My Life As Zemo, and Yours As You
Two weeks in Ireland had a very emotional impact on me this past month. I love the country even more than I expected. I knew I'd find it gorgeous and magical, and I knew I'd love the people and the singing and the "craic."* However, I had no idea how deeply my encounters there would cause me to reflect on who I am, how I got this way, and how similar and different all of our lives are.
My wife, Siobhan, has family there -- and now I do, as well! Three of Siobhan's aunts, one uncle, ten first cousins and twelve once-removed cousins assembled en masse to see us on Day 1 (pictured), so it was much more than just a couple weeks of being tourists. We were in the homes of her (our!) aunts, uncles and cousins, and we were not just passing through, we were welcomed with anticipation, included in the basics of daily life, and then sent on our way with hopes of meeting again soon.
We got a personal tour of the harbor of Howth, with a history of the boats and town decisions that shaped it from Uncle Tom, who has been a key voice in that community for decades. We ate spaghetti Bolognese with Cousin Conor's kids at 3:30 in the afternoon, and heard about their school day then ran around the house playing laser tag. I died-- a lot. We gazed up at the lovely mountain of Slievenamon while hearing the legends of why it is known as "the Mountain of the Woman," and learned the folk song of love and longing sung by people in it's valleys. We learned about jobs and services we didn't even know existed (one cousin works for a company that is working to ensure musical artists actually get paid fair revenues for their songs by services such as Spotify).
I'd heard about all the castles of Ireland, and even seen photos (as well as having visited plenty of old castles in England), but nothing prepared me for the sheer quantity of them. It is an overwhelming experience to drive down the narrow lanes and roads and regularly, casually drive past another stone castle ruin (or abbey, or church...). It's like every neighborhood must have one! We're not talking dozens or hundreds... there are over a 1000 of them! (Plus 2,000 in Scotland, I have since learned.)
And that really got me thinking about how different it would be to grow up among the ruined castles of your ancestors (or at least predecessors on your land): the sense of groundedness in history that must give a community. Maybe even a sense of humility to know that, as modern as we are, we're not necessarily all of that... others have succeeded and peaked and passed along before us. It gave me a visceral sense of tradition and history and time, and I can only imagine what that would be like to grow up with that.
I grew up in Los Angeles, where the OLDEST building was 150 years old. I remember this because it was actually the destination of a school field trip. Wow! A whole HUNDRED AND FIFTY years old (that would actually be 200 now)! I had never really thought of it before this journey to Ireland, but I am strongly shaped and groomed by that. There's a hubris that comes along with growing up in a place like Los Angeles, the "City of Dreams," a city of the future, of the frontier... I grew up, like a lot of Americans, with a strong belief in "progress," and that we are somehow the pinnacle of human existence, better than all of those who came before us. My dad worked for one of the companies that helped put humans on the surface of the moon, for heaven's sake! Case in point: I grew up as a person who felt completely comfortable choosing a new name and forging a new identity...
And there is a lot of value in that sense of progress, and the freedom to create and innovate that comes with so few visible ties to the past and tradition. It's in my core, this notion that evolving from older customs and cultural patterns is a GOOD thing. Let's get past racism, and sexism, just as two examples...
But being in Ireland, with relics of its (our) dense, complex and ancient history so visible and tangible, reflected for me how one-sided that mentality is, how much value and authenticity is embedded in tradition, sense-of-place, and history -- both personal and societal. And it really struck me how important it is that we learn about each other's lives. That we hear family stories -- of our own families and of others -- and see and feel the different fabric of other lives, urban and rural, conventional and futuristic.
Yes, it was deeply enjoyable and memorable to see the sights of Ireland -- the Giant's Causeway and the Cliffs of Moher and the Guinness Storeroom -- but even more than that, it was for me an eye-opening and heart-opening encounter with other lives, other ways of being, other values. As a country, it is very, very clear that the Irish have some things right that we have lost over here in "The New World." I saw and felt and heard example after example of how clearly they continue to value and prioritize life and connection and fellowship -- craic -- over work and productivity and possessions. Of course that is a great generalization, but however "true" it is, it at least raises the question, and that is what matters to me. It is extremely important for us all to meet and see and feel how different the lives and experiences of others are, for better and worse.
Then I did something on the plane homeward that I had not done in many years: I read an entire book in one sitting, and it reinforced these musings and conclusions of mine. The book is called My Life as Laura: How I Searched for Laura Ingalls-Wilder and Found Myself by Kelly Kathleen Ferguson (and I easily and highly recommend to all y'all that you read it! and go to www.press53.com to order it -- support independent book authors and publishers!) It is a cleverly-written, authentic and transparent glimpse into others lives, and it completely caught me by surprise. I'm not a Laura Ingalls Wilder fan. I tried reading two of her books back when I felt compelled to read all the classics, and (like 80% of those forced readings) I found very little to connect to at the time. But seeing those books, and the quality of the lives that are documented in them, through Kelly's eyes, I found so much more.
Like I said, I'm from LA, and proud of it. I don't understand prairies. And I've been told, pointedly, in the past, that "people from the coasts" can have a blind spot, even an arrogance, about the central prairies and the people who live their lives there. I get it now. I'll experience The Great Plains differently next time I go, now that I've read Kelly's loving descriptions of them from her perspective, and from Laura Ingalls-Wilder's perspective. But it's not just about the prairies, just like my time with people in Ireland wasn't just about the castle ruins or beautiful stone-wall-separated fields of sheep and wheat.
Reading Kelly's account of her journey I learned things about what her life was/is like -- as a professional restaurant server, as a rock and roll drummer, as a late-blooming writer. Things and experiences I could never have imagined myself, but I found rich and compelling. I alternated between feeling like we were soul mates ("somebody else feels how I feel and thinks how I think!") to seeing the world in ways I'd never be able to see it otherwise -- what it was like to have a menstrual cycle for the first time, for example.
When I finished the last pages, I laid the book down in my lap, laid my head on Siobhan's shoulder, and just wept. I wept at the terrible beauty and diversity of our human experiences, and how much we have to share with each other. At how grateful I am to those who have shared the precious truths of their lives with me -- Kelly Ferguson in her writing, my new Irish family with their warmth and humor... and Siobhan, every day.
So travel, yes, and keep reading, yes -- but do it with a particular curiosity for and openness to other people, other lives: what they have to show and teach us about their worlds, and what we can learn about our own in the process. At least that is what I am encouraging myself to do more of.
As my dear, departed friend and Irish musician James Olin Oden put it in his song: "You've gotta listen louder / if you ever wanna be heard."
September 24, 2024