The value and
interest that I find in the environment have developed immensely as I have
aged. Of all the things I love and amidst every passion I have ever felt, that
for the environment was a late-bloomer. It began with my own imagination when I
was very young, increased with family outings and finally became deeply rooted
with my own chosen experiences and adventures.
Coming from a home
deep in the back-roads of a small town, city life had always felt foreign. When
I was young especially, the world was too large for a small mind to imagine and
I spent my time developing friendships with my close neighbors and the woods
that surrounded me. My backyard was an endless array of trails and DNR land,
and when I befriended a girl that lived relatively close, we spent our weekends
with nothing but each other and our combined imaginations. We explored the
trails – often barefoot for the sake of authenticity – and inspired by Bridge
to Terabithia we created magical forts to escape the simple reality that we
knew. Intrigued by mud pies and the tadpoles that dwelled in the pond, we were
the tomboys of our generation. The early exposure to my environment that I was
fortunate enough to experience is no doubt one of the founding reasons why I
see the importance of nature. I’ve always considered myself to be a bit shy,
and maybe my separation from a lively and noisy atmosphere is partly to blame,
but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I learned the value of a true friendship.
One that couldn’t be swayed by the latest fashion or the newest technology; one
that erased all judgment and allowed room for personal growth. I learned to
appreciate the beautiful environment that I already had and to utilize it in a
way that made me happy, while others searched for satisfaction in a
materialistic state of want-and-get. While a friendship of this significance is
experienced most commonly in an androcentric sense, I’ve realized that these connections
can develop anywhere. I have found that my relationship with nature is not only
real, but eternal.
The further
development of my friendship with nature is in part due to experiences with my
family. Although they aren’t the most outdoorsy people I have ever known, they
still provided myself and my brothers with countless outdoor exposures. Camping
was the main event. We had some family friends that would join us on these
weekend trips around the northwest and it is truly one of the greatest things
that I miss about my adolescence. Our camping trips included bike rides,
fishing, hiking, and of course the best of camping food and fires. There was
something so incredibly refreshing about escaping the mundane and repetitive
patterns of our everyday lives to be with the people we loved, surrounded by
beauty, away from responsibilities, and having the freedom to simply enjoy each
other’s company. When I reminisce about my younger years, there is an ocean of
things to think about – full of diversity with the highest of highs and lowest
of lows. I think about volleyball and how it swallowed 8 years of my life
before I could even bat an eye. I think about the minimal years I spent dancing
and my regret for allowing it to come to an end. I think about those times I
sat up in bed at night writing dramatic poetry or fantasizing about being a
genius astrophysicist because my high school teacher was so inspiring. I’ve had
so many interests – so many “this is it” moments – but nearly all of them have ultimately
faded. The fact that my passion for nature has always been there is now so
seemingly obvious, yet it slipped under the radar for so many years. As I presently
reflect on my past, it is my experiences and adventures with nature that I miss
the most. They stand out against the rest like the highlighted words in my books.
Whenever I think about the road trip to South Dakota – when I saw Mount
Rushmore, Yellowstone, Grand Teton, and more – I get this longing and eager
feeling in my gut as if there is so much left to see. I immediately regret the
fact that I’m sitting in a library staring at my computer screen instead of out
there, reuniting with that old friend and creating real memories.
It was my
late teenage years that the sapling of my environmental appreciation blossomed into
a beautiful tree of understanding – each root a deeply embedded memory or
experience, every limb an attainment of new knowledge that spreads and
intertwines, creating the leaves at the tips as hopes and dreams for the
future. It was during these years that I took my environmental interest into my
own hands. No longer could I rely on my backyard, for I was restless and would
eventually move to a new city. No longer could I rely on family outings, the
differing schedules of growing children is nearly impossible to work around. Hence the beginning of my independence and the realization
of what myself and my passion are here for. It began when I was fresh out of
high school during a month-long trip to Europe. While I was there I had the opportunity
to hike the Schilthorn in the Swiss Alps and was left breathless (not only from
my state of awe, I might add – I was no athlete). When I returned, hiking
became a new pastime. Accompanied by my two best friends, I took the trails by
storm that summer and nearly every weekend we were cruising to the trailheads
by 5 a.m. to catch the sunrise on the way. It was a beautiful summer that
shaped an entirely new and quickly approaching future. When I started college,
I felt lost as I aimlessly tried and tested the interests of my past. My first
environmental studies class changed everything. Suddenly, everything connected:
my appreciation for the natural world that exists, my longing for the
capability to continue outdoor experiences, and my enjoyment of taking things into
my own hands and immersing myself in my environment. It was as if I spent my
whole life following a path which gave no indication of its destination, only
subtle unnoticed clues, until I stumbled out into the open and found myself standing
at the top of a mountain looking out at the world. And there was the world – flawed
and beautiful, crowded and immense, powerful and majestic. And there I was –
alone and motivated, directionless and inspired, insignificant, but with every
intention of making a difference.
Nature had been my lifelong
friend. More than that, it was my teacher, my escape, my backbone, continues to
be, and always will be. It took me nearly a quarter of my life to be able to thank
this friend for all it has given me and my species as a whole, yet I realize
that thanking a planet is nothing like thanking a human; it requires much more
than words. I will need extensive knowledge, a burning passion, and an
unlimited supply of patience for those who do not see what I see. My studies, my
career, and my life will be dedicated to returning what humans, despite all of nature’s
generosity, have so haughtily taken.
