Eleanore Knox
Professor Bump
World Literature Final Paper
Land, Opportunity, Identity
As I wandered around the Bob Bullock State
History Museum, I overheard an enthusiastic tour guide ask a group of school
children, ÒNow, who knows what happened at the Alamo?Ó
Hands shot into the air and waved frantically; the children couldnÕt contain themselves. I could only grasp parts of their answers: ÒSan Antonio,Ó Òindependence,Ó ÒDavy Crockett.Ó I didnÕt make the effort to listen for the rest of their replies- I can answer that question on my own now. I thought back to my first day in my world literature class. We were taking a tour of the tour of the tower when my teacher asked me what a painting on the wall was of. I stared at the building frantically thinking back to the very little I remembered from my American History class my junior year. Unable to tell him what the building was, he told me it was the Alamo and asked if I knew what happened there. At that time, he would have been better off asking the elementary school children at the museum. Since IÕve been at Texas, I find it is as though I have become a child again; everything is new, awaiting to be discovered and understood. Even the story of the Alamo, that may feel so familiar to a Texas native, is exciting to me.
As I entered the History of Texas exhibit, I
noticed that three huge banners hung from the walls. The one that hung on the
right was a picture of barbed wire stretching out across land, the sun rising
in the Texas sky behind it, and
was labeled ÒLand.Ó The one in the center was of a
silhouette of oil bursting from a well, the
background a blood red sky. This one was entitled ÒOpportunity.Ó Finally, on
the left, hung a less distinguishable picture. It was a picture of a star, but
the image was in shadow, its edges undefined. It was labeled ÒIdentity.Ó I was
stunned by how perfectly these three words, these three images could so well
capture the essence of Texas and the essence of what IÕve come to learn about
myself since IÕve been here.
When I imagine the landscape of Texas, my mind doesnÕt conjure images of plains, dry and barren, littered with cowboys. Instead, I think of the piney woods of East Texas, how beautiful and silent and still the trees are, until right before a storm. They feel so different from AustinÕs shrubby landscape. No, East Texas- the pines extend so tall from the earth that, looking up, you feel as though you could become a part of those heavens. The summers that I spend at camp in East Texas were what began my story of Texas. Walking back from horseback riding class slowly from the perpetual wedgie that jeans in the summer will give a little girl, I would no doubt stop at the frog pond. It wasnÕt really a pond, it was a bathing pond for birds that had become so mossy that now thousands of tadpoles darted back and forth in its murky waters. IÕd plop on the ground, struggle with pulling my boots off. Then IÕd hike up the legs of my jeans and wade in the water, trying to catch a tadpole in my hands. Often if another kid was in the pond with me, we would bump into one another, and lose our footing on the slippery moss. Soaking wet, IÕd reach out my hands back into the water. It was a lucky day when IÕd skillfully cup my hands underneath a tadpole, and bring it closer to my face for examination. IÕd only have a minute or so before it would stop squirming and IÕd need to drop it back into the water. But in that one moment, I would be lost in the amazement and wonder I had for that tadpole. I could identify with what Erwin Schrodinger felt with the earth: ÒThus you can throw yourself flat on the ground, stretched out upon Mother Earth, with the certain conviction that you are one with her and she with you... For eternally and always there is only now one and the same now; the present is the only thing that has no end.Ó[i] As a child I wasnÕt able to describe the sensation that I felt. I would simply drop the tadpole back into the water and walk back to my cabin, as the Texas sun dried my muddy clothes.
Despite its
differences from the east, I have become enchanted by the beauty of the west-
everything above you sky, and the earth, seeming so infinite in its size, that
if you wanted to, you could walk forever across its plains. ÒI bequeath myself
to the dirt to grow from the grass which I love/ If you want me again look for
me under your boots-soles,[ii]
declared Walt Whitman. I, too, feel this profound connection to the land. In my
LR midterm, I discussed how passive I had become in Louisiana. The land there
is dark and mysterious; the soil so rich, but the air so humid it is stagnant.
The history of slavery and oppression haunts the land like some ancient voodoo
sorceress. Coming to Austin was my first emergence from the swamps of home.
