Andrew's Reflections |
A variety of reflections sorted by theme can be found below. Some are taken from my journals, some are not.
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Time
For the duration of our trip, Anthony and I were entirely offline. This means no internet, cell phones, and no watches. I have to say, in the absence of a clock, the good and the bad things about time present themselves.
The best thing about time, perhaps unsurprisingly, is that it measures how long something will take. For Anthony and I, the biggest problem that the no watches rule presented was knowing when to set up camp. For the first week, and the first few days in particular, we began setting up camp either too early or too late. Knowing that the time is eight o'clock means that there is one and a half hours to sunset, at least in mid-July in Newfoundland.
We adjusted to this pretty quickly, though, and by the end of our trip, although we could not always accurately guess the time, we could very accurately tell how long we had before the sun set.
The worst thing about time is that we absentmindedly use it to measure value. We measure the beauty of a location by how long we are willing to spend there. The phrase "spending time" in and of itself denotes that we view time as a sort of currency. This does not accurately reflect the actual value of experiences and moments, in my opinion. I had instances on this trip where a single minute of my time carried tremendous value - moments of epiphany or particular splendor, like seeing a whale breach - which I still value tremendously. Sitting in one spot on the shore does not increase your chances of seeing a whale breach, nor does walking the shore, as far as I know. It is spontaneous, and marvellous. It is worth an awful lot of hours, and yet no number of hours will "earn" you that experience. This is a lesson that nature teaches us.
That is not to say that time is without value. We had to carefully consider how much time we needed to complete our mandatory tasks for each day. Time was still valuable to us. What I am saying is that allowing the notion of "spending" time to become your dominant understanding devalues brief, wonderful, and fleeting moments. Allowing "time spent" to become a measure of value is ineffective and costly. It's not about making good time, it's about making time good.
The best thing about time, perhaps unsurprisingly, is that it measures how long something will take. For Anthony and I, the biggest problem that the no watches rule presented was knowing when to set up camp. For the first week, and the first few days in particular, we began setting up camp either too early or too late. Knowing that the time is eight o'clock means that there is one and a half hours to sunset, at least in mid-July in Newfoundland.
We adjusted to this pretty quickly, though, and by the end of our trip, although we could not always accurately guess the time, we could very accurately tell how long we had before the sun set.
The worst thing about time is that we absentmindedly use it to measure value. We measure the beauty of a location by how long we are willing to spend there. The phrase "spending time" in and of itself denotes that we view time as a sort of currency. This does not accurately reflect the actual value of experiences and moments, in my opinion. I had instances on this trip where a single minute of my time carried tremendous value - moments of epiphany or particular splendor, like seeing a whale breach - which I still value tremendously. Sitting in one spot on the shore does not increase your chances of seeing a whale breach, nor does walking the shore, as far as I know. It is spontaneous, and marvellous. It is worth an awful lot of hours, and yet no number of hours will "earn" you that experience. This is a lesson that nature teaches us.
That is not to say that time is without value. We had to carefully consider how much time we needed to complete our mandatory tasks for each day. Time was still valuable to us. What I am saying is that allowing the notion of "spending" time to become your dominant understanding devalues brief, wonderful, and fleeting moments. Allowing "time spent" to become a measure of value is ineffective and costly. It's not about making good time, it's about making time good.
Diet
This is actually one of the most significant topics I want to write about. Going into this summer, I ate a very normal, maybe even slightly above average university student's diet. A few details about me before I delve into the "meat" of this reflection: I am a 6'5" male who plays volleyball and basketball on a regular basis. In general, I maintain a fairly high level of fitness. My weight before going on any hikes was in the range of 175-180 lbs., a number which I had been working to increase.
Now, before going on any sort of backpacking trip, diet is a concern. However, in anticipation of a thru-hike which would take more than 20 days and allow for relatively few restocks, it became a paramount issue. I researched extensively what I needed from my diet, and how to most efficiently get that into my body. I settled on a high calorie, high protein diet which consisted largely of dehydrated foods.
