Categories
Personal Update

No New Tale to Tell

What do eighteenth-century Russian tsars and Brigham Young University have in common? Presenting: the world’s very first beard card (above).

In 1698, Tsar Peter “the Great” launched a series of modernizing reforms, realizing that if Russia were to compete with Western European powers, they needed to cast off every custom that would prevent them from fitting in with their imperial neighbors–down to their old-fashioned facial hair. The beard ban was born. Nobles who wanted to keep their beards could purchase this token as a free pass to bear their hair in public without being forcibly shaved. The inscription on the front says “money taken”; the back features a Russian coat of arms and the year (the token had to be renewed annually–and heaven forbid losing weeks of delicate trimming if you were to forget to renew your expired beard token)!

Though the two eras’ beard restrictions differ in that Russia’s were a progressive step toward modern sensibilities in their own century–met with ire from the paying traditional nobles–while Brigham Young University’s were a conservative response to the aesthetic of anti-establishment 60s and 70s counterculture (and beard cards are granted for health, theatrical, or religious reasons, not to paying customers), the fact that today you can hold in your hands a beard pass with the same practical effect as old Peter the Great’s is a testament that nothing in history seems to be truly new. The great periods of development in history are called “Renaissance” (rebirth), or “Reformation”, or “Restoration”–all attempts to get back to some veiled golden age of the past.

This is why I enjoy old literature. It’s a special connection when something so old still resonates in today’s cultures, as if the author and I both know that we’re tapping into what it means to be human, independent of place or time. When Shakespeare’s Henry IV asks himself why he can’t sleep on his comfortable mattress with all of the thoughts weighing on his head, I know that exact feeling, four hundred years later! (I’d like to see a quiz show where contestants have to determine what era a quote is from. “You have power over your mind, not outside events. There is strength in knowing that.” Advice from a psychology book about maintaining an “internal locus of control”, or ancient Roman philosopher? “The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all; all go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.” Twentieth-century absurdism, or the Old Testament? Two points to the ancients.)

That last Old Testament quote is drawn from the book of Ecclesiastes, which is keenly aware of this idea that nothing in history is truly new. In ironic fashion, the 80s song “No New Tale to Tell” simply recapitulates Ecclesiastes and seems to add a few stanzas of its own:

All the rivers run into the sea
  Yet the sea is not full
Unto the place from whence the rivers come
  Thither they return again
The thing that hath been
   It is that which shall be
And that which is done
   Is that which shall be done
And there is no new thing
   Under the sun 
                    (Eccl. 1:7, 9)

You cannot go against nature
   Because when you do
Go against nature
   It's part of nature too
Our little lives get complicated
   It's a simple thing
Simple as a flower
   And that's a complicated thing
No new tale to tell
   No new tale to tell
                    (Love and Rockets)

We can learn a lot from those who came before. After all, they lived our very same lives–just in a different place and a different time.

Categories
Event Report

Dorothy in Potato Land

THE POTATO STATE. The “Gem State”. Since the name “Idaho” was fake anyway and was originally meant to refer to Colorado*, let’s just call it for what it really is: North Utah.

Light-hearted mockery of our beloved northern neighbors aside (we did help settle you, after all), it’s past time that I share something about my first trip to the state since becoming old enough to appreciate it. My friend Kedric returned from Denmark at the same time as I did, and I wanted to meet his family and hear him talk in church, as well as experience exotic Idaho for myself, so a couple of weekends ago, I decided to make the journey.

The familiar scenery of the 100-mile urban-suburban stretch of I-15 along the Wasatch Front, home to four out of five Utahns, faded into empty desert and bare, low hills that continued for miles. Messages like “no services for 10 miles” and “freeway oasis” began to adorn intermittent freeway exits, and the numbers on the signs that showed how many miles were left until the next major settlements climbed dramatically. After a few hours in the car, I made my first stop in a larger town called Burley to get some fresh air and use the necessary facilities for the car and myself. The town’s visitor center was closed, so I wasn’t able to learn anything about it while I was there, but peering through the glass doors at a flyer advertising a public raffle for a variety of guns (and having just passed the first billboard in Idaho, a woman disdainfully holding a medical mask under the slogan “Freedom is the cure”), I was assured that rural Idaho’s political culture was little different than rural Utah’s.

In fact, the whole trip was an odd fusion of familiarity and unfamiliarity. I chuckled at the sheer familiarity of overhearing the announcement of prizes at an outdoor community event in Burley: “And the Swedish Fish go to Nephi!”, at the universal secondary-school humor of a high school announcement board that was arranged to read “YEE YEE HAVE A GREAT SUMMER”, even at the caricature of the criminal on the “Neighborhood Watch” signs I hadn’t seen since my childhood in West Jordan, Utah. On the other hand, I was surprised when I turned on the radio to my parents’ default 80s music station, 103.1 The Wave–or that was what I thought, until the song finished and the radio announced I was listening to “103.1 The Edge”, which was most definitely not 80s music. It wasn’t bad, until halfway through the first song when I realized it was just as edgy as the name suggested.

I arrived at my destination in Boise early. It was near an Oregon Trail historic hiking path, but after checking it out for a few minutes and deeming the weather too hot, I resolved to drive into town and experience the city for an hour. So naturally, I drove the complete opposite direction and ended up on a gorgeous mountainside highway that snaked along beside a wide river, with no cell reception. After I became convinced that my intuition was not leading me any closer to downtown, I parked the car on the side of the road and took a few pictures. In the river far below, a motorboat drove by, blasting “Party in the USA” at a volume to raise the dead. I like Boise.

