Gentle Currents

Horseshoe crab (and hitchhiking snail)
Avalon NJ

Thanks to happy circumstance (and some subtle conniving), I was able to follow my last day of work at Holy Cross with a full week of family vacation at the Jersey Shore. For the first time in over ten years, I joined my family for Fourth of July week at my grandparents' summer house, reviving a tradition that I fondly recall from my youth. Some things have changed (we can now take different beverages to the beach for the fireworks display) while some have remained the same (the house still has much of the 1970s decor that seemed weird to me as a kid). Most importantly, my parents, sister, and I were able to relax in one another's company, enjoy our favorite activities on the beach (reading for hours, taking the sun, swimming in the ocean), and enjoy some respite from the routines and responsibilities of life on the mainland.

Dune path at sunrise
Avalon NJ

The week also served to begin my gradual turn from administrative work at Holy Cross to graduate studies in theology at Boston College, a new three-year assignment that I'll begin at summer's end. Between chapters of novels and short dips in the unusually cold (56 to 60 degrees!) Atlantic surf, I stared out at the rolling waves and felt myself being pulled along in a new direction, ebbing away from the shores that I've happily called home for the past four years. I certainly feel sadness and loss in leaving behind many fabulous colleagues who became friends, and an atmosphere where I was blessed with so many opportunities and resources that facilitated tremendous personal and professional growth. At the same time, I sense an undeniable goodness to the movement that's carrying me into a new stage in my Jesuit formation, a new community of brothers from around the country and the world, and a milieu that will foster intellectual, pastoral, and social engagement with a variety of issues, rooted in the context of a vibrant city that I've long known well, yet never called home. Though I won't arrive there for good until mid-August, now that I've turned in my office keys at work and dropped off some winter clothing in my new digs, I know that I've been caught in the first tugs of a tidal shift, and I'm grateful to be riding such a glorious current.

Tidal pool, Seven Mile Beach
Avalon NJ

Last Saturday

Halfway through my morning run along a route I've traveled countless times through Worcester's hills and flats, it occurred to me that this is my final Saturday in this fair city. My upcoming travel schedule– some family vacation at the Jersey Shore, a trip to Brazil for gatherings of Jesuit-educated students and Catholic youth from around the world, and time for a private 8-day retreat– will eventually culminate in a move to Boston, where I'll begin three years of theology studies at Boston College. After living for four years in the "heart of the Commonwealth," I'll soon be receiving mail, voting, and residing for the first time in New England's largest city.

A Chagall window finds a new home.

Fittingly, this afternoon brought the opportunity to roam around Worcester with a good friend who's just completed one year in town, and recently moved to a new place. A stained-glass window that had previously hung in my office became an ideal housewarming gift, adding character to a quaint apartment in a stately home that has weathered the decades rather well. Roaming around two of Worcester's parks reminded me of the lovely pockets of town that I often overlook while savoring the picturesque Holy Cross campus, or venturing further afield to other towns and landscapes in Massachusetts.

Elm Park
Worcester MA

I'm still processing all of the farewells that I've shared over the past few weeks with faculty, administrators, and students. I'm still absorbing the significance of intentionally leaving the best job I've ever had, and journeying forward with a large and varied array of friends and colleagues who genuinely desire to stay in touch. In focusing so keenly on accomplishing the tasks before me and caring for those whom my work served, I know I've often overlooked the broader impacts that I've made, and some of the esteem in which I'm held. I assiduously avoid pride, yet have also learned that my humility can cause some blind spots in its more obsessive periods.

Green Hill Park
Worcester MA

With many summer Saturdays to come before I take up residence in Boston, I hope to let the lessons and graces of the past two years percolate through my being, just like the late spring rains that have brought so many verdant hues to Worcester's parks and gardens in recent weeks. I'm undoubtedly entering a period of transition, and I'm grateful for the several weeks I'll have to experience the shift from Worcester to Boston, from work to study, from years of fulfillment to years of opportunity.

Backup

Jesus summoned the Twelve and began to send them out two by two and gave them authority over unclean spirits. He instructed them to take nothing for the journey but a walking stick—no food, no sack, no money in their belts. They were, however, to wear sandals but not a second tunic.

~ Mark 6:7-9

Hiss. Whir. Three miles into a ride down a shaded trail along the Blackstone River, unexpected sounds suddenly emanated from my road bike's rear tire. I didn't recall braking, and I wondered what minute piece of floral flotsam I might have scooped into my wheel. A downward glance brought a troubling sight... the tire noticeably flattening, even as I deftly eased the bike to a halt. I saw no tear, but much air had clearly escaped. Suddenly resigned to giving up on my planned ride of 25 to 30 miles, I swung the bike around, and started back on a walk to the parking lot that I estimated would take roughly an hour.

