The American Dream

      Driving into Philadelphia on an unseasonal (even freakish) warm day, I note the thick grey layer of salt on my windshield.  The weather is a welcome change; I've always hated winter.  I put my sun roof down, long for my sunglasses, and delve into the new Interpol CD that I recently purchased. Yes, that's right, purchased. Guess you could call me a conscientious Apple employee.

 Life is good. Better than it's been in a long time. In fact, better than it's ever been. Two fantastic jobs with boundless opportunities coupled with a chance to study debt-free at one of the nation's premier institutions sounds like a delicious recipe for the American dream. I'm a lucky girl. I have friends who love me and a close-knit family.  Two dogs, a nice car, and a closet full of designer clothes.  I am young, healthy (despite some relatively crippling carbohydrate and caffeine addictions), and poised for success. The "real world" has yet to take its sharpened teeth to my pale skin, as I hang in the beautiful and surreal equilibrium that belongs to a life in its twenties.  

So, why would I want to leave?

      

Why on earth would I head to a country with a painful history, marred by racism, violence, and hatred? Why would I want to pack a couple scant suitcases and head to a place that is gripped by quite possibly the worst pandemic in world history?

To tell the truth, I don't know. Well, maybe I do know a little bit. South Africa, Rainbow Nation, nation of Nelson Mandela and Bishop Desmond Tutu has a lot to teach a naive and trusting girl cradled in American consumerism. Everyone seems to question it: 

       "Why do you want to go there? Isn't it dangerous?"

       "Don't get AIDS!"  

       "What can you learn there that you can't learn here?"

Granted, all questions I asked myself months ago, when I was making the weighty decision on where to live six months of my precious college career.  Some, in fact, most of the questions I have fielded have been based on legitimate concerns. I try to answer, to make them understand. I try to convince myself at the same time that this is the right thing to do, and things have been falling into place so smoothly, so why would it stop now? 

I've reasoned that there are some aspects of my desire to go to South Africa that cannot be reasoned.  I just want it.  What's wrong with that? An overwhelming passion in the midst of grinding work schedules and twenty-page papers. A dream that wakes me in the middle of the night in excitement and fear. A constant force propelling me forward in the face of blinding tiredness. It's hard to articulate a dream and make it understandable to others, but it's easier to show through action.

I intend to show that I want my world to be wider than my closet, and my view broader than the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I want to act on the strongest passion I've ever felt, and understand the kernel of fear that lies at its center. I want to take a journey and discover, while I am young and unattached, the freedom of letting go of what matters now to find what ultimately matters most.  

Now, if I could only get off the Schuylkill.