I just arrived home from a holiday party hosted by two very dear friends of mine. At this soiree I met a couple who I, for some reason, wanted to know everything about - their lives, their backgrounds, their kids, etc. After we chatted for a while, some time passed. I heard the woman talking to a friend about me — she wanted to set me up with someone.
I asked: Is this person female or male?
She replied: female.
I said: Oh, I’m only interested in males. It was so cool-handed I could hardly believe I was saying it.
I’ve finally gotten to that point in my life where I completely trust, admire, and am proud of the person who I’ve become, and I’m honest in sharing that person with whoever’s interested.
The longer I’m on this journey, the easier it is for me to see how once set in motion, I’ve always been outward bound. The search for meaning has regularly forced me to dislocate myself from “the comfortable”, so that I could experience new worlds and learn about myself in the process. Each revelation has given me a better understanding of the path I’ve traveled, and has helped to make clear the way forward. I’m beginning to see beyond the horizon of my next move, and deep inside me I feel this wellspring of excitement and wonder forming. The longer I’m engaged in this Western consumer culture, the more I feel myself wanting to tear away. The key for me has always been letting the future play out at its own pace. I feel into and act on the places and people that draw me to them. Its been the pattern for every major move in my life. As 2012 comes to a close, I’m starting to feel how this chapter in my life is closing in on itself, and how, in the hazy periphery, a new story is dawning. Mostly, I’m glad to know that many of you, in some way or another will play a part in that unfolding story.
Yours truly,
Sheamus
A huge part of Outward Bound, whether it be Outward Bound USA or North Carolina Outward Bound is the act of circling up and coming together for debriefs, reflections, or planning.
During the second night at NCOB for our spring retreat with the Kurt Hahn Fellows (those involved in the educators intitiative), we enjoyed a dinner with the residents and staff at NCOB base camp at Table Rock.
They come together for meals and have a communal space for the kitchen and eating. Before the dinner, just as happens on course, there is a coming together in a large circle — people clasp hands and speak of appreciations for one another, they talk about plans — it’s essentially a moment to recognize the community and your reliance on those people with whom you belong.
As I looked around the circle, I thought about our own crew circling-up during course and before our meals. It’s a novel experience. Some people buy in, some people don’t — they always feel a little bit uncomfortable (but isn’t that what OB is about: finding your stretch zone and living in it). One reason we liked it so much is it was novel — it was something we weren’t used to and it symbolized some lofty ideals about the submission of the individual to the collective.
These last five years represent both a continuation of how I’ve lived my life since I was 12 and a change. It’s the first time in a long time there has been some stability in my occupation and living situation. Even though I’ve moved from house to house, I’ve been part of the same residential school, teaching. More than that: I had known many members of this community from my time there as a student; I had also understood in what ways this community works.
However, my life and work is still part of a school schedule. Every year some people come and some people go. Every four years, theres a complete turnover in part of the community. The faculty is in transition from year to year.
I woke up this morning with the Beatles song in my head:
There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
Though I remember I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I’ll love you more
In my life I’ll love you more
I used to struggle a lot with this idea: that people were like meteors in my life. They appear out of nowhere, they light up the sky, destined to fade into the darkness of memory. You try to hold on to the moment for as long as you can, but it’s bound to pass.
Kurt Hahn, founding father of Outward Bound writes that
Your disability is your opportunity
and I think I’ve spent a great deal of mental energy trying to ignore the disability of instability, of flux, of constant change, and I think I’m beginning to see how I can turn the challenges of developing community into opportunities for adventure and personal growth.
