Random Inspiration

Uncollected leaves
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

One of this week's projects involved tweaking our contribution to a yet-to-be-published booklet that showcases redesigned or newly-constructed science buildings that promote innovative opportunities for research, learning, and interaction among all members of a campus community. In our case, throughout the process of renovating and adding to our science complex, one of the most important design principles was simply to foster "the serendipitous collision of ideas." I've used that phrase with some frequency as I've written about the science center, offered tours of the facility to visitors, and described this part of my work to faculty, students, and staff.

Just this afternoon, I came across a slightly different take on this concept. While browsing through The Chronicle of Higher Education (one of many publications I try to monitor with some regularity), I stumbled upon an article by an adjunct professor who developed an innovative solution to a vexing problem: How to hold office hours without an office? A Holy Cross faculty member whom I know well holds some office hours in the coffee shop in the student center, so it was that connection that attracted me to the article, which is a brief and reasonably entertaining personal narrative.

As I've become more involved and connected on campus this semester, I've experienced the "serendipitous collision of ideas" quite often over the past several week, particularly when I walk the halls of the building where I work to take a break between tasks or refill my ever-present mug of Earl Grey tea. The Classics Department has the best and most frequented water cooler on the floor; a certain professor of religious studies and I have inspired one another's research; a visual arts professor and I routinely discuss contemporary themes in cartography and folk music. In meeting with students, and in nurturing connections with colleagues over lunch and other social functions, I've enjoyed the conversations and interactions that have occurred in other settings than those in which we do the majority of our work, or at least the tasks explicitly indicated in our job descriptions.

Yet I've noticed the exact opposite in many public spaces over that same stretch of time. Strolling through downtown Boston recently, I overheard plenty of chatter, but it was between folks who clearly know one another, and in many cases, was directed into a cell phone. In a public park in Providence, benches sat empty on a lovely day, while a short distance away, a coffee shop was packed to the gills, with the majority of patrons typing away on laptops, surrounded by earbud-augmented quiet. In the communities of New England, which tend to have a great deal of social, cultural, artistic, and intellectual capital, the potential for transformative inspiration triggered by random exchanges seems boundless. Yet it's been a long while since I've randomly gotten into a conversation– whether responding with enthusiasm or initiating it with some anxiety– with a fellow traveler on the subway, a bus, or a plane.

I'm the first to admit that, having an appreciable introverted streak in my personality, I'm more apt to notice something intriguing than to engage its source– whether that means asking someone about the book he's reading, making a note to research a place that attracts my attention, walking into an establishment whose storefront intrigues me (within reason, of course... I'm committed to window shopping only at tattoo parlors), and so on. Yet, in describing, experiencing, and relishing the serendipitous collision of ideas in various spaces on the Holy Cross campus, I can't help feeling the impetus to do my part to foster such occurrences in my travels beyond the College's gates.

Priorities

I know why I haven't blogged for a few weeks. It hasn't been important to me.

In processing my experiences in Bolivia, working with a phenomenal student cast and crew towards the recent opening of Machinal on campus, toiling diligently with several faculty members on grant proposals, and working on an application to theology studies, my time has become a precious resource. Moreover, I've found myself more motivated by these projects– as well as the desire to sustain the flexibility to respond to serendipitous opportunities for rich conversation– than by the idea of developing some theme on which to post thoughts and reflections. It's far easier, and far more fulfilling, to work with a known audience– whether on stage, down the hall, or one the other end of a timely phone call or carefully crafted letter.

Yet the play's run ends this coming Saturday, the workload in the grants office has eased (for now), and I'm approaching with serious thought and prayer the question of how to use the time I'll soon regain as some delightful activities subside. I feel a nudge to pick up my camera more often, setting out not to capture a specific image, but to practice another way of witnessing the visual beauty that I so often encounter in this part of the world. I want to engage in reflective and creative writing more regularly; not only for the sake of journaling and recording my musings, but also to explore the uncharted paths that I often notice at the end of my thoughts.

