Operation Overland: Precursor to a Journey

I just got settled into my hotel room here in Fredericksburg. I wrote this blog entry while on the train, but there was no WiFi so I couldn't post it. Just pretend I posted this at like 8 in the morning today.

A couple of people have asked me why I have chosen with my last few weeks as a man truly bound by nothing to traverse the countryside of Northern Virginia, as opposed to a more exotic and glamorous destination, such as Europe. And since this trip is not merely a random manifestation of a subconscious desire to travel to an arbitrary destination, and is the deliberate product of no small amount of contemplation and planning, I feel compelled to respond to these inquiries in a public forum, in the hopes that other might read my justification for leaving, and perhaps be inspired to undertake a journey of their own.

There is a growing infatuation among Americans, especially Americans in my generation, with the lifestyle and culture of Europe; Christian Lander satirizes this love affair (predominantly caucasian) American Twentysomethings have with Europe in his blog, Stuff White People Like. I suspect this is influenced in no small part by media glamorizing European culture and society; juxtaposing it with American mores and making it appear different and exotic and foreign, in stark comparison to our culture, which is portrayed as dogmatic, polarized, and uninspiring. People my age love to make assertions such as, 'Europe is so much better than America.' 'There is so much more to see, so much more to do' they say. I have even heard people go so far as to say, 'I'm ashamed to be an American.' America, in their eyes, is a boring institution. I have no doubt that perhaps a lot of those things said regarding European society are true, that it is fun and exciting and different. But I think before I can pass judgment on and condemn my own country, perhaps some due diligence is in order.

I believe very strongly that history plays an integral role in establishing the identity of any country or society, and, to truly gain perspective on a society, one must trace its lineage through its history. I also believe very strongly that one cannot truly appreciate a foreign culture until one has a complete picture of their own, because beauty without perspective is not really beauty, it's an elaborate illusion; a lie we choose to tell ourselves. That is to say, I cannot in good faith experience a foreign lifestyle until I can give some meaning to my own; where it came from, and how it came to be what it is, and how that informs where it is headed. I'm sure the Eiffel Tower is a beautiful sight, yes. But can I confidently assert that it is more beautiful than what may very well be sitting in my backyard, as so many of my peers have done? Not without due diligence I can't.

It is this philosophy which has sparked my interest in the American Civil War, as I believe it is perhaps the second most clarifying chain of events in the history of the country all of us call home; the first of course, being the American Revolution, another war which has always fascinated me.

So I have set out on this journey into the hallowed past of the country I, and most of you reading this, call home. People here in New England like to condemn overtly patriotic thought and language; they see it as being representative of a dogmatic loyalty to a culture and society they believe is imposing and bullyish; they refer to this sentiment as 'Republican.' Whether or not this sentiment is accurate or not is not why I am penning these lines. I am suggesting, however, that before we condemn our country and all that it stands for, before we glamorize and idolize a foreign culture, we would be wise to take a closer look at exactly WHAT it is that OUR country stands for; take a look inside the furnace in which our values were forged, and perhaps, take some time out of our lives to see the glorious and indescribable beauty which resides right here; a beauty that perhaps we often overlook. As I look out my window right now, I see a vast, beautiful green field. Near the tracks here there appear to be a number of small pools filled with dark grey, foamy water. Each pool has some kind of rotor in the middle, churning the water. What they are doing, I haven't the slightest idea. And I may never know. But it is unlike anything I have ever seen in my life, and in its own inimitable way, is beautiful.

I do intend to travel to Europe some day, and it is my sincerest hope that it is as beautiful as everyone has led me to believe it is. But before I do that, I think I'll take in some domestic majesty, in the hopes that the foreign will be that much more meaningful.





...That, and the fact that this trip cost me about a quarter of what a trip to Europe would cost.