Au Revoir

It's been a little over a week since the voyage ended. This time has been a period of adjustment, back into stationary predictability, and it has been relieving, but lonely, confusing, and painful. Up until the last few days of the journey, I was convinced that I was prepared for it to be over, but in the last few hours on the ship the reality of going home hit me like a brick. For four months, the ship and its community were my life, my reality, and my home, and at times I feel like I was torn away and that they disappeared in an instant. I remind myself that the community we built and the growth we all underwent are still alive, just spread out. We shared something that will bind and bond us for life. Every one of us is changed, although it might not be obvious immediately. I look at myself in a different way, and literally everything I encounter takes on a different meaning.

I don't have a home anymore, but that notion doesn't scare me. Home is where the heart is. I finally understand what that means. My heart is everywhere, and everywhere is my home.

Every moment that we live is both an ending and a beginning. The Semester at Sea voyage has ended, but now marks the beginning of the new chances to put myself into action. Before the journey, I expected to have my eyes opened to the world, and they were. Ultimately, though, it was a journey inside myself. The voyage tested every one of my limits, and through it I became more aware of things that were already present in me, and also the ways I was changing as a result. When the ship docked in Fort Lauderdale, it released a flood of people with renewed and refined motivation to take action. Now I'm faced with a thousand different directions I can turn, and I will rely on you for guidance as I figure out how and where I can serve.

So, what can I say about the voyage? What have I learned? I'm overflowing with stories and reflections, and I'm sure it will take a very long time to even scratch the surface. Here's a start.

• Before the voyage, I expected to gain an understanding of how big and diverse the world is. I did get a new sense of scale and an exposure to many different ways of living. But mainly, I now understand that the world is actually a small place, and people don't vary too much from culture to culture. At the most basic level, people want the same things from life: to care for their family, to express themselves, to earn respect, to love, to laugh. This is clear in the vibrant art in every culture we visited, and also in the violent and damaging acts that people commit in order to secure basic needs for themselves and their family.

• Despite those common threads, harsh contrasts exist, often in close proximity. In South Africa, I was shocked to find the most desperately poor townships just several kilometers from the skyscrapers in the city. That proximity reminds me that poverty is mainly born out of the false constructs of class and politics.

• We don't know very much about the world. John Kastendiek's marine biology class made me realize that the natural world is still largely a mystery to us. We're still just beginning to understand the intricate workings of life, and the impact that humans have on the earth.

• The world will soon undergo radical changes, and they will happen at an alarming rate. We're at a fascinating and daunting point in our technological history. In the next few years, we're going to see the line between humans and digital technology blur, with each becoming more like the other. Ray Kurzweil's book The Singularity Is Near outlines this in an impossibly optimistic but gripping way.

• Everything is music. Matthew Burtner's classes trained my ears to listen to the world in an entirely new way. The soundscape of any environment can be heard as an endless composition. Electronic methodologies are propelling the next evolution of music.

• The natural world creates some things that are beautiful beyond words. Patterns in nature are built around cycles, but there is also subtle yet powerful movement forward. The flowing rock on the Pacaya volcano in Guatemala is a striking example.

These opportunities to travel place me among the luckiest, most fortunate, and most blessed people on earth. I'm so deeply grateful and indebted to everyone who made it possible. My parents, for their physical and emotional support, and their trust. My faculty and advisors at Chapman who helped me prepare and provided their recommendations. The staff at Chapman's study abroad office, and the Institute for Shipboard Education, for accepting me and for providing generous financial assistance. The staff and faculty who sailed on the voyage, for their love of knowledge. The crew on the ship, who worked tirelessly to provide for our safety and comfort. All my family and friends on land, whose love I carried around the world and whose patience has helped me transition back into regular life. And finally, to the student community on the ship, for being the most vital, welcoming, and caring group of people I've ever met. I am in love with each and every one of you.

This is my last full-fledged post. I'll post links to my photos and recordings when I've had a chance to sort through them. Thank you for keeping up with my writing here. These entries have lead me to some of my most important discoveries of the voyage, and your feedback and comments provided an important tether to life back home. The journey is priceless, and I'm so happy to have shared it with you.

Safe travels,
Until we meet again,
All my love,

Isaiah