A New Nation

I can’t even remember how the idea was planted into my head, only that one day I was told that I should apply to go on the retreat. I had my doubts - it was a religious retreat, and I had parted ways with religion a few years earlier, but my mom told me that it would be worth it for the scenery and the cultural experience anyway. So I signed up, and headed off on a hot July day, not knowing that what I thought of as ‘hot’ was going to get blown out of the water. I met up with a few other people that were going on the trip and loaded my things into their car. We were the only people that were going from Vermont, and it was going to be a long ride to Queens, where we were supposed to meet up with the rest of the group. I’ve never been very good at talking to people that I don’t know, but I soon got over that fear because it’s hard to be shy when there are only three people in an unconditioned sedan for five hours. When we arrived, we found that we were some of the last people there. I clung to the people that I had ridden down with, afraid to be out of their sight for even a little bit because then I would have to talk to new people, as if that was not one of the points of my going on the trip. The night was full of excitement and adventure, checking out places that I had never been and coming out of my shell enough to get to know some of the other people, even if it meant that we only got a few hours of sleep, though the fact that the girls had to sleep on the floor in the basement might have had something to do with that. The next morning came all too soon, and before the sun rose I had been pushed into a taxi which sped its way to the airport. I will never forget going over the median when the driver missed an exit, or being dropped off at the wrong place, and waiting for everyone for what seemed like hours. But the real beauty was not in the details of getting there, it was in the richness of our experience. I had never been to Arizona before, and found the heat and the wide open spaces to be a complete contrast to the lush, rolling hills that I had left behind. One thing that did not seem to change was the fact that it took forever to get anywhere, especially when everyone was crammed into a van. We pulled up to the church and surrounding buildings, which seemed to spring up out of nowhere. The small settlement seemed like the only thing around, and it was to be our home for the next week, out in the middle of the Nation. To be honest, I expected to hate everything, except for the scenery and small children, of which there were plenty. This was everything that I thought that I hated, lots of people, being places that I didn’t know, but most importantly, there was definite focus on religion. We prayed every day, went to church on Sunday, and the main focus of our trip was running a week long Bible school for the Navajo children. I knew that I was going to be uncomfortable, because I had given up on going to Church or anything like that when I had taken a job on the weekends a few years earlier. But here I was, faced with all of these people who had these amazing experiences that they wanted to share with each other, but most importantly, they wanted to share them with me. And the more we all sat around talking, the more comfortable I became with the fact that I was not alone; there were people out there that were in the same boat as me, struggling with what to believe. The longer I stayed there, the more we experienced, and the deeper the feeling of peace that came over me. The best part was when were allowed to take part in a sweat lodge ceremony, even though women traditionally weren’t allowed too. It was so hot, dark, and cramped that I almost wanted to laugh at the picture that we posed, all these teenage girls sitting bent over, knee to knee while hot water was poured over even hotter rocks, until the air was thick like soup. I don’t remember much of what else happened, because the heat and the murmur of voices inside the tent and out had helped me to zone out, allowed me to think about the reasons why I had come on the trip in the first place. I had come to share my experiences with other people, to spend time with little kids. But I had learned so much more. I had found my voice, rediscovered my love of singing. I had broken out of my shell; made friends, talked about things that back home would have been taboo subjects. More water, more steam. More confessions, both to myself and to other people. That I had been scared to be so far from home, but had found myself enjoying the time to explore, not have to be the person everyone expected me to be. Water, thoughts about all of the people that I had met, the experiences we had shared, and most of all, the sunsets. Steam, thinking about the foods I had tried, the rides through what seemed like desert, the blackened trees from the wildfire that had raged just before we got there. Thoughts of cool nights, hot days, lush scenery, and having to explain where Vermont was to children who had never heard of it before. (“It’s where Ben and Jerry’s comes from.") Finally it was over, and I emerged blinking into the sunlight, the heat of the day feeling deliciously cool after what we had been through. I showered and it felt like a rebirth, the first of many steps on my journey to self acceptance.