are comfortable.  He never wears a sweater.  Or a turtleneck, or a hat or a scarf or anything like that…

But if LEFT AMERICA, and if you went to a cold place, where the cold is pretty much a part of the culture, like, say, RUSSIA,  something strange happens.  If you don’t wear a hat, you are likely to die in the fetal position in a pile of snow waiting for your bus to come as it grows dark.  Next to an old woman properly bundled and selling garlic, scolding you.  All because you could not tell if it was a 2 layer day or a 5 layer day.  And because you didn’t eat your kasha.

And for 2 years, one of the more important choices you made daily was to ascertain by sunlight or cloud cover, hoarfrost or snow or rain just how much clothes was necessary without the aid of a weather report or a thermometer (no, Peace Corps volunteers didn’t carry cell phones even 10 years ago)

This is how Babushki dress when it is warm, so perhaps you can imagine cold weather.

So when you return to Oregon, and it gets cold, like say, it is below 40 degrees Fahrenheit (because these numbers make a lot of difference), a little bit of Russia somehow nostalgically also comes with the cold weather.

You might not wear a shapka, but you darn well better have a decent coat that looks respectable on the street.  And if you haven’t got a decent sharf to wrap round yourself, well that is just irresponsible.

And you must look put together.  Even if you aren’t wearing deodorant, because really, they don’t in Russia either, so that is sort of just normal.

So you can be fragrant, but you must look sharp.  And for God’s sake, you must have a decent hat.

But, reality check, we aren’t in Russia, we are here in here in Oregon–the Willamette Valley no less.   Hats aren’t really necessities, they are more like fashion statements.  It never gets to 10 below, (all the cold temps are measured in CELCIUS, of course if you lived in Russia and have PTSD related to very cold temperatures for long stretches of time).  Even if it did get that cold, in Oregon, people seldom walk anywhere near as much as Russians, any outdoor activity would be purely recreational.  So the hat you can skip, in Oregon anyway, which is a relief, especially if you have enormous hair.  Ahem.

This is what Portland people think is cold weather, notice, no snow, her jacket is unbuttoned and gloves? hat?  Hello?  This is not cold.  She will die at the bus stop in this.

And here is the Russian Babushka part.  If you see a person who is dressed inappropriately for the weather, that is a basis on which to judge them to be foolish.  But here in Oregon, people just don’t get it, they don’t CARE.  So, by the measuring stick of a Russian Babushka, every Oregonian is a fool.

It is hard to adapt to, seeing so many people improperly dressed for cold weather, the former Peace Corps volunteer might just be inclined tsk tsk the lack of proper pants, shoes or warm weather attire.

However, it is not at all beneficial, useful or otherwise productive to wage a war of disgust at improper weather preparation against your fellow humans.  Nor is it going to add a minute to one’s life to imagine superiority because one’s fellow Oregonians don’t know what it is like to live for months in the enduring cold where the weather never gets much above -15 Celsius.  And, they don’t care.  Insert Miss Piggie sound here.

And as an Oregonian, you have only learned because you were foolish enough to volunteer to be sent to Russia and because you believed sincerely in your heart you might just die in the dark next to the old lady selling garlic at the bus stop on account of not wearing a decent scarf.

Somehow, the volunteer must slowly learn to let go of a sense of superior knowledge because they know what it is like to have their nose filled with ice and shake uncontrollably (forgot to eat the kasha).

Oregon’s mild climes simply don’t create the opportunity to stand in mock superiority at the obscure knowledge of how to dress properly in the cold.  Hmph.  Proper cold weather dressing might have saved one’s life on the steppe, but it will not get one a job, and it will only make ones children embittered by being forced to wear a snowsuit when it is only 50 degrees out.

“mom, why can’t I wear my flip flops like the other kids?”

Because they are fools!  Fools!  I bet they haven’t even eaten their cream of wheat!