Our hike took three and a half weeks. During this time, we ate two meals a day, and snacked as we walked, rather than stopping to make lunches. I never felt malnourished, though. In fact, I felt great, even better than usual. Upon my return from the trail, I weighed myself, and I had gained 10 lbs.! This is, of course, ludicrous. Generally, hikers lose weight, especially on long trips wherein one must balance consumption with the actual weight of the food. Several experienced hikers had warned me that this hike would spoil my weight gain goals for the year. I had hoped not to lose weight, but had certainly not thought I would gain any. Apparently, my diet had been lacking in several areas.
Since my return home, I've been much more careful about my intake. My diet is carefully designed: I've cut out most processed foods, eat a variety of fruits and vegetables, raw, where I have the option. Additionally, I now consume very little meat, but have actually raised my overall protein intake through eggs, nuts, and whey supplement. On top of this, I'm very careful with the types of fats and carbs I consume. I have an extremely active lifestyle: I'm at the gym four or five times a week, and coach volleyball four nights a week, so I don't worry too much about the amount of fats or sugars in my diet, just the kinds of fats and sugars.
I feel fantastic. My weight now fluctuates in the 185-190 lbs. range, and I'm hoping to get it a bit higher by the end of the year. I marvel at the amount of time I spent not thinking about what I was eating. Aside from breathing, drinking water, and sleeping, eating is probably the most fundamental thing we do. It makes no sense to give it less thought than I give to my fantasy basketball team, which was definitely the case last year (On the bright side, my fantasy team did very well).
I can't encourage you enough to research and consider your diet, if you have not. Take into consideration your own lifestyle and metabolism. What do you need more of than the average person? How can you effectively consume it? By carefully crafting a diet that fits your own needs, you'll be healthier, feel better, and probably be able to spend less money on your foods - all of these things happened to me, and my diet was, as I said, quite decent before I made these changes.
Now, before going on any sort of backpacking trip, diet is a concern. However, in anticipation of a thru-hike which would take more than 20 days and allow for relatively few restocks, it became a paramount issue. I researched extensively what I needed from my diet, and how to most efficiently get that into my body. I settled on a high calorie, high protein diet which consisted largely of dehydrated foods.
Our hike took three and a half weeks. During this time, we ate two meals a day, and snacked as we walked, rather than stopping to make lunches. I never felt malnourished, though. In fact, I felt great, even better than usual. Upon my return from the trail, I weighed myself, and I had gained 10 lbs.! This is, of course, ludicrous. Generally, hikers lose weight, especially on long trips wherein one must balance consumption with the actual weight of the food. Several experienced hikers had warned me that this hike would spoil my weight gain goals for the year. I had hoped not to lose weight, but had certainly not thought I would gain any. Apparently, my diet had been lacking in several areas.
Since my return home, I've been much more careful about my intake. My diet is carefully designed: I've cut out most processed foods, eat a variety of fruits and vegetables, raw, where I have the option. Additionally, I now consume very little meat, but have actually raised my overall protein intake through eggs, nuts, and whey supplement. On top of this, I'm very careful with the types of fats and carbs I consume. I have an extremely active lifestyle: I'm at the gym four or five times a week, and coach volleyball four nights a week, so I don't worry too much about the amount of fats or sugars in my diet, just the kinds of fats and sugars.
I feel fantastic. My weight now fluctuates in the 185-190 lbs. range, and I'm hoping to get it a bit higher by the end of the year. I marvel at the amount of time I spent not thinking about what I was eating. Aside from breathing, drinking water, and sleeping, eating is probably the most fundamental thing we do. It makes no sense to give it less thought than I give to my fantasy basketball team, which was definitely the case last year (On the bright side, my fantasy team did very well).
I can't encourage you enough to research and consider your diet, if you have not. Take into consideration your own lifestyle and metabolism. What do you need more of than the average person? How can you effectively consume it? By carefully crafting a diet that fits your own needs, you'll be healthier, feel better, and probably be able to spend less money on your foods - all of these things happened to me, and my diet was, as I said, quite decent before I made these changes.
