So, what’s the plan?

Hello, again! Long time, no see.

In these endless days of monotonous chaos, I have been having wild dreams. Carrying the screen around an movie theater at Donald Trump’s autobiographical blockbuster. Being scolded for breaking a runner’s leg. Usually, I’m doing ordinary things with people I haven’t seen in years.

And then, I wake up a painter in northern Minnesota, 8.5 months into my volunteer year in Israel. Rose and I sluggishly start our work. With my hands at work, I slip back into the same dreamscape, but with the reality of this pandemic pulling the strings. I reflect on the question whose urgency multiplied when I abruptly left Israel for home; that question that many claim to never answer. I consider the options expected of an economics student, of a white male with a steady home to fall back to in tough times, and I can’t make up my mind.

And so I apply to jobs. And I whitewash walls. And I dream…

Of the oddballs of the world, including the ones that resemble my oddball brother-in-law, but mostly the ones I hold near and dear…

Of the places my heart has pulled me and my feet have taken me on a whim.

Because that human tendency that was behind everything we did at that monastery was the need to have a plan. Every meal, every work period, and every morning run was scheduled ahead of time. I get it, but generally I find this lifestyle colorless. I made it an unspoken goal of mine to instill an ounce of spontaneity and adventure in my German companions (although the monks were a lost cause, probably to their benefit), and to an extent, it worked. On a warm December morning, my Kölsch adventure buddy Sofie and I made our descent into the the Mitzpe Ramon crater in the Negev Desert, fully supplied but for a set route.

After Sofie filled our water bottles from the toilet (some things are gained in translation), we let the trail show us what it had to offer.

This weekend adventure still crosses my mind all the time, even after taking a 10-day trip to Jordan and having life turned upside down by COVID-19, because it was much more than a hike. It was a profound exploration into isolation and companionship, which have become increasingly relevant to all of us.

What struck me about the isolation of the desert was how we compensated for the things we normally depend on. Cell phones and computers connect us over long distances, but also pull us away from each other when we’re together. With no data connection, I was left with my sole companion, with no excuses to look at my phone. In every wilderness trip I have taken, this aspect has borne great fruit. On top of this, our mutual wonder over foreign landscapes and absolute silence put us at ease and allow us to get in touch with our true selves. After visiting the desert in Israel, it’s clear to me why Jesus chose to fast and pray there.

Furthermore, the dangers of the desert force its explorers to develop new routines right away. Dehydration sets in faster than usual. We need to share each other’s burdens and think on the same wavelength in order to stay healthy and stay alive. We become more alert and receptive to our surroundings and to one another.

This has been in the back of my mind since everything changed. How do we make up for what we’ve lost? Remarkably, my realization is that I need what I had been fighting all along back in Israel. Many days have slipped by without any sunshine on my skin or human interaction, other than Rose. What my BVC partner Tim and I initially made fun of in our German friends–their extensive list-making–is exactly what is keeping my mind in order and reminding me to reach out to others. What I thought was restrictive at the monastery was actually keeping me alive and healthy, and now it is disorganization that is stifling the simple joys of life. It’s funny how a stereotype can get turned on its head.