my bike fast as possible down hills as I pretended I was riding a horse through the open plains. Playing dodge ball in the open grassy lot. Playing hide-and-go-seek in the dark on the full moon and getting my first kiss while hiding under my next door neighbors RV. Dancing under the stars to Spice Girls in my friend's garage/driveway. Jumping off of the small playhouse roof onto the trampoline. Playing basketball in my driveway. Rollerblading up and down the street. These are the memories I will always cherish. My childhood days were spent almost entirely outside: rain or shine, hot or cold-- my parents couldn't keep me inside.
As I have grown older the pull that nature has on me has only strengthened. In elementary I loved recess and PE. Although being a straight-A student, throughout Jr. High and high school, I was the one who got caught staring out the window halfway through th
e long school day. I played sports for the simple pleasure of spending time outside. Still today I find excuses to sit in the sun on a bright day, or to lower my umbrella and feel the raindrops on a rainy one. Nothing makes me happier than sitting on a blanket in my back yard and watching my cat chase grass hoppers and sunbathe. Touching her hot, sun baked fur warms me to my core. Nature intrigues and inspires me. Windowless rooms terrify me.
So you may ask how did I end up living in the urban sprawl that is ATX. I would answer "with careful research." I chose UT partly because of all the hidden little nature escapes all around campus. Because of the squirrels that make me smile on my way to class. Because I get to walk from A to B, giving me the excuse to be outside. And lastly I chose the dormitory with the largest windows on campus. Even with all this, at times I feel closed in and depressed. Sometimes when I am sitting in class thinking about being outside, I shake myself and ask why? Shouldn’t I have matured out of the "looking out the window" stage in my life? Isn't adulthood about "evolving" from being the child that plays outside into the adult that sits in an office? Shouldn’t I have made "progress" by now?
When I look at this problem I realize that the system of education that I have been subjected to directly opposes the environment that I was raised in. The emotional intelligence that I garnered as a child from nature cannot be lost by the rigors of the education system and the demand that we have "intelligence" defined by books. No matter how much I evolve or am put to the test, my first instincts will always be that that is natural to me-- to be in nature. This "primitive" instinct was not filtered out of me, but fostered into a strong flame by my parents who refused to allow a television in our home but instead fed our imaginations with story books and an outside environment to run free in. I am proud of my "primitive" side and hope to never lose it. This may be why poetry means so much to me. It seems to flow naturally from deep emotions and everyday experiences alike. According to Gary Snyder in Poetry and the Primitive, "Poetry... is not writing or books... Poetry is voice… the voice, in everyone, is the mirror of his own deepest self. The voice rises to answer an inner need." (X: 51-52) My inner need is nature, thus poetry speaks the loudest when I am either surrounded by it or when I have been deprived of it. Nature is "a pure perception of beauty." (X:51) But voice is nothing without breath, and "Breath is the outer world coming into one's body." (X: 51) For as long as I can breathe nature in, it will be a part of my life.