Well, proper cold weather dressing and a knowledge of golden age Spanish literature I suppose are 2 things I might never get paid for, but might look for every opportunity to cash in on.  Wish me luck!

A couple years ago, with a new baby girl I was amazed at the mess Jesus was born into.  Not so much as a place except a animal feeder for mom to lay him down.  An unstable relationship, too young, political turmoil, lack of money all of it he was born into all of it.

And frankly it puts the hardships of the days around Christmas immediately into perspective.  Beloved children torturing each other, chronic crankiness, persistent dread and creeping panic about all that hasn’t been done and likely won’t get done.  And then real tragedies, like the death of children.  These tether any happiness, rein it in so as to not get too big.

And so then, where is the joy of this beautiful season?  It is still there, only it must be sought out.  Dwelled upon.

Here I could put up countless pictures of a couple girls who bring me joy daily, but there are other things too.

And because of one book, I have begun to count them daily, because it is important.  Important to not let the gravity grow too strong, why let the beauty go to waste while picking at what is?

wintery smelling air

a random backrub from a beloved

small toes

It is possible to see only the flaws, the faults the specks.  A miserable vigilance.  Cultivate instead,  the habit to see the beauty, relentlessly, vigilantly.  That is a different life, one that won’t be overcome by the ever present “lack”.

free concerts

warm winter clothes

random hugs from kids who just want to be near

It feels unnatural, contrived.  But it works.  They are there, those small beauties.  And if I name them relentlessly, I can live in their joy, rather than in the mess that is everywhere around me.

reading parties with excited little ones in snuggly soft blankets

warm coco

Just the memory of them can replace the memory of the fighting children, or the relentless laundry.

All the verses about Christmas, all the Christmas carols, all the pretty candles and lovely trees, all the *things* that are given and received seem empty in comparison with these small joys like gifts throughout the day.

eager students

silence and aloneness

grief and reconciliation

Even the ones that don’t seem so desirable get touched with something of the inevitable that somehow works them out to something beautiful.  Learning to thank God even for the mess, because in there are so many small treasures within the mess as well.

Well so the new kitty is actually a couple months old now, but in keeping with the awesome art provided regularly by my 6.5 year old daughter, this one is a keeper.

If you have never seen how children learn about how to treat pets gently, this picture documents that learning process.  Note her extreme happiness and joy at holding the kitty, and note also the scratches on her face (complete with blood).  And also the very large claws on the cat, all sticking out, ready to educate the youngster on gentleness with animals.

I also appreciate the cat’s tail, whimsical.  She might be dripping blood and I might be there in the background saying “When she makes that noise, put her down and leave her alone!” but Addy is unfazed.  Hmph.

Today my oldest went to camp for the first time.  Coming home was hard for her, but after the evening rolled on with the predictability of meal, conversation, bath, pajamas etc.  all resumed the rhythm.

But then, right after the bath part and before the doughnut hole for dessert, a big, slobbery, tail-whomping, tongue-hanging-from-side-of-mouth DOG comes bounding across the yard with all his doggy enthusiasm and greets the 2 year old, knocking her over. Her overwhelmedness comes out in sobs of confused excitement and fear.

He is a beautiful deep honey, almost red colored adult male lab mix of some sort bounding happily around the children, causing them alternately shrieks of joy and fear.  For them at this halfling stage, he is enormous and his full energy overwhelms them.

Predictable evening commences full disruption.

Dog is happy he has friends!  Small friends he could probably carry around if he put his mind to it and if his character wasn’t more like Doug the Dog in the movie “Up” (SQUIRREL!).

I am secretly excited because I sort of love dogs, but want this one to go back from whence he came, because he is Too Big for us, and his happiness is also Too Big.

While I talk to neighbors who know what to do with dogs, (hoping they will have The Answer) Doug runs around our yard, alternately terrifying and sending the girls into fits of giggles, until they are given dessert and subdued with other crafty means and put out of the eyeshot of Happy Doug.  He escapes, trotting out into the middle of the busy street.  We corral him, give him some water and try to figure out what to do.  He has no collar.