Hand of Christ sculpture and fall foliage
College of the Holy Cross

For some reason, today's elections have brought these inklings into greater focus. For although I voted today for specific candidates seeking specific offices, as well as a few state referenda concerning certain laws, I felt I was also expressing my choices about the priorities that I believe our nation should pursue. In a similar, though perhaps rather unrelated way, I hope that the manner in which I use and apportion my time in the coming weeks and months does reflect my priorities, and that these priorities in turn allow me to be the best friend, colleague, brother, and person that I can be.

Bolivia

Last week, during the Holy Cross fall break, I accompanied a fellow Jesuit and the ten students in his "Teología Anína" seminar to La Paz for several days of lectures, panel presentations, discussions, and excursions that built on the material covered in the course. Though only in Bolivia for five full days, bookended by frustrating caprices of international travel spread out over as much as 22 hours, I found myself blessed by a variety of experiences, encounters, and insights that I continue to treasure in my memory and reflect upon in mind and heart alike.

Descending into La Paz

I read in a guidebook that "the first sight of La Paz will (literally) take your breath away." I knew that the elevation (~12,000 feet) would be an issue, and I certainly felt a great deal of shock (especially as a seasoned athlete) when I gasped for air on the third step up a flight of stairs at the theology institute where we were staying. Yet I felt that more existential sense of breathlessness, signifying wonder and awe, as our charmingly clunky minibus descended the twisting road down from the airport, emerging from a cloud bank into a city that creeps in dizzying style up the slopes of sharp valleys.

Tocolí and Lago Titicaca

I spent two weeks in rural areas of Chile during a trip to that country during summer 2007, so I'd had prior experience of the stark contrast between the stunning beauty of "el campo" and the hardship, poverty, and isolation experienced by those who strive to make their living there. Bolivia was no different; I felt myself balancing the temptation to romanticize the splendor of an Aymara village on the shores of Lake Titicaca with the frank awareness that the villagers lead a hard life of farming, raising livestock, and depending on a climate whose patterns are becoming increasingly less predictable. Nevertheless, I couldn't help wondering if there is more contentment to be found in a hard life that includes deep ties to a beautiful place, and a comfortable life that is relatively detached from the natural terrain in which it is lived.

Outskirts of El Alto

There's so much in the United States that allows us to have significant control of our destiny simply because it reliably functions properly. We take our infrastructure and resources for granted so routinely that something like a flat tire or a power outage comes as a huge shock. Well, we had at least one power outage while at staying at the theology institute in La Paz, and our minibus blew a tire on two separate occasions as we trundled along dusty and rocky roadbeds in the altiplano. While I'm sure that many (if not all) of us experienced some frustrations with these delays, obstacles, and perturbations, I was impressed by how well the group took these surprises in relative stride, even if that meant taking some time to doze while the driver and I worked to change a tire (a feat I've now accomplished on two continents), or using an unexpected stop at a mechanic's roadside stall to explore a small town through which we had passed earlier in the day. 

Breathing Deeply

Autumn dawn, College of the Holy Cross
Worcester MA

Fall Break arrived yesterday at Holy Cross, as classes wound down for a one-week hiatus. Campus seemed to empty abruptly, as quickly as the trees on the College's stately grounds seemed to shed their summer greenness for the flaming hues of autumn.

For many professors with whom I chat regularly, the coming week will be a welcome time to breathe, six weeks into a semester that has proceeded at a breakneck pace. For the students, it's a chance to go home, or visit friends at other schools, but generally to take time that they surely need for restoration amidst their coursework, activities, and other pursuits. With the air turning more crisp by the day (this past week's unseasonable mildness notwithstanding), I'm reminded that this is a time of year to notice the changing atmosphere, to savor the gifts that attend each moment in a busy world, and to seek abiding signs of God's enduring, timeless presence wherever and whenever they may be found.

As I'll be spending the coming week in La Paz with a fellow Jesuit and the ten students in his seminar on theology and inculturation in the Andes, I'll also be breathing deeply... of air that is thin (the city is nearly 12,000 feet above sea level), but surely thick with grace and blessings.

Disconnected Thoughts

Daybreak at Holy Cross
September 2012

Why so long since my last post?

