Courage and Love in the Arizona Desert

“Things Are Things”

By Austin Murphy

          I have asserted time and time again that I am not omniscient, never will be, and I don’t strive to conquer all knowledge. At some point, however, it is fair to say that I DO know some things. I know how to cook pasta. I know that the square root of four is two. And I know how to identify an asshole when I see one.

          In addition, I also know that the world we live in is so intricately nuanced that there is naught but to accept the wondrous disbelief that accompanies miraculous moments.

          And to be clear, it is crucial to acknowledge that miracles happen infrequently and aren’t easy to recognize, but an open-minded person will more often than not realize when a greater power has intervened on their behalf.

          Just before New Years, I traveled with 16 other friends to Chandler, Arizona. There we discovered more than just self-serving debauchery, hedonism, and lawlessness. We explored more than just the inner-workings of ourselves, and we found more than just a higher purpose.

          We found each other. We fortified friendships. We learned that the Arizona desert is a cold, unforgiving place, and we needed our mutual understanding and care to survive the winter evenings.

          Once upon a time, I had a girlfriend whom I loved very much. She had a warm, caring heart, but one thing that has always bothered me is her insistence that I “lacked” valuable possessions. And while, at the time, I would have agreed that I didn’t have much in the way of “toys,” I would argue that I am wealthier now than in previous years--regardless of my belongings.

          The most invaluable possessions that I have accumulated in recent years are friendships. Ever since I was young, it has been a personal struggle of mine to forge lasting bonds with people, especially because of a constant turnover in my youth. When I was eleven, two of my best friends moved away. In eighth grade my best friend left for the Philippines, and it took until midway through my sophomore year of high school before I had a clear-cut friend group again--although this was more because all of us were rather lost and insecure in our ways. To make matters worse, this all came during a period of my life when I struggled socially and was dangerously introverted.

College changed me, but at the same time, it wasn’t in the way I expected or planned. I immediately joined a fraternity, confident that I had finally found the “brothers” that I would keep for life. But despite the house’s assertion that my pledge class would provide the “closest friends in this lifetime,” I’ve found that it gave me the exact opposite. The majority of my pledge class is without a doubt the cliquiest, most disloyal group of people I’ve ever encountered.

But within that snake pit of 26 young idiots, I managed to find one brother that is still arguably my closest friend. And despite the turmoil I withstood over the next four years, I have found a few others, dispersed amongst the other pledge classes, that I know will be my best friends for life.

And so I return to our time in Arizona. The fraternity gave me four years of experiences and memories that did little to strengthen my bonds and much more to elucidate who I can count as a true friend. I spent 72 hours in the desert and already know that I can trust my 16 compañeros with anything and would do anything for each of them.

And so it is proven again that the world is a funny place. Experiences mean infinitely more than possessions, although it is hard to tell which experiences will prove to be the most important.

Obviously, I am a far different person now than when I met my fraternity “brothers,” but I can’t help but fall back on the fact that the friends I’ve made over the past two years, in several different cities, are more open-minded, accepting people than I’ve ever known. It almost feels like a sense of magnetism; everywhere we go and enjoy ourselves, I feel like we attract like-minded, happy people who want to share in our enjoyment.

With that, I’ll circle back again to the idea of miracles. And as a self-admitted non-omniscient being, I can say without a doubt that my experience in Arizona was a miracle, and my decision to move back to Santa Barbara was the absolute right decision for my life. I am done questioning my gut instinct, even though it still trembles in fear at times.

Because I know that the trembling is actually vibrating, and the fear is excitement. There is too much natural good in this world to let yourself be paralyzed by fear (and by God I sound an awful lot like Patrick Swayze or the crazy, old bat Beth Grant plays in “Donnie Darko.”)

Fear is a necessary reaction we have developed over the course of human history. But in all honesty, the kinds of things we dread or bemoan in our daily, well-adjusted lives just aren’t worth the effort. No one is going to cause you physical pain if you are rejected by that cute, blonde barista at Starbucks if you ask her out. Your life won’t be adversely impacted if your dream job rejects you during a job hunt.

            Now if you’re reading this and you work in a dangerous field that deals with pain or death on the daily, then I apologize profusely and will permit you to continue to dwell in fear. But you should understand that there are alternatives to this lifestyle, and you deserve to find the best in life. Even suppressed, unsatisfied people in the 18th century understood that it is our natural right to pursue that which makes us happy.

            None of us is omniscient nor perfect, but we are all made of the same basic elements, and we all are capable of recognizing that supreme joy and an honest smile are two of the most beautiful things to behold on this sacred Earth.

© Austin T. Murphy 2016