Meanwhile, Addy is inside drawing this picture.

The large person is her, the small people are the neighbors and I trying to keep Doug from hurting us or running away.  The sizing of everything in this picture makes me smile.  The small child underneath A, guess who that is?  Um, yeah, that is her sister Sylvie.  With 5 arm/legs.

Hmmm…

I get a steady stream of these types of drawings almost daily.

So anyone who has ever walked outside their home may have come across a beggar.

And in some places, like here in Oregon, the beggars have learned that perching themselves at freeway exits or near where alot of cars have to stop and then start can be a good place to beg, because people give money.  And so it is not uncommon to see them, with their signs.  Sometimes clever, sometimes not so much.

Often times, unlike this gentleman, they don’t offer to work, they just want some dough.  One time I told them that I gave money to the Portland Rescue Mission to eat supper and he told me it was too dirty there.  I could see he was sleeping under a bridge.  Huh.

So on a particular day in perhaps October last, my daughter and I were coming home from a mega mall which we visited to purchase some specific thing that was available no other place, because I am not fond of the mega mall.  And as we exited the freeway, my 6 year old daughter, who I want to somehow to teach how to be more gentle, more generous and more virtuous saw this man.  He actually looked more like this:

Only instead of smiling he had a sad, dour face, looking like he was hungry or sad, and my 6 year old’s hear was touched.  She asks me:

Why is that man sad?

He needs some food or money or a job or something.

Can I give him some?

Sure give him your trail mix bar.

Can I give him my money?

Pause.  Me thinking because even though as a Christian I am to give to all who ask, but still  “Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves,” Matthew 10:16 is flashing across my brain as well as I try to make a left hand turn to go under the 5.  I have heard these beggars organize themselves at times, working shifts, making a lot of money and making it unnecessary to work.  And my little girl works for her money.

Umm, okay.

She happens to have a few coins that she often brings when she goes shopping and hands it to him.  And at the last moment, she hands him a camcorder that her grandad gave us.  DOH!  No!  and then Um, OK!  I almost tried to grab the camcorder back, but then let it rest in his hands, as I feel an understanding of the givingness that my daughter is in the middle of, and all the things happening at once.  I know she cannot see that he might be deceptive, I just want to teach her to give.  To give freely and sacrificially and to not value material possessions above the things that matter more, people… relationships.

He acts a little stunned and thanks Addy. And maybe he realized that the camcorder was not a high ticket item, but he was nice back to the child that gave to him.

As we managed to find a space to pull out, I wondered.  Did I do the right thing?

Today, this incident came to mind, 6 months or more after it happened.  In reading a book recently about the state of women’s rights in developing countries, the authors Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn (Half the Sky) asserted that the United Nations and Western Nations should hold African hospitals accountable for the the quality of care delivered to people, and in this case in particular, women.

At this point I smirked.

Their big aim was to eliminate unfairness in the treatment of poor women who could not pay as opposed to richer women.  Who could disagree with that?  But their proposal of how to do it… not so sure if I am gonna jump on that train.

A connection was also made to another book and set of classes that I attended based around a book called “When Helping Hurts” .  This book discusses the problems that are caused when richer nations come in and solve the problems of poorer nations, particularly nations with colonial pasts and even before that tribal pasts.   In Africa, there has developed a problem that  African nationals come to not only rely on but expect that people with lighter skin are often there to provide the solution.

Metaphors about teaching a person to swim versus helping him across a river, and one person telling all what the answers were vs. a collaborative community/village based approach to helping aided understanding of why throwing money at problems of poverty can deepen a sense of helplessness.  I had also heard about another book on NPR by an author from Africa who said the same thing, that aid dollars often times eliminated markets that could feed families.  And of course Muhammad Yunus who won the Peace Prize for microloans in poorer countries.  Loans that empowered families to sustain their own small businesses that could put food on the table.

