Finding Our Way

The places we are visiting are familiar and strange to me. Buried knowledge comes leaping out of me, surprising me. There is a trail that goes up the side of that hill. This alley will lead to a convenient place to park. There is a boojum tree just around this bend. But, roads are blocked off too. Restaurants have closed. People have moved, or changed jobs, or died. I am finding my way in a place that feels like home, but where I have not lived in nine years.

For the students with me, finding their way means something altogether different. Their experience in this place is limited or non-existent. Nothing is really familiar. They have read about these places in class, but their experiences don't necessarily match expectations.  Yesterday, we went to a grocery store for lunch in Phoenix called Ranch Market. A grocery store for lunch? I gave pairs of them $20 each and set them loose. A few minutes later, I could hear them tentatively ordering food in Spanish, gamely bringing their aguas frescas and tortas back to the tables in the middle of the store. They found new desserts to try at the bakery, too. Later, they told me how uncomfortable they felt at first, how out of place, how noticeable.

For me, the border region allows me to feel at home. Growing up in Virginia, my ethnicity was always questioned. People could never place "what" I was. My skin is dark, but not that dark; my hair is dark brown and curly. Moving to the Southwest was liberating. No one knew what I was, and I didn't know what they were. At the border, assumptions about ethnicity can be worthless. Skin color does not predict language spoken at home or national affiliation. Walking in to Ranch Market, I am the same mystery as everyone else. I do not feel like I am noticeable.

I must confess, though, that I go through life believing that no one notices me if I don't speak. Unfortunately, this belief allows me to leave the house with stains on my shirt, but it also lets me feel comfortable in places where I've never been before. It might actually contribute to my profession as an anthropologist.

For my students, I think they may be finding a path into who they want to be, not only where they want to be. We are talking with people who are passionate about their work and happy with their life choices. I wish this for them. Too often, I hear them talk about what they love or find fascinating, followed by declaring themselves dorks for feeling that way. I hope this trip permits them to feel comfortable when they admit what they care about.  Perhaps finding your way in an unfamiliar place can lead you to surprising - and liberating - knowledge of yourself.