Perhaps foolishly, I was traveling light, as I often do, trusting that nothing will go wrong. I carried only two hex wrenches and a valve adapter in the small pouch under my seat. Acknowledging the morning's heat with more than just an early start (awake by 5:30am, in the car by 6:00am, riding away from the Woonsocket RI parking lot by 6:45am with the temperature already in the low 70s), I had chosen to carry not only a bottle of Gatorade but also my Camelbak, giving it its first use since my last long run before the Boston Marathon. Wallet and cell phone, yes... any other supplies, no.

Perhaps more out of efficiency than piousness, I've often followed Jesus' advice to his disciples when I travel. I've been able to fit clothes (including running shoes) and other necessary items for a three-day business trip into two carry-ons (a real money saver). I plan to carry no more than 30 pounds of material in my trusty hiking pack when I travel to Brazil next month for Magis and World Youth Day... a journey of nearly 20 days. When I took the train from San Francisco to Boston over the course of 15 days in summer 2009, I carried only what that same hiking pack could hold. Travel can be demanding enough without being encumbered by too many possessions, and with less to worry about carrying (or losing), I find myself more free to devote my attention to the thrills of the journey.

Sadly, I had no power over whatever malevolent forces gave me that flat tire. Fortunately, within a minute of starting my slow and warm stroll, two cyclists happened along, stopped, and wound up giving me an extra tube, which they than helped me to install and inflate. This utterly disarming gesture of generosity took less than five minutes, and they were gone as quickly as they came. I felt somewhat guilty for depriving them of some significant backup supplies, even though they hinted that they'd easily obtain new ones at a bike shop further along their route. With a strong sense of gratitude, and a tempered confidence that kept me from going too fast, lest I suffer another incident, I continued with my planned ride. Past dams and waterfalls, through residential neighborhoods and barren industrial zones, I rode through five Rhode Island towns, returning safely to the parking lot and beginning the drive back to Worcester by 9:00am.

I'm still planning to travel light in my future expeditions, but I'll be giving some extra attention to carrying items that I could easily give away to another traveler in need. And although I'll likely continue to pack minimally for running and riding long distances, it seems that I should tweak Jesus' advice just a little, and ensure that my bicycle always carries a second tube.

Spring Cleaning

Not long ago, I promised myself that I'd spend the first rainy weekend day after the Boston Marathon thoroughly reviewing the contents of my room. Last Saturday, waking to the sound of gentle rain, I knew that it was going to be a long day... and hoped that it would be a productive one, as I didn't want to lose any subsequent lovely weather to the task that lay before me.

Sorting paperwork

After a refreshing morning run and some pleasant breakfast conversation with my brothers, I headed upstairs to undertake the first (and hardest) phase of the project: my desk. One drawer at a time, all kinds of paperwork, envelopes, folders, and similar items were spread out on the floor... one pile for discards, many others for reclassifying the material that I'd keep. A few hours later, my carpet was clear of debris, my desk drawers were neatly closed, and I'd carried more than 15 pounds of paper to the shredder bin or the recycling bucket.

Clothes for donation

I spent the afternoon going through my clothes, thinning out a wardrobe that has seen me through four distinct seasons for the past four years in New England. I didn't diminish its scope, yet I did narrow its variety, culling enough items to fill two hefty plastic bags with a range of attire suited to Worcester's broad range of weather. The next morning, I heaved them into a donation bin adjacent to the city's freight rail yard, completing the process of spring cleaning.

During the course of the day, a number of my brothers passed by my open door and commented upon my progress. One offered simple advice– "When in doubt, toss it!"– while another inquired wittily, "When's the yard sale?" Many stopped to chat across the threshold for a minute or so, some commenting on their own practice of periodically reviewing and thinning their possessions. When it came time to relax with the brethren before dinner, I felt a certain lightness, yet also a renewed sense of rootedness. Discarding so much paper and so many clothes gave me greater peace about the feasibility and smoothness of an upcoming move, but also reminded me that I'd much rather focus on the immaterial possessions that are genuine treasures– particularly the relationships of brotherhood that exist in my community and lend so much support and joy to my days. With notably less in my room, I'll hopefully be more apt to regularly appreciate those gifts that aren't possessed or owned, yet held with great care and devotion.

Spring Training

In the weeks since the Boston Marathon, I've been attending not only to my emotional and psychological recovery, but also to my physical recovery. Particularly amid a stretch of delightful spring weather, I've been finding joy in simply getting outside to exercise for the sake of relishing the gift of fitness and the blessing of each new morning. At the same time, in giving myself a break from running, I've embraced the freedom to indulge in other activities.

Spring cleaning the road bike

My Trek 1500... 15+ years old and still going strong!