And a quote I heard once, the response of a guy to a beggar asking for a coin “What you gonna do with a quarter?  Start a business?”  The whole idea of what “AID” is for people outside the US and Western nations rolled around in my head.

But probably only because of the newscast about the famine in East Africa.  The young African man reporting talked about women, children and the elderly being the hardest hit, about a boy he met just that morning in a clinic whose growth was stunted because for so many years he had lived with hunger.  And of course I thought about the kids and families I had worked with from the African community in Portland.  Emergency situations, there seems only one compassionate response.

So there is no tidy closure for these thoughts rolling around in my head.  The When Helping Hurts book talks about the need for empowering countries to find their own solutions to become independent nations, sort of like kids.  At some point the young man or woman has to solve their own problems.  It is a hard place as a parent to see them struggle, and the need to nurture is powerful, natural but what does healthy nurturing look like?  In posing that question I already know the answer:  there is no one single answer.

Your thoughts?  Would love to hear them…

One of the great failings of the American education system, in our view, is that young people can graduate from university without any understanding of poverty at home or abroad.  Study-abroad programs tend to consist of herds of students visiting Oxford or Florence or Paris.  We believe that universities should make it a requirement that all graduates spend at least some time in the developing world, either by taking a “gap year” or by studying abroad.  If more Americans worked for a summer teaching English at a school like the schools started by young women in Pakistan or in mercy fistula hospital (HEAL Africa in Congo) our entire society would have a richer understanding of the world around us.  And the rest of the world might also hold a m0re positive view of Americans.

This quote is from Half the Sky by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn.  It is my reluctant summer reading (how many times have I attempted to read it?) but this quote is just exactly what I wish I could repeat over and over and over again to every student I meet.

Memo

The above link, not very ceremoniously named, is J playing with his new phone while he beds down our 2 1/2 year old.

My youngest daughter is 2 and a half.  I get several quality hours with just her a couple times a week while her sister is in school.  It dawned on me last fall as I looked at her big blue eyes that I needed to not use that time to “get stuff done” because her sister had the privilege of having my often undivided attention as the first and only child for several years, and that time alone with my youngest was a premium thing which did not happen often.

And I also remembered that she did not need me to take her to do grand, amazing things, as she is still young enough to be fascinated by things which are very, very simple.  Like red berries on a shrub.  Or water on top of a low fence.  Or a pole which she could walk around.  Or a low wall that she could walk on with my hand.

Stairs!

So we began walking just down the street and back.  It is a walk that at a normal adult pace might take 3 to 5 minutes.  We spend 20 to 35 minutes.  Because everything is so fascinating to her.

Now, a normal thing to do would be to try to scoot the child along.  I have resorted to carrying her. But this sort of counteracts the point of the walk, which is to get out, and her mind– see what’s out there.  An adult wants to walk.  A 2-year old wants to discover.  Discovery is totally different from walking.

With a leaf she discovered

And just about every morning, at least 2 to 3 times per week, while her sister is at school, we take our little walk.  She has developed a routine.  Go walk up the neighbor’s walkway, squish red berries with boot, investigate the cracks in the pavement, touch new flowers, walk on neighbor’s 1/2 wall, look into the drain, go see if the cat is in the window at one house where the cat always is, walk around the pole 3 or more times… you get the point.

“Walking”

Initially this was hard for me, because she just wouldn’t walk.  She would look at the moss growing up between the cracks in the sidewalk and ask “What’s that?”  Or ponder a drain.  Or stand under a tree that was just her size, just because she could.

At college campus, walking!

But she enjoyed the walks so immensely, she would ask me for them.  And I knew it was good.  I just had to learn how to walk with her, and take the time.  To sit on the curb.  To pick up the things that had fallen from trees.  To pick the flowers (usually weeds).

The sidewalk we walk several times a week.  Note, really nothing spectacular, to the untrained eye.  “C’mon mom!”