For one thing, it's been quite the first month of the semester. The stretch from the final day of August to the final day of September included:

• The first days of class
• Two individual grant submissions, periodic updates of the office website, and two major proposal projects (both ongoing)
• Hosting the College's trustees for dinner during their fall meeting
• Three days of events celebrating the inauguration of the new president of Holy Cross
• Preparations for a trip to Bolivia next week
• Rehearsals for the theater department's production of "Machinal"
• The daily rhythm of research, writing, meetings, chatting in the hallways, and so on

In addition, amidst this delightful breadth and quantity of events, I've increasingly relished the soothing power of quieter, contemplative time. Specifically, spending my evenings (after Mass and dinner and perhaps an evening walk with my Jesuit brothers) in the calming pursuits of reading, writing, knitting, praying, and listening to classical music, all with my door propped open to let gentle breezes cycle through.

Furthermore, continuing on the meditations described in a previous post, I'm increasingly skeptical of this blog's ability to communicate in the ways that I intend, and in ways that are consistent with the depth of communication that I believe is deserved by any with whom I might engage in conversation. I struggle to discover in my blogging, despite its potential for breadth of audience, a capacity to unify depth of connection and specificity of audience. I know that I find, and relish, that latter synergy in the art of written correspondence that I and some good friends maintain... a practice, I might add, that has recently (and happily) been occupying time that otherwise might be devoted to blogging. Yet perhaps I'm conceiving of this medium, and my usage of it, in ways not entirely consistent with its strengths.

I'm much closer to concluding this period of blogging than when I first wrote about this topic in July. Yet I'm not completely convinced that my work, and my learning, is finished here. One thing seems to be true... I'll be changing my style of, and approach to, using this method of communication, whether I stay with it or let it go. I'd welcome any thoughts, not only about how I might proceed, but also about your experience of communication in all its forms, particularly those that you savor most deeply.

Labor Day

In helping to organize and plan our community's celebration of Labor Day, I've found the following prayer to be particularly apt, given the state of affairs in our nation and our world. May each of you be blessed with fruitful labor, and restorative leisure in due measure, this day and throughout the weeks and months ahead.

O God, who through human labor

never cease to perfect and govern the vast work of creation,

listen to the supplications of your people

and grant that all men and women

may find work that befits their dignity,

joins them more closely to one another

and enables them to serve their neighbor.

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

one God, for ever and ever.

– Collect Prayer from Mass for the Sanctification of Human Labor

Speeding Up, Slowing Down

The new academic year is off and running at Holy Cross, as faculty have returned, students moved in last weekend, and classes began last Wednesday. The Grants Office has taken on three major projects since August 20, all of them involving a moderate yet steady investment of time and effort that keeps me happily occupied. Although various deadlines are comfortably situated at the end of September, I'm noticing a sustained, even occasionally urgent, rhythm in the tasks and interactions that fill my days– meetings, phone calls, online research, document revision, and strolling the corridors to chat with professors and clear my mind.

Tower Hill Botanic Garden
Boylston MA

The increased intensity of my working days– a welcome change after some very slow and quiet days in early August– has inspired an intentional calming of my evenings. Walking up the hill to the Jesuit community at the end of each afternoon, joining my brothers for Mass and dinner, savoring some of the last pleasant evenings to chat and dine on our patio, has been a delightful reward for each day of work. In the evenings, I haven't felt much inclination to return to the world of Internet and e-mail; I've instead found myself reading, penning letters, and knitting, often while listening to the rising crescendo of crickets as cool nights beckon sleep with open windows. It's been surprisingly pleasant, even liberating, to claim these stretches of time for maintaining contact with the deeper fibers of my life– admiring the subtle wonders of nature; delving into intriguing poetry and prose; sustaining and savoring the bonds that connect the Jesuits with whom I live, pray, and work; crafting correspondence that overcomes distance no less powerfully (and sometimes much more so) than other forms of communication.

Shifting daily between these two paces does take effort and intention; I imagine that I'm getting some sense of what it's like to run through the range of a transmission (I've never learned to "drive a stick") on a road trip that involves both modern highways and older country roads. I'm glad to have both speeds in my life as the semester gets rolling, and appreciate the contribution that these complementary modes of work and rest make to my ongoing journey.