The spell of mild, dry days has been marvelous for cycling. During my first ride of the season, on some lovely rural roads in towns north of Worcester, my friends and I noted with great admiration the efforts of various highway workers who had cleared the shoulders of leftover sand and grit from the winter, exposing the pristine blacktop that cyclists love. The gift of a smooth ride allowed us to savor the radiant beauty of tranquil marshes, forests awash with budding trees, and verdant fields– even the one at the top of a long hill, which advertised from afar freshly its freshly manured state as we sought to filter oxygen from odor while cranking up a steady grade.

Glencliff Trail, Mt. Moosilauke
Benton NH

Mt. Moosilauke summit (4,802 feet)
Benton NH

My spring training isn't entirely without purpose; it's been my practice for a few years to have a specific post-marathon goal in my calendar before I get to the starting line. This time around, it's an early June trip with friends (a repeat expedition for me) to Maine's Baxter State Park and a hike to the summit of Mount Katahdin, weather and wits permitting. As a warmup, while in New Hampshire the other weekend for a conference at Dartmouth, I was able to round up some friends for a hike up Mount Moosilauke. It was the season-opening hike for each of us, and as we discovered when we encountered 6 to 12 inches of packed snow on the trail's upper reaches, we were perhaps starting the season a bit early. Our strident efforts, collectively assessed every 20 minutes or so for their level of safety and sanity, paid off; clear skies in all directions from the peak afforded us views that stretched from the Green Mountains to southern Quebec to Mount Washington, the White Mountains, and Lake Winnipesaukee– more than 20,000 square miles of valleys, lakes, hills, and mountains.

Greenough Boulevard path
Watertown MA

Greenough Boulevard path
Watertown MA

The fitness that my friends and I have chosen to cultivate and share makes our adventures on the roads and trails possible, but we wouldn't be as drawn to the outdoors if it weren't for the real stars of the spring training season– the flora returning to life after a long winter. These daffodils along the Charles River are a short walk or drive from anywhere in the towns on Boston's western edge, and the only training needed to enjoy them is an ability and motivation to simply notice them. In my case, it took a conscious decision to park my car nearby (I was running early for a meeting), settle on a bench, and take in this charming spring scene. Mountaintops may be far less accessible, and cycling far more exhilarating in its rush of speed, but literally stopping to smell and gaze upon these flowers was just as rewarding as any peak I might gain or bend I might round.

May your spring be a blessed season, whatever training you might undertake.

Assignment

I'm participating in a faculty seminar that explores "the spirit life of art and ideas." In addition to a slate of thought-provoking readings, intriguing conversations, and a marvelous film on the works of artist Andy Goldsworthy, the dozen of us in the seminar have been given three assignments. The final assignment, to be completed by May 1, is both straightforward and challenging:

Create an art installation in a public space somewhere on campus (not your office). Do not seek permission; do not tell anyone what you are doing. Your installation should be inherently impermanent. Visit and document changes (and, if applicable, responses) to your installation over a few days or weeks.

Although I've narrowed down my ideas into a feasible project and chosen a site for my artwork, I've hesitated to undertake the work of collecting and arranging the materials I have in mind. Facing the elements of that "artist's block"– my tendencies to self-criticism and perfectionism, my ambivalence about maintaining anonymity while working in a place where I'm likely to be noticed– is surely a more monumental endeavor than the effort I'll invest in the installation itself. I suspect I'm not alone in the group, for I haven't noticed any other installations around campus, and there aren't many parts of it that I miss in my daily and weekly rounds.

Then, suddenly, I stumbled across one today. It wasn't there yesterday. I'm convinced it's someone's fulfillment of the assignment, but I'm not sure whose work it is. It's something I never would have imagined, and yet it's perfect for the space... a stairwell that gets reasonable use despite its remoteness. I won't say anything more, inviting you to contemplate this surprising creation just as I did... and to perhaps undertake the above assignment on your own.

Ambition

In the midst of a stop-action series I've been developing this spring, I've become much more attentive to sudden and subtle growth in a variety of the campus flora, in addition to the crabapple tree and rhododendron bush I've been photographing each day. Although there have been some lovely days over the past week or two, a sense that winter is fully behind us has been slower to arrive. For example, as I went about my floral rounds today, my subjects and I were braving temperatures in the 30s with a chilly mist under gloomy overcast skies. Students, professors, and staff seemed halfway back to their wintry hibernation habits as they shuffled from building to building.

Ciampi Hall lawn
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA

Yet the plants seemed ambitious, even brazen, in the face of another chilly day. Pansies lived up to their hardy reputation, crabapple blooms didn't grow any further (as far as I could tell), but they didn't retreat. Some sprouts that I didn't notice the other day are rising assertively from our recently regraded garden... sprung from seeds that no one intentionally planted.

As the campus community gears up for the semester's final push– reading period begins in two weeks, and Commencement is a month from tomorrow– the grounds are already setting the tone. God willing, all will look wondrous by the end of May, and ambitious efforts seen and unseen, intentional and inexorable, will draw the admiration that they merit.