I remember Sam, who was 2.  I was his nanny.  He was very much the same way.  The complexities of the science exhibits were lost on him in our trips to OMSI.  But he did understand that stairs were fascinating.  And so was water.  And blocks that fell down.  And small balls that you could throw.  The delicacy of the roses at the Rose Garden wasn’t so much his thing.  But the drains that went to places far away.  Water!  Down there!  Where is it going to?  Where did it come from?  His curiosity of these things was lost on me entirely, as I had no children of my own.  I just was patient.

So over the past several months I have cultivated the ability to just watch my girl as she takes wonder in the smallest things.  Sometimes it is still not that interesting to my overpopulated brain.  The lid to some utility thing isn’t really where its at for me.  I am thinking on responsibilities I have.  Things in my day, things happening to others.  Much of which is far less spectacular than some of the things we find.  Like watching the daffodils bloom day by day.

Sometimes I manage to slow down just enough to show her the dew-covered spider web.  Or the ladybugs huddled in a small plant, waiting for the fat juicy aphids and sunshine.  And on those days walking with her is probably one of the best parts of my day.  Because it is just the right now moment when she is so little and so absorbed by these little things that I don’t want to forget.  The joy she gets brings immense joy, and the gift that she is to point out these small beautiful or fascinating things.  I don’t have to be concerned with anything, just ambling down the street with her.

I recommend it actually.  Now is a time when I long for the summer sun and break.  I want out of my routine, because it is easy to forget how to just live and enjoy life, and quietness and slowness and doing things because they are fun, not because they are productive, or wise planning or whatever.  Just because it is nice to walk with a little one who sees things with such different eyes than we do.

The perspective of a 2-year old can be a real gift, if one can get over their own plans, priorities and list of things to do.  It is pretty much the pinnacle of giving without the expectation to receive anything back, except something small, pure and very, very simple.

“We can do no great things, only small things with great love.”  -Mother Teresa

Have you ever had an opinion that you knew would cause a knot of an argument?

Well okay then.

So I have one.  It is that as a foreign language teacher, I am just not sure that Latin is worth it.

I am reading and looking and trying to find a convincing argument that it truly is worth it, but I haven’t been successful yet.  Any friendly inputs are welcome.  Here are some arguments that I have heard.

as you learn it (Latin) you gain an understanding of the mechanics and structure of language streets ahead of any you will gain from the study of a modern tongue.

The writer of this phrase does a common thing.  She makes an assertion and doesn’t really back it with anything.  Anything that Latin offers can be obtained from a Romantic language that is spoken today if learned thoroughly.  Learning the “maths” of language use?  What is learning any foreign language but an exercise in decoding? It is no different to learn Spanish deeply, the conjugating, the agreement of noun and adjective or subject and verb, formal and informal registers, cognates and verb tenses…AND they are both romance languages, meaning they are very, very similar.

Only there are still people who speak Spanish.  Every day.   Which makes Spanish or any other Romance language practical.  Charlotte Higgins, the writer of the quote, asserts that Latin is just plain superior to a “modern tongue”.

It seems that quite the opposite is true.  So many things are going on in ones brain as they try to put all the “rules” together to actually speak this language spontaneously, so much brain work, how could a language that lacks the conversant component be superior?  Latin is not meant to be conversational, so it is missing a huge language component:  communicative usefulness.  It takes quite a bit of work to make a person fluent in a foreign language because it is rigorous to put all that information into spontaneous use.  Latin can not provide this.  So,  how is it “superior” in to a “modern tongue”.  Because it has grammar?  All languages have that.  Often in abundance.

Spanish, French, Italian and Romanian are all Romantic languages, meaning they are Latin based (Latin is in the Italic language family within the Romantic languages).  Pick any one of them, study it deeply and whatever benefit that can be derived by studying Latin can be derived from any of these living languages.  One can use these languages to contextualize the comprehension of parts of speech like verbs, nouns, grammar and word order, or study literature that has come from the culture.  Don Quixote?  El Cid?  Are these not epic heroes?