At times, I am surprised that I made it here. I came to Texas with no idea of what the future would hold for me here. My story is not so different from the first settlers of Texas. ÒMen talked hopefully of the future; children reveled in the novelty of the present; but the women- they talked sadly of the old homes and friends left behind,Ó[iii] Noah Smithwick, one of the first settlers recalled. As I read his quote on one of the exhibits, I felt both amazement and gratitude towards him for his courage, to leave the known behind, to make a pilgrimage. But what was his shell, what guided him? And what is my own?
Opportunity. The freedom to create a meaning, a purpose, out of a seemingly vague future. To define myself. This is what inspires me to persevere despite the doubts that I sometimes have about myself. And yet these doubts may be represent. John Patrick Shanley wrote of the importance of doubt:
It is doubt (so often experienced initially as weakness) that changes things. When
a man feels unsteady, when he falters, when hard-won knowledge evaporates before his eyes, heÕs on the verge of growth. The subtle or violent reconciliation of the outer person and the inner core often seems at first like a mistake, like youÕve gone the wrong way and youÕre lost. But this is just emotion longing for the familiar. Life happens when the tectonic power of your speechless soul breaks through the dead habits of the mindÉ Doubt requires more courage than conviction does, and more energy; because conviction is a resting place and doubt is infinite- it is a passionate exercise.[iv]
It is by experiencing things that contradict certainty that we reaffirm our wonder for the mystery. And so the only truth that I hold is the truth that I know nothing. And it is this truth that sets me free. By acknowledging that I can know nothing absolutely, I am bound to no absolute that would limit or deter me from exploring and experiencing the world. Spoken simply by a child, ÒNobodyÉ know(s) what a single thing isÉ the mystery: of how everything is but nobody knows what it really is or how it came to be.Ó [v]
This is not to say that I concur with the King in Alice in Wonderland, when he says, ÒIf thereÕs no meaning in it, said the King, that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we neednÕt try to find any.Ó[vi] Rather than discouraging me, I feel that this truth encourages me to learn, as it is a reminder, like the Texas landscape, of the endless possibilities that await.
And yet while Texas is a land bountiful with possibilities, success does not come easily. Take for example the oil well pictured with the word opportunity underneath it. The silhouette of oil bursting from a well is the perfect image to represent that. Although the land was full of oil, the men who found it were confronted with failed attempt after failed attempt. It was only by their steadfast determination that they were able to uncover the oil. No doubt they must have felt the accomplishment and awe that I felt having captured a tadpole as a child. While the story of the discovery of oil is yet another example of how the land provides for its people, it is also a reminder of the spirit of the land. A quote on an exhibit at the museum elaborates:
For centuries, people have seen Texas as a place of possibilities but have learned that the land does not easily give up its riches. Still, its wondrous beauty challenges and inspires those who come here to stay and see it throughÉ the land offers almost endless opportunities, but those are made, not given. If you work hard, are smart and tough, and get a little bit lucky, Texas can be a bountiful placeÉ We owe our history to the land. It is at the heart of all we do, and our future lies on its horizon.[vii]
The University of Texas is similar to Texas itself in that both will provide rich tools for those who are steadfast and determined to take advantage of all that they have to offer.
It is this opportunity that gives us the chance to define our identity, to clarify what the Lone Star means for ourselves. And yet, for me, this has been the most difficult part of understanding Texas. Looking at the picture of the shadowy and undefined star on the wall, I felt the same way I do often when trying to understand Texas; certain parts of it were clear, but there were other fragments that I couldnÕt put in perspective. Like the stars that appear when I squeeze my eyes shut, that disappear when I try and focus on them, elements of the Texas identity some times feel elusive. And yet I believe part of this is due to the attempt to verbalize what I feel. Freedom, independence, pride. These are the things that I feel define the very essence of Texas. And yet these words donÕt give justice to the stories of those who came before me, who changed and were changed by this land. Sitting in the Lone Star Theatre at the museum, seeing these images, experiencing these stories of individuals confronted with seemingly insurmountable obstacles, who persevered and overcame with the stubbornness of a Texas longhorn, the momentum of a galloping mustang, made my heart well up with pride to have become a part of this story. The only word that seemed to fit their Texas sized character was hero. ÒIf you want something done, tell a Texan he canÕt do it,Ó[viii] declared Sam Houston with a sly grin.