Before long, it was time to meet up with Kedric and his friends and hike Table Rock, a mountain near the city. (It’s telling that Denmark calls its hills “mountains”, while the American West calls its mountains “rocks”.) Regrettably, my phone had died at the end of the car ride, so I didn’t get any pictures of the giant cross that towered over the city at the top of Table Rock. (The signage made great pains to indicate that it was built on private land, an apologetic gesture that came off half-hearted, given, well, the giant cross that towered over the city.) The view of the city from the base of the cross was breathtaking. I marveled at how green the area was, despite its location in the middle of the desert. Apparently the name Boise means “forested”. It’s fitting.

I was glad I could make it to the next day’s church meeting. Kedric’s remarks were an honest and familiar reflection of the Kedric I knew in Denmark, a good reminder that taking a missionary tag on or off isn’t a fundamental change in character, just a change in the role one plays.

After the meeting, Kedric offered to show me around the city, since I didn’t manage to make it there the previous day after my Miley Cyrus-accompanied directional mishap. Boise exhibited more tension than rural Idaho (as cities often do). Churches and universities existed alongside clubs, theaters, restaurants and office buildings–though the atmosphere was generally one of organization (especially in contrast to the asymmetrical spread of the European cities like Copenhagen, where I lived for over a year; I was reminded of my first impression of an American city after a long time away: “Seattle looks like it’s built out of legos.”) Gay pride flags hanging over businesses downtown and a Don’t Tread on Me flag hoisted over suburbia proclaimed curiously similar messages from opposite ends of the political spectrum. The absence of graffiti over most of the city was forgotten at the turn of the concrete corner to Freak Alley, the biggest display of street art in the northwestern USA, painted in bright layers of slogans lurid and loving: Focus on the things that bring you joy! Float on! You look lovely today!

Farewell time came too soon. The next day was my first day of school, so I couldn’t stay and linger as long as I would have liked. I found myself really liking Idaho–perhaps it was the verdant scenery, or the beautiful highways, or the good company, or the feeling of being free. (Freedom really is the cure, I thought to myself, though maybe not in exactly the way the billboard intended.) We’ll make it North Utah before too long. ■


*True story. Etulain, R. & Marley, B. (1983). The Idaho Heritage: A Collection of Historical Essays. Idaho State University Press. https://digitalatlas.cose.isu.edu/geog/explore/essay.pdf

Nephi is a major figure in the Book of Mormon.

Categories
Personal Update

Desert Mountain Letters

THE FUNNY THING about spending your whole life somewhere is that you don’t know what’s special about it until you’ve spent time away from it. It’s like how the viewpoint character in Lois Lowry’s The Giver doesn’t know he’s living in a black-and-white world until he sees color for the first time. Or, in the ancient wisdom of Passenger, “Only know you love her when you let her go.”

If I were an alien who was surveying my home state of Utah for the first time from my UFO, my impression at first glance would be “desert mountain letters”. The flat monuments paved into the Wasatch at regular intervals–M for Morgan, G for Pleasant Grove, B for Bountiful, U for the University of Utah–were invisible to my accustomed childhood eyes, yet seem completely out of place now that I have a fresh perspective. So do the mountains themselves–they seem like artificial cutouts pasted onto the horizon.

Yet it’s the @desert@ part of the description that has been most immediate to the senses. In Denmark, the rain was my worst enemy; if a genie had granted me a reasonable, B-list wish, I would have asked for cloudless winters. But until today, not a single drop of rain had fallen since I got here. The irony is sorrowing; the dry air itself seems bitter. I’d forgotten about how your lips stick together if you leave them closed for too long, and it feels like I’ve never had so much water come in and out of my system in my life. The heat has been sweltering at 43°C (110°F). The desert does have its charms, though. Seeing the sky tops the list.

A lot has happened in my life in the just over two weeks since I returned from Denmark. I’m now attending school at BYU; I spent about a week in my hometown with my family and then moved in with a relative closer to school. This term, I’m studying biology and the humanities, which I’m excited about. I’ve missed being fully immersed in a learning environment. I’ve also started a new/old job back at the BYU library, under the same supervisor but in a different department (book shelving). In my free time, I’m practicing music, trying to write music, and reading literature again, including nonfiction by choice for the first time in my life. I’m trying to soak in as much understanding as I can to help me make decisions in life. I’ve also been catching up with people I haven’t seen in a while, and I spent a day in Salt Lake and a weekend in Boise with friends (which I might write more about next time)!

That about sums up my life right now. I’m grateful for the desert and for the rain, and I miss my old home and the people there, too. Adjusting hasn’t been easy. Mostly for the drivers behind me who wait in vain for me to turn right on red. (I’m still not used to that being legal!) It’s easy to feel detached from everything when class is online and your old home isn’t the same as how you left it, but I’m grateful for good days with good friends, and I’m optimistic that work will also be a place where I can be useful and build a community of love. There are a few things that I’m becoming increasingly convinced of, and one of them is that a central purpose of life is to build communities of love. It’s not complicated, but sometimes hard. I hope people will continue to choose peace.

Respectfully yours,

Eric