I have heard it asserted that Latin will help one learn Mandarin, but have yet to find a person that could illustrate just how that works.  It’s not just Latin, if you learn any language beyond your mother tongue, the next language will be easier.

Any other language – not just Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, but German, Russian, Arabic – becomes easier for a child with a grounding in Latin. A student can use Latin to grasp the bones and sinews of any language.

The study of any foreign language can facilitate future foreign language study.  Any foreign language learned will make any subsequent foreign language easier to learn because the discipline, study habits and place where language lives in the brain.  It is discipline, but once that path is walked initially in the brain, any language learning becomes easier.  It’s not just Latin, if you learn any language beyond your mother tongue, the next language will be easier.  Period.

I read much about the statistics which report that students who have learned Latin do better on SAT scores.  I suppose if the only reason I sent my kid to school was to get a good SAT score, then maybe I would scratch my chin about that.  But why require a kid to take a dead language for 5 years to improve one metric for college entrance boards?  What are the SAT statistics of a kid who is fluent in a romance language as well as English?  And isn’t it safe to say there are some socio-economic influences there as well?

Children learning it (Latin) will quickly start to read the great classics of Latin literature. After a couple of years, Catullus and Martial. After three, Virgil, Pliny, Ovid, Cicero. Soon come Horace, Lucretius, Tacitus. This is tough, uncompromisingly difficult stuff – but also offers entry into an astonishing world, a lost world that paradoxically offers itself up vividly and excitingly through its literature. These great writers lie at the head of a western tradition in writing that enfolds Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Keats, Eliot, Heaney.

Reading the classics in Latin does seem like attaining the pinnacle of being “well educated”.  And after listening to how transformative it has been to some students, it makes me want to go do it.  And I would!   I once knew a really cool guy who majored in classics in school at the University of Washington.  He worked at a video store.

Public schools stopped teaching this stuff in favor of more practical subjects for the general population.  It is still fascinating, it is just not practical or useful for the job at hand in our democratic capitalist society:  getting a job.

To be a good reader of English and Irish literature alone, knowledge of the literature of the Romans offers an inestimable advantage.

English is a Germanic language influenced by French, so I struggle with an assertion that Latin helps one understand English language better.   As to the value of literature, as an avid reader I know that literature is a key part of continued learning beyond school years, but really, the classics have all been translated.  And while there might be some mood or nuance that is missing from not reading them in the original Latin, education is expensive and there is only a finite number of years the average student spends in school.  What service are we doing for young learners if they can read Cicero in the original text but have no idea of how to take care of themselves or their finances?

Studying the Classics and Linguistics are two areas where I can see true value for Latin, but isn’t requiring Latin then like requiring a student to take preparatory coursework to become say, a paleontologist?

And I was relieved to see that I wasn’t the only one…

As someone who speaks two foreign languages well (French, German) and two reasonably (Spanish, Turkish) I have to say that my seven-year, compulsory study of Latin not only hardly helped, it hindered through sheer stultifying boredom. Had I studied Italian during those early years I would be fluent now and have acquired an equally efficient basis from which to learn other Romance languages. The keys are early exposure, interest, relevance and motivation, not any particular language. rdb1

All of this doesn’t come from a place for me of wanting to attack any one.  Personally I am looking at what path my own children will take in their education.  One of the options is for classical education, so I have been thinking about that.  And many questions come up about what am I training/educating my child for, a balance of discipline and discovery in their learning as well as coming up against different philosophies of education.  And I am also a language educator, so I have a proclivity to think about foreign language stuff.  It fascinates me, and so I wonder, why Latin?  I mean really?  Why not just be serious about Spanish?  Start younger than 9th grade.  Like music foreign language study is good for the whole brain, and ones whole life as it opens doors to other places, relationships, careers, service opportunities… all which are educations in themselves.

