My Personal Journey

Journeys are moments in life that define and reconstruct the myths we create about ourselves and others. All too often the ideals of a biased community or select group are viewed as the model by which all individuals must follow. To escape the pressures of a collective standard a person must travel outside the constraints of a community and discover his or her own true identity. On such a journey one can expect moments of planned reflection or unexpected instances of revelation. A journey is every minute of my existence, as I travel through life and try to ascertain my own presence in its cycle.

An essential journey occurred three years ago when I set out on a personal pilgrimage. I wanted to re-travel the time line of the past few years and locate the point where I had allowed the influence of others to determine my own concept of self. "Self" is not necessarily complex or intricate, but it does define the character of a person and how he or she wants to be viewed. In my own rush to "fit in" at college I had disregarded what I needed and complacently accepted the definitions of others. I expended my energy trying to model myself according to the contemplation of my peers, all the while ignoring principles which I felt were inherent to my survival. Once the missing feeling of singularity is discovered, an individual must set out upon a journey and reconstruct the notions of self and identity. Understanding my own needs, I decided to embark on a solo expedition into the woods of Maine.

The solo was an opportunity to disassociate myself from everything that I considered comfortable and safe. For two nights the only person I encountered was myself.

After several days of paddling, my guide and I neared the island where...

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...d in an unknown surrounding and somehow I had become part of it. I welcomed the crash of an animal over my tent or the presence of the sand fleas. I journeyed into their environment a foreigner, and even in my most vulnerable stages of sleep, I had become an accepted presence. While on my solo I wrote a letter to myself. In the letter I revealed what I had learned and what it meant to realize my own strength and will in those few days of solitude. I gave the letter to my guide and asked him to send it to me in a year.

I remember the day the letter came. At first I did not recognize the faded words on the envelope, but as soon as I glanced at the return address I knew that they were my own. I once again sought solitude. In a small corner of my family's flower garden I opened the letter and began reading. The first words I read were "remember the Medicine Wheel."