Author: Ehren

Where Was the Birthplace of the American Vacation? Vituperation/Thesis

It always baffles me that there is such a thing as an “ American vacation”. I have always thought of vacation as an essential part of the colonist mindset, one where your history colonizing has given you the privilege to not work. On vacation people tend to shut down and shut out – we escape to a better place and we often follow the direction of others to figure out how we should be enjoying the  time  we have with ourselves or loved ones. Two conflicting mindsets are apparent in the advent of vacation: one where your history of colonization has led you to a point where you no longer need to work and one where you’re using the direction of others to put you in a place not to work. You would think that if you had the privilege of a colonizer, you would know the  peaks and the valleys of the lands you’ve colonized; you would assume that all those years colonizing would provide you and your descendants with the knowledge of the land you own, so much so that your escape into it wouldn’t so much be a vacation, but rather a hike. Instead, Americans are so easily able to venture off into the woods of the Adirondack Mountains, believing they are replenishing their souls in nature, only to colonize the mountains again. Americans use vacation as another form of profit, taking away the sublime of nature and any human connection to it. Soon after the bulldozers have taken over another mountain, or another beach, or another valley, Americans will flock and bathe themselves in the profit and dream of being somewhere and doing something. America’s unrelenting want to control has made nature and the sublime a bore: not many people truly want to expose themselves to nature, but would rather follow  in the footsteps of another hoping to capture a piece of their happiness. This mindset of following in another’s footsteps to capture a piece of their happiness makes the American vacation sound lazy and unappreciative of the act of becoming apart of nature  The mindset of a colonizer is lazy yet efficient – if I can go somewhere, I can take anything and turn a profit, in the hopes that one day I can do nothing somewhere else. It is unforgiving the American Vacation: a true representation of America’s insatiable need to control.

Encomium on the Unknown

I strongly believe that to not know is better than to know. To know that I can know more is a far more exhilarating feeling than knowing what I already know. Knowledge is powerful but the pursuit of it is sublime. To travel into the unknown; a new country with new culture, new people living different lives. What a feeling it is to travel to the unknown, and find yourself lost in another world, one you get to discover. 

Man never travels out of want: only ever out of need. A need to be seen, to be heard, and to be bread anew – in a new space, man can break off his fetters, open himself to a new him, and experience the world as a baby would. Travel forces man to appreciate being nobody; any man with some money and the means can travel the world, and in those travels that man will not once be called by name. They will say, “You’re American, right?” or “You’re not from around here, right?” or “You sound just like the others jaja”. Not once was I ever called Ehren while I lived in Spain. Over there I was nobody, and in being nobody, I learned more about myself than I every wish I could’ve. 

Think of Spain as a museum – all works are connected by time but none the same. The entrance was full of glamour and decor – most likely the works of the Greeks; it pulled you in, made you feel so small and insignificant in the face of mammoth architecture. The further in you go the more insignificant you feel – culinary works only to be described as haute cuisine, paired with the ambience of a Slam poetry club. Full of smokers, intellectuals, and artists all the like, all independent, all strong and so sure – so sure in themselves, so sure in their ability, and so sure in Spain. I was overwhelmed: why wasn’t I sure? Why didn’t I fit into Spain’s culture? Was I too American? Too black? Was my Spanish too poor? Was how I behaved too thuggish? What was I in the face of a millennia of beauty: rows and rows of works I didn’t have the ability to make? Had I really become nothing while experiencing the culture of someone else? What was it to be nothing in the face of someone: someone so rich with culture, worldly and profound, intelligent yet street smart – was I really nothing to Spain?

What did I want with Spain – or rather, what did I need? Did I need to be seen or heard? Impossible. I was too insignificant to be seen or heard. Was I bread anew? I wish to believe so. I wish to believe that my Spanish got better: I have been speaking with greater fluidity. I wish to believe I adapted to the culture: I regularly take siestas while home. I wish to believe my behavior changed: new conversations always sprout new found friendships(two kisses on the cheek to cement them). I wish to believe I found something beautiful within myself: that very thing was my nothingness. My ability to dissolve into the crowd, to be one with Spain, to no longer be Ehren but more enthusiastically me. To Spain I was nothing, and in her criticism, I found more of me.