Because I teach high school, I see first hand struggles that students sometimes have when high school ends and the time to go to college begins.  Senior year can be overwhelming, and it’s not even the beginning.

Some youth transition with no big deal.  Some already have their paths set out.  And some are just really ready for anything but more studying.  I can relate.  Some end up in jobs they don’t want to be in 20 years from now, kind of wondering what to do.  And many wonder … what now?

The high-pressure senior year of high school increasingly leaves students drained and craving refreshment.  USA Today

College is so expensive, to begin and not have this determination of  “Where to?” is not only daunting, but costly.

An overseas study, work or volunteer experience is the best out-of-classroom learning that is available, period.  Particularly for young Americans.

U.S. gappers sing the praises of structured programs, but they also say they grew most when they had to live by their wits.

Jacob Feinstein of Brookville, N.Y., has spent the past year doing an internship with a software start-up in New Zealand, taking cooking classes and studying filmmaking in New York City before he enrolls at Harvard University in September. He points to flying alone internationally and living in a house in New Zealand with 11 peers as key experiences that boosted his confidence and life skills.

“Before the gap year, I would have had a lot of hesitancy about flying on my own from New Zealand through Japan and China, two countries that don’t speak English,” Feinstein says. But he did it.

During the gap year, “I became a much more self-sufficient person. Now I’m not stressing at all about living on my own in college.” USA Today

If I count on one hand the experiences that have changed me, like having kids, going to college or coming to follow Christ, I can say with certainty that in the top three was the study abroad I did to Ecuador in college, which lead to not a gap year (which I didn’t know anything about) but a 2 year experience with Peace Corps in Western Russia from 1996 to 1998.

Everything I see now comes through a lens of having seen what people live like in other places.  I realized I had a point of view that was very much a product of where I came from, I saw the happinesses of the poorest and miseries of the richest, the beauty of creation (although I think I always felt inside that nothing I saw outdid Oregon at its best) and I developed a desire to catapult my life out of the standard path that many people around me took.  I still carry that desire.

When I decided that what I needed was to go overseas, initially I had the modest goal of learning how to be conversant in Spanish, knowing it wasn’t going to come no matter how many hours I logged with my Golden Age Spanish Literature.  That little 4 month study abroad to Ecuador took the little snow globe of my world and shook it all up and redefined who I wanted to be.  I remember distinctly the plane ride home, wondering how the rest of life would look after what I had experienced there in the cloud forests, the jungles, small towns, Quito and the coast.

It is surprising when mentioning Gap year experiences to students and parents at my school the response I have gotten might be characterized as lukewarm, at best.

Then, I remember quickly how I viewed study abroad before I went, something for different kinds of people, not me.  Richer people, or just different, not sure how.  People who had to leisure time and money to travel about, other people.

When I came back from Ecuador, it was just a beginning of understanding  how much I didn’t know with my tidy little college degree.  How MUCH I didn’t know.  And how much is possible.  And how much more life can be, if we want it.  And I wasn’t really thinking about cliff diving in Brazil, as much as working, volunteering and planting permanently.

I don’t come from wealth, but the idea that one had to be wealthy to do any of this now seems strange, as pretty much all of my traveling was paid for by someone else, with the exception of that first study abroad.  From my own experiences (one where I searched endlessly and kept a vigilant eye for opportunities to GO)  “No money” became an insignificant hurdle (until I graduated with student debt-another story).  Youth have a tremendous opportunity to take advantage of hostels and organizations who specialize in helping those under 25 to travel “on the cheap”.  But yes, travel experiences are not without their own planning, funds raising, saving and prioritizing.

