Give Chance a Chance

Belief: acceptance of the truth and actuality of anything without certain proof.

Truth: conformity to the requirement of ones being or nature.

Chance: an unpurposed, unpredictable, and uncontrollable master force -Webster Collegiate Dictionary

I am descended from a long line of what I chose to call survivors. A people whose sole purpose is to survive by whatever means it take to physically, psychologically, and spiritually cope with an irrelevant day to day life. Being born into this culture there was never a moment in my childhood where society ever expected from me any substantial achievement. It was moreover statistically assumed that I would follow in the footsteps of my forefathers, participating in a life-long cycle of social, financial, and criminal errors. As I grew to the preliminary stages of manhood, I for-saw an utmost lack of adult opportunity, primarily narrowed down to a life of crime and incarceration, Military enlistment, or if I expressed enough determination, I could rise to the social status of a labor mule. All of these options I despised and considered, and when the time came for me to choose a direction, I could only come to one conclusion. That all options were unacceptable. I made the first solid, heart and mind decision of my life. I refused to participate. The American dream was not my dream, and I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life fighting for it. So when I was seventeen years old I packed what few possessions I considered necessity, cut what little ties I had, and hitchhiked out of town. When the world expects nothing from you, you then expect nothing in return. If life is irrelevant by design, I was going to embrace it irrelevance. I set out into this world believing that chance would lead me to discover the most monumental experiences, struggles, and blessings.

I was surprised to find others like myself, who had no real attachment to any community, responsibility, or achievement. An entire culture of young people, who never stayed in one place too long and always accepted whatever obscurities were put in their paths. Through these affiliations, I met a beautiful girl who proudly proclaimed herself an Anarchist. I of course had no idea what this meant, and she was more than willing to explain what beliefs, knowledge, and actions she stood for. After we had spent some time traveling together, she invited me to an anarchist training camp. My entire life I had recognized the downfalls of society. Now I was offered some solutions, and more importantly, a way to fight back. In a secret and secluded camp, deep in the wilderness, I felt my first sense of community. I learned the effects of passion, and hate, and I was given something to fight for. Society’s entire way of life became my enemy. When I recall this portion of my history, I remember many tremendous actions, and sacrifices, but eventually all my discontent, was simply met with more discontent. When you look your enemy in the eye, you had better know what you stand for, or else it will knock you down. Or in this case lock you up. In the end it was chance that came along to offer me a different perspective on this war I had embraced.

I happened to be traveling through West Virginia during the first Mountain Justice Summer, and knew some people involved. So I decided to head towards coal river valley, for a hot meal and a comfortable place to sleep. What I got in return was something much greater. Mountain Justice Summer was a summer long campaign to bring awareness to the humanitarian and environmental devastation caused by mountaintop removal mining in the Appalachian region. I spent the entire summer spread across the region, helping in any way I could muster, and developing an immense feeling of respect for such a culture of virtue. Those mountains are where I learned the importance of assiduity, retroprocity, tradition, autonomy, and sustainability. Where a seed of social responsibility was planted within me, and where the hate I had been immersed in was overcast by a love for a land and people. I began to recognize the need for self-education. To be made aware of the segment of culture, society, and history that I was not expected to be made aware of. When the summer was over, and all the hype had died down, I stayed in West Virginia. Probably out of fear that I would leave too much of my heart in those hills. I bought a run-down cabin off in the woods and spent the next few years fixing it up, and engulfing myself in the culture I had learned to love. I would have been content to spend the rest of my days in my fortress of solitude and autonomy; however, if you dedicate yourself to a life of chance, there are no negotiations.

While in West Virginia, I unintentionally participated in the most obscured of all human practices. I fell in love. She was a thirty six year old geography professor at WVU, and I a twenty on year old “hobo” by the best definition. Logically the relationship was cursed from the beginning, but I didn’t care. These new feelings were to strong and determined to ignore. Shortly after we met she utilized an opportunity to take a sabbatical from teaching, and follow a dream of making documentaries. She would have to spend the next few years in a sequence of international travel. We of course wanted to stay involved, so she hired me onto her staff.

I spent more than a year on an expedition to document the human rights violations of indigenous people throughout the globe. I learned of the leadership power the general public possessed from the Campesinos at a Zapatista camp in Chiapas. I witnessed supreme loyalty and sacrifice, and began to recognize the Global effect of first world materialism in a Riwanni village in the Ecuadorian rain forest. I shared in the saddest moment a mother could face at a military checkpoint in the Gaza Strip. I experienced many of the great wonders and sorrows of the world, and began to realize the manner in which they are all interlinked. Then just as quickly as chance brought me and this amazing woman together, and propelled me into this vast journey of self-discovery, it pulled me back in to teach me a new and equally important lesson, The meaning of home.

Returning to the United States from the Third world comes with an indescribable feeling of shame and confusion. I was invited out to California by and old friend, which seemed like a decent place to decompress. After spending some time on the west coast, I began getting yearnings I didn’t quiet understand. After some deliberation, I decided I must be homesick. So I did what came natural; I bought a beat up truck, got a big mutt of a dog, and pointed myself east to let chance decide where my roots would be planted. I never intended on stopping in Louisville, KY. I spent a large part of my childhood here, and had relatives in the area, but none of my memories of the place were that fond or fascinating. Then as I crossed the Bridge, and looked up at the cityscape, it felt oddly familiar. I passed the on ramp I had first hitchhiked out of when I resolved myself to this journey, and knew that my life had come full circle.

Today when I run into an old friend or relative, I politely listen to them share stories of trying to crawl out from under the consequences of a life-long cycle of social, financial and criminal errors. While trying desperately to hold on to the small portion of the American dream that they were told belonged to them. I feel no superiority towards members of this birthright. We are all equally irrelevant. I present no great wisdom, no solid solutions. Just the knowledge and experience I came upon by chance. The only absolute truth I discovered along the path of my short life is that chances are never given, they must be taken.

This I believe.