Sorry about the delay in posting anything or being in contact with you all. Now that I have started work, which is complete with my own office and computer, communication will be much easier.
Anyways, I wanted to reflect here firstly on my orientation, or rather how I got to orientation and then got to my placement here in Bethel. Unbeknownst to me, I was holding a first class ticket to my flight to Portland, OR. We had gone to AAA to buy it and since the agent never asked us what class ticket we wanted, I had assumed she would have given me an economy class (especially for the price that we got it for). Now, everyone has probably heard about how the airlines are charging for everything, particularly for extra baggage and extra weight for baggage. Knowing this my parents gave me money to accommodate. However when I was checking my bags and getting out this money, the woman politely said, "You don't have to pay for anything, miss, because you hold a first class ticket. We'll take care of everything, just go over to your gate when you're ready. Do you want to sign up for our frequent flyers program?" Relieved though confused, I was like, "Hey! Works for me!".
When it came time to board the plane I got to go on first, despite the fact that there was an extensive line already formed and that I was sitting comfortably in my seat far out of line. I walked down the long pathway, breathed in that recycled airplane air, and set my first foot into what I like to call the magical mystical world of first class. The seats were only two to a row, leather, padded, and oh so comfortable. I had all of the leg space in the world, not to mention the window seat and a very amiable gentleman to sit next to. Life was good, even at 6am with practically no sleep. Deep down I knew that this was all too ironic, but I spent most of the flight talking to the man next to me and didn't elaborate this thought at the time.
Then when I was waiting to board my next flight from Atlanta to Portland, I got to talking to a very friendly and chatty woman also going to Portland who also came from Pittsburgh. After I had told her where I came from with her response being, "Oh I didn't see you on the plane", I didn't really know what to say. One of my initial thoughts while on the flight to Atlanta, half kidding and half serious, was why more people don't do this. And then as I was looking at this woman next to me I realized that not everyone can do this. And I do not just mean, not everyone can afford it. I mean that I also noticed how small the first class cabin was. There really are only so many seats, and somehow I had one of them. Me, a Jesuit Volunteer, a person signing up to live simply and in solidarity (on her way to orientation mind you), was flying with the elite.
Then somewhere in between this woman telling me about her grandchildren and birthday parties, I began to feel ashamed. It was a feeling that I have not had much time with in the past, and it is a feeling that I predict I will see more of in the near future. Making it all more intensified, the flight attendant called the first class passengers. The woman hearing the announcement, which interrupted her story, said with a comical sneer, "Oh don't worry about that. That's just the first class being called". Even though I've heard that we have over 50 muscles in the human face, I couldn't get any of them to move upwards into a smile because I knew that her sarcasm for the first class now included me. Inside of myself I was shouting, "I didn't know it was first class! I'm never in first class! I didn't even know where it was on the plane! Don't judge me!". But outwardly I simply thanked her for speaking with me, wished her luck, and got up to go back to that new world I was initially so fond of.
What ate me up inside was that though I wanted to allow her or anyone else board before me, I couldn't. I mean I could have waited in line with the rest of the passengers, but what would that do in the end? What about the family with three young kids and a stroller struggling to hold everything and everyone together in that frozen line? Anywhere else I could have held the door for them or let them go first, but here I felt powerless because of a ticket that was paid for with money that our society deems so powerful.
When I boarded the plane this time, it looked quite different. I remember just staring at the divider between the two classes and thinking, "How did I get here?" and further, "How did I feel when I flew on the other side?" Feeling ashamed of my privilege never occurred to me any time that I flew. There are some privileges that we have that we need to acknowledge and be truly grateful for and use them for the greater good to the best of our abilities. And I'm not saying that I'm not thankful for my parents buying this ticket for me, but I couldn't help but to think about how incentive of the poor I can be riding in any class.
For me, I guess it had been one thing to go volunteer at a soup kitchen or make blankets or fast and apparently an undiscovered mentality for buying material things (even sparingly) to be quite another. What is enough? Is it enough to feel good about choosing to go to or work with a lower class, to know that you're choosing less? What surreptitious arrogance can be found in such a thing if we're not careful, feeling proud of the act of humbling or even being ok with sacrificing when it was convenient for me. Before that flight to Portland I may have seen it as choosing less, but now I see it as choosing more. Choosing to get more out of life. And yet, there lies the other major issue I am having: choice. How should I view this choice that I have made to volunteer? I think all of this far to long reflection can be summed up in the Aborigine proverb that my roommate Erin reminded me of:
Anyways, I wanted to reflect here firstly on my orientation, or rather how I got to orientation and then got to my placement here in Bethel. Unbeknownst to me, I was holding a first class ticket to my flight to Portland, OR. We had gone to AAA to buy it and since the agent never asked us what class ticket we wanted, I had assumed she would have given me an economy class (especially for the price that we got it for). Now, everyone has probably heard about how the airlines are charging for everything, particularly for extra baggage and extra weight for baggage. Knowing this my parents gave me money to accommodate. However when I was checking my bags and getting out this money, the woman politely said, "You don't have to pay for anything, miss, because you hold a first class ticket. We'll take care of everything, just go over to your gate when you're ready. Do you want to sign up for our frequent flyers program?" Relieved though confused, I was like, "Hey! Works for me!".