Academia
Culture, language, and academics simultaneously enrich our lives and limit our thinking. The wild is the antithesis to civilization though, and the trip into the wilderness has, since the beginning of recorded history, been a source of perspective and personal transformation. From The Epic of Gilgamesh; in which Gilgamesh, as a result of a trip into the wild, learns to be a just king instead of a tyrant, through to more modern works such as Walden; the story of Henry David Thoreau’s trip into the wild, which influenced the thought of figures such as Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr., there is evidence for the value of the trip into the wild to both the individual and society. This value is based on experiences and lessons learned from nature, or, perhaps more accurately, with nature.
In his book Forests, Robert Pogue Harrison says, “the most one-sided stones of all are perhaps those that make up the academy. The moment thinking takes refuge within these walls and leaves the provinces of the mind, the nation, or the empire, it can no longer remain radical. At most it can become a form of ‘metaphysics’” (246). The "one-sided stones" of the academy are contrasted with the rocks one finds in the country, which, when turned over, reveal dirt, roots, insects, and a small portion of the chaos which is life. I don't agree with Harrison's claim that the academy - which, really, means universities - is devoid of radical thought. I do agree, though, that it endorses a different way of learning. Learning, in the school system, is largely focussed on teaching. A student learns from her teacher, or her textbook. There is nothing wrong with this. Indeed, our education system has produced some marvellous results. However, it is a limited perspective.
Alone in the woods, the character of learning changes drastically. It is all self-inspired. It is learning by "making do". It is the knowledge imparted by the landscape. It is the wisdom gained from relationships. This type of knowledge exists outside of the forest, too. I found a wealth of it in my discussions with Jimmy Chidley, a fisherman whom Anthony and I had the pleasure of meeting on the trail. Jimmy told us about a lifetime spend on the coast and the North Atlantic. He talked about the feeling of different winds on the water, and how the direction, sound, and speed can tell you what the weather will be like. He wasn't trying to teach us any of this - he was just making conversation - but we learned a great deal nonetheless.
We met a couple who grow all their own vegetables. We met a man who hunts and fishes for all of his meat. Their satisfaction at their own independence and non-reliance on the grocery store were valuable lessons.
I'm not saying that academia is bad. Quite the opposite. I am saying that it is overwhelming, at times. We get so caught up in pursuing a fixed goal, usually a specific degree or career, that we forget to explore the more creative and relational side of learning. I think this is destructive. Happily, a good number of academics agree with this position, I think. Co-op programs are ever increasing, outdoor education is flourishing, and schools have ever more numerous initiatives to get students engaged in different types of learning, from research grants to awards like the Renaissance award. These experiences make for a more well-rounded, happier student. On top of that, those who choose to continue on in academia - professors, researchers, and the like - need to be capable of learning without being taught. A professor who cannot come up with her own ideas is of little use to universities, which demand that their faculty members produce creative and useful research. It is in everyone's best interests for academia to continue to expand the experiences of students to include experiential and relational learning to such an extent that students practice learning in these ways just as much as they practice learning from instructors and textbooks.
In his book Forests, Robert Pogue Harrison says, “the most one-sided stones of all are perhaps those that make up the academy. The moment thinking takes refuge within these walls and leaves the provinces of the mind, the nation, or the empire, it can no longer remain radical. At most it can become a form of ‘metaphysics’” (246). The "one-sided stones" of the academy are contrasted with the rocks one finds in the country, which, when turned over, reveal dirt, roots, insects, and a small portion of the chaos which is life. I don't agree with Harrison's claim that the academy - which, really, means universities - is devoid of radical thought. I do agree, though, that it endorses a different way of learning. Learning, in the school system, is largely focussed on teaching. A student learns from her teacher, or her textbook. There is nothing wrong with this. Indeed, our education system has produced some marvellous results. However, it is a limited perspective.
