A synopsis and short update

And here I was, worried that I would be updating too often for people to bear.

Well, for those who don't know, I've been in the Virgin Islands for a month and five days. I'm living on the island of St. John, which is 51% US National Park. Its an absolutely beautiful place to be, and every day I'm extremely grateful to have this opportunity. It was given to me, quite providentially - there's a story behind that, but this is supposed to be a summarizing post - through an organization called A Christian Ministry in the National Parks. Significantly more awesome than creative with names, the ministry connects accepted applicants to one of 30ish national parks for a seasonal job in a secular workplace (ie. lodge, gift shop, cafe, restaurant). I was able to score a gig during the winter season, when only two parks (Virgin Islands and Death Valley...talk about a contrast...) have openings.

It is difficult to communicate a place, and even moreso an atmosphere, but I will attempt: I work at a resort called Caneel Bay. At job orientation yesterday (yes, I've been working there for a month, and oh by the way, welcome to the Virgin Islands), we learned that a five-day stay there will cost no less than $15,000. It is a four-star, four-diamond resort that has 7 private white sand beaches and 170 acres of gorgeous St. John real estate action. Michael J. Fox loves to come here. Kenny Chesney writes songs about this place. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie came here (are they still together? They were together, right?). The vice president came here last year (whoever the vice president is...). Billionaires and celebrities come here to "get away from it all." You could say its a rather dapper place.

Of course I haven't seen any of these people (yet), and of course, I probably wouldn't recognize them if they were right in front me asking for an SPF 8 rubdown. I have, however, hiked a number of gorgeous trails and guts (a natural drainage ditch, teeming with unique plant life), bouldered on the edge of the ocean, scuba dived-dove-doven through coral reefs rife with vibrant sea life, and watched super stoned locals mess with tourists. You see, St John is an island of contrasts: beautiful scenery, spectacular views, interesting wildlife (oh yeah, wild donkeys, did I mention wild donkeys?), and a long history of being intentionally purchased for the preservation of the beauty of the island. And yet the vast majority of people work two jobs (cost of living here is high - 100% mark up on all food, for starters), and once off work, hit the bars. End up story. No travel (hitchhiking is the recommended mode of transportation), no adventure, no exploration, no challenge. Just a lot of beer and rum (which, incidentally, is cheaper than milk or juice...).

An author I am currently reading suggests that “if our lives are dominated by a search for happiness, then perhaps few activities reveal as much about the dynamics of this quest – in all its ardour and paradoxes – than our travels.” There is much in St. John that would attract people – the sea, the lifestyles, the island culture, the weather; and yet my search is not settled by merely a situation: it can only be finalized in a disposition, and not a destination.

I trust you will find the same is true for yourself.

(This post dedicated to Alain de Botton, the donkey I got to pet, and the Bowden family, who is late for everything. This post was pretty late.)

A prelude, and preview of things to come.

Within the pages of his brilliant and beloved self-reflection, St. Augustine of Hippo observes: “in the immense court of my memory, sky and earth and sea are readily available to me, together with everything that I have ever been able to perceive in them…and there I come to meet myself.”

That is well and good for our ancient comrade, but as many of you know all too well, my memory is more of a coat closet than an immense court. And so, after resisting valiantly for so long in the battle of technological takeover (Twitter! Droid! All you angry birds! You’ll never take me alive!), I wave the white flag and give in to the blogosphere for the sake of communicative expediency and Dumbledore-like memory storage strategy. 

I hope to be honest, but not awkwardly so; I hope to be expressive but not exaggerated; I hope to be grateful but not boastful; and like an 82-year old man on a heavy drink diet of prune juice, I hope to be regular but not too much.

And if no one reads this, at the very least I will in a few years (or, more than likely, a few months), and recall that, oh yes! I did travel here!, and wow! I forgot about that life-changing event!

Here’s to you, synthetic memory.

(This post dedicated to Amy Easley, Isaac Miller, Puerto Rico airports, and not wordpress.)