My own study abroad cost me approximately 6 thousand dollars in 1995 money.  It was not cheap, but I was with a state organization who provided all the safety net I needed since I was on my own – my parents weren’t sponsoring this experience.  At this point I cannot think of any other chunk of money that has changed my life as significantly.  The 15K spent on an MAT didn’t teach me 1/10 of what I learned on my study abroad (and I got very good grades).  That said, some of the prices that programs will charge for taking care of a volunteer experience or a work experience can take ones breath away, thousands of dollars for a couple weeks not including airfare can be like a blow to the solar plexus.  Search for the right one, keep one’s mind open, talk to people and be creative.

I do understand critics of the Gap year.  Having seen first hand enough overly-monied youth loitering about, whining about something usually, manifesting some of the uglier characteristics of a foreigner…  but there is a right way and a wrong way to do just about anything.

On my own travels I went to southern Chile for almost four months, as I am interested in the region’s politics and, undeniably, I came back more informed and with first-hand experience of the divisive legacy of Pinochet, the Chilean family unit and the melodramatic brilliance of Chilean soaps.  taken from here

In order to avoid some wrong turns, here are some ideas that are fairly fundamental to structure the experience and make it successful…

• A little previous traveling experience is a very good idea, in a safe environment like family.
• The traveler should do their homework about the country, particularly weather, culture and history.
• Finding a country where there are reliable, native level people who will watch after the traveler is a very good idea.
• Arranging a work, school or volunteer experience for a good chunk of the time there is a very good idea.
• Sending the traveler off with a traveling companion who  is responsible and a good fit personality-wise is a very good idea.
• Covering all bases like what to do in emergencies, and verifying that there is insurance… all important details.
• Buy a good backpack made for travelling.  My EagleCreek is now 15 years old, has endured 2 years on the trains of Russia, busses/taxis of Costa Rica and has not yet ripped or let me down in  any way, despite almost comically consistent overpacking…
• A guide to where to stay, where to eat for the budget traveler has never been a waste of my money.  I have appreciated Lonely Planet.
• A clear itinerary including details like times, addresses and phone numbers is also fairly for the parents and traveler to have, as well as copies of passports and secure ways of carrying documents and money.
• There should be “unstructured” time in any stay where exploration can happen.
• Go with an open mind and a willingness to adapt to new ways of doing things.  Breakfast will be different than what you are used to, but who knows, you might develop some new tastes.

And what maybe not to do…

• Sending an 18 year-old off with a backpack and a wad of money is not a great idea, though experienced travelers can handle it.
• Don’t skimp on advices about personal safety.  Purses, jewelry, shorts, tank tops and other personal attire are details that should be taken realistically.  It’s no fun any more when cash is stolen or a pair of shorts or even some diamond earrings in a crowded market attract unwanted attention.  Things are different in other countries, particularly developing countries (where most youth can afford to travel).  The best insurance one can have is just to be aware and be sensitive to how different things are elsewhere.

An overseas study, work or volunteer experience is the best out-of-classroom learning that is available, period.  Particularly for young Americans because they are unfettered with the commitments of adulthood, and they will not soon forget the experiences.

Though the concept may be new to many in the USA, it’s an established tradition elsewhere. In the United Kingdom, for instance, about 11% of the 300,000 college-bound seniors take a gap year before enrolling. Australia puts up similar aggregate numbers in what’s known Down Under as “going walkabout.” US A Today

Because all this recommendation is based in my own personal experience, it is hard for me to discount what my overseas experience has done for my resume.  I don’t much look like the kind of person who has lived in Russia for a couple years, traveled in Costa Rica,  studied in Ecuador or taught in China.  But when my resume is compared with people who don’t have these overseas experiences, these experiences distinguish what I bring to the table  professionally.  Ironically, that wasn’t as much my motivation to travel, but a nice consequence.  So did my little study abroad pay for itself?  Yes, more than I can estimate.

But the real benefit that I gained was in, perspective, confidence and the doors that I consider to be open to me as I approach the middle part of my career.  I don’t hope for a small job somewhere close by, but I know that whatever is out there is possible if I want it.  What a great gift to give to a young person!