Alone in the woods, the character of learning changes drastically. It is all self-inspired. It is learning by "making do". It is the knowledge imparted by the landscape. It is the wisdom gained from relationships. This type of knowledge exists outside of the forest, too. I found a wealth of it in my discussions with Jimmy Chidley, a fisherman whom Anthony and I had the pleasure of meeting on the trail. Jimmy told us about a lifetime spend on the coast and the North Atlantic. He talked about the feeling of different winds on the water, and how the direction, sound, and speed can tell you what the weather will be like. He wasn't trying to teach us any of this - he was just making conversation - but we learned a great deal nonetheless.
We met a couple who grow all their own vegetables. We met a man who hunts and fishes for all of his meat. Their satisfaction at their own independence and non-reliance on the grocery store were valuable lessons.
I'm not saying that academia is bad. Quite the opposite. I am saying that it is overwhelming, at times. We get so caught up in pursuing a fixed goal, usually a specific degree or career, that we forget to explore the more creative and relational side of learning. I think this is destructive. Happily, a good number of academics agree with this position, I think. Co-op programs are ever increasing, outdoor education is flourishing, and schools have ever more numerous initiatives to get students engaged in different types of learning, from research grants to awards like the Renaissance award. These experiences make for a more well-rounded, happier student. On top of that, those who choose to continue on in academia - professors, researchers, and the like - need to be capable of learning without being taught. A professor who cannot come up with her own ideas is of little use to universities, which demand that their faculty members produce creative and useful research. It is in everyone's best interests for academia to continue to expand the experiences of students to include experiential and relational learning to such an extent that students practice learning in these ways just as much as they practice learning from instructors and textbooks.
Setting Goals
Anthony and I had the pleasure of meeting Drs. Glen Bandiera and Jolie Ringash, the sponsors of the Renaissance Award, last spring, before we set out on our trip. It was a delightful and educational experience - they discussed not only their own travels, but also their experiences as undergraduate students determined to become doctors. Both Jolie and Glen observed that just about every student who wants to attend Med school is very focussed on their ultimate goal of becoming a doctor. And, along with this mind set, said Glen and Jolie, they felt there came along a set of expectations. For them, this meant only taking courses that would look good on a potential doctor's resume, particiating in health-care related extracurriculars, and generally following the acceptable, predetermined path to Medical school.
However, looking back, Glen and Jolie both feel that they and their peers would have been better served by following a broader, more creative path. They both acknowledged that there is not just one path to becoming a doctor, and that the all-too-common misconception that this is the case results in a lack of diversity of experience in med school candidates.
This sort of thinking does not only occur in students who wish to attend Med school, of course. For Glen and Jolie, Med school was the example of choice, since it was the path they followed, but they were well aware that the same notions exist across all disciplines. The purpose of the Renaissance Award is fairly explicitly stated: "The goal of the award is to facilitate interdisciplinary exchange which may ultimately lead to societal benefit." However, a more telling quote comes from Dr. Bandiera, who says of the value of the Renaissance award, "When you’ve been part of a country and a community and an academic culture for a number of years, it can be hard to realize that it’s not the only way to see the world. We hope this will encourage learners to see the world in a different way. It’s something we think personally we would have benefitted from."
My own experience on the East Coast affirms the wisdom of Glen and Jolie: though academic culture is, at its best, enriching, engaging, and educational, it does turn our eyes from a lot of valuable world views, which we can learn a great deal from, if we indulge in them from time to time. My experience taught me, in particular, that goal-setting in academia can be particularly destructive.
Hiking the ECT, we had no real agenda. We had a six-week time frame to work with, and no particular place that we had to be. Our goal, if you could even call it that, was simple: go south. Every step we took away from Cape St. Francis and towards Cappahayden was not a step closer to our final goal. Rather, each step was, in and of itself, a completion of our goal. Put more generally, our goal was not the destination, but the process. This mindset had a number of remarkable benefits. First of all, it made every day a success. Satisfaction did not stem from reaching any final point, but instead from the feeling of moving in the right direction. When success is defined as a process, not a destination, staying motivated is easy. I am as guilty as anyone of procrastinating when it comes to completing specific tasks. But now, by redefining my goals; by understanding that deriving satisfaction from the process more than the completion of a thing is a more enjoyable way to live, I am able to significantly reduce my tendency to put things off. It is easier to work on a project when a sense of satisfaction comes from the effort you put into it and the progress you make, rather than from its completion. Finally, the expectation that accompanies destination-focussed goal setting spoils the joy of a job well done. When I complete a project, and completion was my goal from the start, I am satisfied because I have met my own expectations. However, there is no room for experiencing any particular amount of joy, because I have merely met my expectations. To make your work more than satisfactory, redefine success as making progress. You will be satisfied every time you work in the right direction, and the completion of a project will become a reason to experience joy, rather than a box checked off of a "to-do" list. This understanding, more than anything, is what I now understand to be the purpose of the Renaissance award. I don't know that Glen and Jolie would agree, but I would like to think that they would be happy with this change in my point of view in any case.