When it came time to board the plane I got to go on first, despite the fact that there was an extensive line already formed and that I was sitting comfortably in my seat far out of line. I walked down the long pathway, breathed in that recycled airplane air, and set my first foot into what I like to call the magical mystical world of first class. The seats were only two to a row, leather, padded, and oh so comfortable. I had all of the leg space in the world, not to mention the window seat and a very amiable gentleman to sit next to. Life was good, even at 6am with practically no sleep. Deep down I knew that this was all too ironic, but I spent most of the flight talking to the man next to me and didn't elaborate this thought at the time.
Then when I was waiting to board my next flight from Atlanta to Portland, I got to talking to a very friendly and chatty woman also going to Portland who also came from Pittsburgh. After I had told her where I came from with her response being, "Oh I didn't see you on the plane", I didn't really know what to say. One of my initial thoughts while on the flight to Atlanta, half kidding and half serious, was why more people don't do this. And then as I was looking at this woman next to me I realized that not everyone can do this. And I do not just mean, not everyone can afford it. I mean that I also noticed how small the first class cabin was. There really are only so many seats, and somehow I had one of them. Me, a Jesuit Volunteer, a person signing up to live simply and in solidarity (on her way to orientation mind you), was flying with the elite.
Then somewhere in between this woman telling me about her grandchildren and birthday parties, I began to feel ashamed. It was a feeling that I have not had much time with in the past, and it is a feeling that I predict I will see more of in the near future. Making it all more intensified, the flight attendant called the first class passengers. The woman hearing the announcement, which interrupted her story, said with a comical sneer, "Oh don't worry about that. That's just the first class being called". Even though I've heard that we have over 50 muscles in the human face, I couldn't get any of them to move upwards into a smile because I knew that her sarcasm for the first class now included me. Inside of myself I was shouting, "I didn't know it was first class! I'm never in first class! I didn't even know where it was on the plane! Don't judge me!". But outwardly I simply thanked her for speaking with me, wished her luck, and got up to go back to that new world I was initially so fond of.
What ate me up inside was that though I wanted to allow her or anyone else board before me, I couldn't. I mean I could have waited in line with the rest of the passengers, but what would that do in the end? What about the family with three young kids and a stroller struggling to hold everything and everyone together in that frozen line? Anywhere else I could have held the door for them or let them go first, but here I felt powerless because of a ticket that was paid for with money that our society deems so powerful.
When I boarded the plane this time, it looked quite different. I remember just staring at the divider between the two classes and thinking, "How did I get here?" and further, "How did I feel when I flew on the other side?" Feeling ashamed of my privilege never occurred to me any time that I flew. There are some privileges that we have that we need to acknowledge and be truly grateful for and use them for the greater good to the best of our abilities. And I'm not saying that I'm not thankful for my parents buying this ticket for me, but I couldn't help but to think about how incentive of the poor I can be riding in any class.
For me, I guess it had been one thing to go volunteer at a soup kitchen or make blankets or fast and apparently an undiscovered mentality for buying material things (even sparingly) to be quite another. What is enough? Is it enough to feel good about choosing to go to or work with a lower class, to know that you're choosing less? What surreptitious arrogance can be found in such a thing if we're not careful, feeling proud of the act of humbling or even being ok with sacrificing when it was convenient for me. Before that flight to Portland I may have seen it as choosing less, but now I see it as choosing more. Choosing to get more out of life. And yet, there lies the other major issue I am having: choice. How should I view this choice that I have made to volunteer? I think all of this far to long reflection can be summed up in the Aborigine proverb that my roommate Erin reminded me of:
"If you've come to help me you're wasting your time. But if you've come because you believe your liberation is somehow bound up in mine, stay and let us walk together."
2 comments:
Sounds to me like you're already getting so much out of JVC!!!!! I'm glad to see you're settled!!! How's the job??? And Father Chuck?!?!? I miss you, roommate!!!!
I have to agree, it sounds like you're already getting some wonderful experiences. Of course, since it's coming from me, there is nothing wrong with First Class; it's how we business folk roll. Keep up the blogs, I'll be reading them! I'm looking forward to the next one! Take care!
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