The Acorn and the Oak Tree

Earlier this week, a mosquito whispered in my ear as I was trying to fall asleep. He cooed, "What are you doing here, sweet-smelling white girl?" My air-conditioner rumbled, someone else's water trickled down the bathroom pipes, and he kept on asking, "Why did you come? What's here for you but whistling mosquitoes and inscrutable sounds, wide-eyed child?" I almost let him get to me. I almost gave in to his relentless questioning, threw my covers back, and spent the night trying to come up with an answer, but instead, I turned on a light to distract him and reclaimed my rest. After all, school started this week, and I needed my energy. I didn't have time to ponder such existential questions as What am I doing here?

He made a good point, though. Lately, I have been a bit murky in the head about my goals here. Although I have begun setting up a life, it is in some ways a strange copy of old routines. I make tea and cook eggs. I plan lessons and go for runs. I listen to NPR. At the same time, there are unexplored parks and temples all around, and everywhere I go, there are new smells and strange streets and unidentified meats (ahem). When I think of what I am doing here, it seems a strange mix of settling in and adventuring, and I feel almost certain that neither will ever be done.

I just finished reading the book Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It was a treat for myself from one of the English-language bookstores in town, and though it sounds cheesy, it is actually full of wisdom and has been a wonderful companion for the past week. It also gave me an excuse to put off reading the Arthurian legends I'm supposed to teach my 7th graders, but that's another story. I thought one of the last passages in the book was especially apt for my time here:

My thoughts turn to something I read once, something the Zen Buddhists believe. They say that an oak tree is brought into creation by two forces at the same time. Obviously, there is the acorn from which it all begins, the seed which holds all the promise and potential, which grows into the tree. Everybody can see that. But only a few can recognize that there is another force operating here as well - the future tree itself, which wants to badly to exist that it pulls the acorn into being, drawing the seedling forth with longing out of the void, guiding the evolution from nothingness to maturity. In this respect, say the Zens, it is the oak tree that creates the very acorn from which it was born (439).

Right now, I feel very much like the sapling. There are so many things I want to see and do, and I am afraid to blink and miss them. At the same time, I know that there is a future self there, watching, observing as I make choices that will take me closer to who I will be. I think that living in a strange land for a while will help me get there. I think teaching in a school full of interesting, diverse kids and a supportive, caring staff will help me get there. I think there will be many adventures (especially when Bill gets here!) For now, when I feel like a scared sapling, I will try to remember that I am in the shadow of an oak that is waiting to be.