However, looking back, Glen and Jolie both feel that they and their peers would have been better served by following a broader, more creative path. They both acknowledged that there is not just one path to becoming a doctor, and that the all-too-common misconception that this is the case results in a lack of diversity of experience in med school candidates.
This sort of thinking does not only occur in students who wish to attend Med school, of course. For Glen and Jolie, Med school was the example of choice, since it was the path they followed, but they were well aware that the same notions exist across all disciplines. The purpose of the Renaissance Award is fairly explicitly stated: "The goal of the award is to facilitate interdisciplinary exchange which may ultimately lead to societal benefit." However, a more telling quote comes from Dr. Bandiera, who says of the value of the Renaissance award, "When you’ve been part of a country and a community and an academic culture for a number of years, it can be hard to realize that it’s not the only way to see the world. We hope this will encourage learners to see the world in a different way. It’s something we think personally we would have benefitted from."
My own experience on the East Coast affirms the wisdom of Glen and Jolie: though academic culture is, at its best, enriching, engaging, and educational, it does turn our eyes from a lot of valuable world views, which we can learn a great deal from, if we indulge in them from time to time. My experience taught me, in particular, that goal-setting in academia can be particularly destructive.
Hiking the ECT, we had no real agenda. We had a six-week time frame to work with, and no particular place that we had to be. Our goal, if you could even call it that, was simple: go south. Every step we took away from Cape St. Francis and towards Cappahayden was not a step closer to our final goal. Rather, each step was, in and of itself, a completion of our goal. Put more generally, our goal was not the destination, but the process. This mindset had a number of remarkable benefits. First of all, it made every day a success. Satisfaction did not stem from reaching any final point, but instead from the feeling of moving in the right direction. When success is defined as a process, not a destination, staying motivated is easy. I am as guilty as anyone of procrastinating when it comes to completing specific tasks. But now, by redefining my goals; by understanding that deriving satisfaction from the process more than the completion of a thing is a more enjoyable way to live, I am able to significantly reduce my tendency to put things off. It is easier to work on a project when a sense of satisfaction comes from the effort you put into it and the progress you make, rather than from its completion. Finally, the expectation that accompanies destination-focussed goal setting spoils the joy of a job well done. When I complete a project, and completion was my goal from the start, I am satisfied because I have met my own expectations. However, there is no room for experiencing any particular amount of joy, because I have merely met my expectations. To make your work more than satisfactory, redefine success as making progress. You will be satisfied every time you work in the right direction, and the completion of a project will become a reason to experience joy, rather than a box checked off of a "to-do" list. This understanding, more than anything, is what I now understand to be the purpose of the Renaissance award. I don't know that Glen and Jolie would agree, but I would like to think that they would be happy with this change in my point of view in any case.
Environmentalism
People love to hate "isms." It's remarkable how three letters added to the ending of just about any word can turn it into something divisive. I wrote about how hiking the ECT changed my views on environmentalism and how it ought to be conducted in McMaster's school paper, the Silhouette, a few months after returning, and it continues to be a topic that is often on my mind.
The two main arguments which I hear being made for environmentalism are these: “environmental damage harms the human race,” and “it is immoral to pollute/litter/any other act causing environmental damage.” Both of these arguments, though, are all too often followed up with “think of your children’s children”, or some iteration thereof. The gist of these arguments, it seems to me, is that I have a moral responsibility to other human beings, especially those who will live generations from now. Actions which harm the environment are immoral because they harm other people; because they make the plight of future generations worse than our own. This is true, and is a fine argument, to my eyes.