And
yet at times, I used to feel that although I revered the spirit of Texas, I
couldnÕt begin to claim it as my own. I think of DobieÕs characterization of
the Longhorn. ÒThe Texas longhornÉ was a drifter at times; he ranged far and
could walk to the end of the world; but the Longhorn was also a home lover and
a persistent returner to his querencia, as the vaquero language calls the place
where an animal is born or to which he shows a strong attachment.Ó[ix]
I wonder if I too will one day long to return to Louisiana, the state where I
was born and raised. Part of me believes that I will, and yet every day I spend
in Austin, I feel more connected to Texas. I feel that even though I was not
born in Texas, that I was reborn in
Texas. My experiences in college have led me to question what I thought I knew,
what I thought was unchanging. The identity that I had formed as a Louisianan
was not as permanent as I believed it to be.
While this can feel sad, it also can feel renewing. The knowledge of my ability to change is what instills me with a sense of wonder. I think of Ram Dass, who reminds me that ÒThings change because they are seen differently, not because we are busy altering circumstance. From these shifts in perspective, we ourselves change. As we reach a deeper sense of who we are, we discover how much more we have to give.Ó[x] Finding my identity as a Texan both allows me to give to and grow from this land. I have just as much of an obligation to become a leader of Texas as I have a right to define the Lone Star for myself. In turn, I am changed by the Lone Star, that was Òforged as the symbol of the shared heritage that marks who we are as a people, who the land has made us, and who we will become.Ó[xi]
In the same way that I feel constantly
challenged to explore the way that Texas changed me, I also feel challenged to
discover a way to change Texas. IÕve been volunteering at the ChildrenÕs
Hospital of Austin since January and since then my passion for medicine and
people have been reaffirmed. Children come to the Skippy Pre-Operation Program
a week before they come to the hospital for surgery. My job is to take them
around the hospital and introduce them to the medical equipment they will be
encountering during their stay.
Making IVs look
like fun is a difficult job. I am also grateful that this Sunday will be my
last to dress up in the purple kangaroo costume as ÒSkippy,Ó the mascot of the
hospital. (Due to the mechanical parts of the costume, such as the eyes, it
cannot be washed. It is instead sprayed down with Febreeze.) Finishing a paper,
acing a test, making an A on a project- none of my academic pursuits make me
feel a sense of accomplishment compared to hearing Òcool!Ó come out of a kidÕs
mouth while explaining what the EKG sticker measures. And there is nothing like
the grateful look from a parent whose terrified child has been soothed by a
high five from Skippy.
I love this time
that I spend at the hospital. It reminds me that there is more to life than the
things I am taught at school. Ò A habit of mind is formed which lasts through
life, of which the attributes are, freedom, equitablenss, calmness, moderation,
and wisdomÉ it is an acquired illumination, it is a habit, a personal
possession and an inward endowment.Ó While ultimately my education here will
lead down the path to medical school, I feel as though I am acquiring the
understanding, the compassion that compels me to become a doctor, through
experiences like working in the hospital. Walking through the exhibits at the
museum, I felt the same gratitude for the tour guides, who ignited these
childrenÕs interest in the past and who inspired them to think about the
future. I think back to the beginning of the year, to Hopkins and to
kingfishers. In a way these historians seemed like giant fish, jumping out of
the seas of the past, so passionate that inspiration catches like a fire, consuming
the children with a love of the past. ÒEach mortal
thing does one thing and the same:/ Deals out that being indoors each one
dwells.Ó [xii]We are
indebted indeed to these individuals who connect the past and the present and
who provide insight to the future.
As
I walked out of the museum, the breeze of the foyer gently lifted my hair up,
and I was reminded of the summers at camp. For the slightest instant, I felt
like a girl of ten again, walking home from the pond. The same sense of contentment and wonder filled my heart. I
looked up towards the magnificent dome of the foyer, and noticed another set of
banners fluttering in the wind. ÒIts my story,Ó[xiii]
they read in bold letters. I simply nodded my head and smiled.
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