The problem is that these arguments also leave me feeling a bit detached. I mean, I don’t want to be the cause of a future collapse of homo sapiens, and I don’t want to ruin the world for my great-great-great-grandchildren, but those problems just don’t feel very immediate. At my core, I'm more of a selfish consumer than I like to admit. And really, I'm not ready to start worrying about my grandkids quite yet: I'm only 21, and my current life goals RE: children have less to do with reproduction, and more to do with not panicking and getting sweaty hands every time I talk to girls. When I’m contemplating whether I want to drive someplace or make the ten minute walk, the utility of driving all too often outweighs the disutility caused to me by the environmental harm, even though the disutility caused to all human beings, present and future, likely outweighs the benefits.
Still, in this situation, I usually walk. The argument that convinces me has nothing to do with grandchildren or the value of nature to anyone. It is, in fact, the argument “nature is inherently valuable. To harm it wantonly, therefore, is wrong.”
I almost always feel the need to make academic arguments scientific or, if I can’t manage that, at least humanist. I think environmentalism can have, and does have a strong scientific and humanist basis. Beyond this, though, I think that nature has value in and of itself, and beyond this, is immeasurably valuable to the human spirit.
One of my very favourite things is going on canoe trips with my dad: we spent a long weekend in the Kawarthas this fall, and it was the best four days of my semester. I like to saunter through Cootes Paradise, the protected land next to campus. Nature is a great friend to me. And I try, where I can, to be a decent friend in return.
Environmentalism, when it’s at its best, is based on a good relationship between individuals and the landscape around them. Environmentalism should focus more on fostering friendship between individuals and the places they live. It should be about getting more out of the places we live while taking less.
The two main arguments which I hear being made for environmentalism are these: “environmental damage harms the human race,” and “it is immoral to pollute/litter/any other act causing environmental damage.” Both of these arguments, though, are all too often followed up with “think of your children’s children”, or some iteration thereof. The gist of these arguments, it seems to me, is that I have a moral responsibility to other human beings, especially those who will live generations from now. Actions which harm the environment are immoral because they harm other people; because they make the plight of future generations worse than our own. This is true, and is a fine argument, to my eyes.
The problem is that these arguments also leave me feeling a bit detached. I mean, I don’t want to be the cause of a future collapse of homo sapiens, and I don’t want to ruin the world for my great-great-great-grandchildren, but those problems just don’t feel very immediate. At my core, I'm more of a selfish consumer than I like to admit. And really, I'm not ready to start worrying about my grandkids quite yet: I'm only 21, and my current life goals RE: children have less to do with reproduction, and more to do with not panicking and getting sweaty hands every time I talk to girls. When I’m contemplating whether I want to drive someplace or make the ten minute walk, the utility of driving all too often outweighs the disutility caused to me by the environmental harm, even though the disutility caused to all human beings, present and future, likely outweighs the benefits.
Still, in this situation, I usually walk. The argument that convinces me has nothing to do with grandchildren or the value of nature to anyone. It is, in fact, the argument “nature is inherently valuable. To harm it wantonly, therefore, is wrong.”
I almost always feel the need to make academic arguments scientific or, if I can’t manage that, at least humanist. I think environmentalism can have, and does have a strong scientific and humanist basis. Beyond this, though, I think that nature has value in and of itself, and beyond this, is immeasurably valuable to the human spirit.
One of my very favourite things is going on canoe trips with my dad: we spent a long weekend in the Kawarthas this fall, and it was the best four days of my semester. I like to saunter through Cootes Paradise, the protected land next to campus. Nature is a great friend to me. And I try, where I can, to be a decent friend in return.
Environmentalism, when it’s at its best, is based on a good relationship between individuals and the landscape around them. Environmentalism should focus more on fostering friendship between individuals and the places they live. It should be about getting more out of the places we live while taking less.