Books

Don’t judge a book by its cover.


“Tell me a story- a small story, a true story (or as true as you can tell it), a story from your heart, a story from your life. Tell me of a time you lost something, your keys, your heart, your mind, your mother or father, your way in the world- or tell me about a small joy you had today. Tell me a story, and your telling it will change you, and your telling it will change me, and such stories will move us both closer to the light.”
-Lynn Nelson


We hear it all the time as kids: Don’t judge a book by its cover. But how often, in our protected and innocent lives as children- are we faced with such big concepts?
Though not always, and certainly through no malicious intent, we grow into our comfort zone. Our experiences through life soften our hearts, and harden our eyes. Eventually, if you so choose, you can look at someone, with eyes that do not see them.

Costa Rica was life altering for me. Though I try to be open minded, I too am guilty of judging someone before I even know anything about them. When we do this, we cheat them, and we cheat ourselves.
The twelve of us met each other only a few weeks ago- all of us different. All of us came toting the books of our lives under our arms, eager to fill a new chapter in them. All our books contain stories that have shaped us; into who we have been, who we are, and inevitably who we will be. By only looking at the covers of our books- we shouldn’t have gotten along. But we started to read each other, and we started to look in order to see.

There are pages full of wonder and adaptation in my story of Costa Rica. Words and events that inspire me to continue to look past the surface- of a city, of a school, of a face. Sentences that make me crave knowledge until I know things, know people. Getting to know all of you was one of the most enriching experiences of my life.
Costa Rica has taught me that a poor school can be rich with pure hearts, that someone who does not share your language can share a laugh- that children, regardless of where they stand on a monetary line- are bright, pure of heart, and innocent. Joyous, and in constant awe of the world around them.

This trip has taught me that labels, that abstractions, of who we are do nothing but build borders around our hearts, around our softness.
A teacher at Country Day School confronted me about being from Arizona. Hearing where I lived was enough for him to write me off as an ignorant racist. Looking back now, all I can think is: “What a waste.” He wrote me off in his book of life, slammed my book shut before I could even show him my own beliefs or ideas.

And now, as a student, as a teacher, as a person, I can no longer accept momentarily skimming a person and taking them at face vaule. We are all so much more than just a sentence.

“I’m a teen mother.”
“I’m an immigrant.”
“I didn’t go to college.”
“I’m scared.”

No one sentence can sum up anyone. No one characteristic defines us as the person we are. Costa Rica has taught me to open my heart, and to open my eyes. To take the time to read the chapters that make us who we are. Costa Rica taught me that you can find love anywhere. From the bottom of a canyon to the desks we sat in at their schools. From flattery of tour guides to beans and fruit punch that had been prepared just for us by school attendants who were beyond wonderful.

Costa Rica has taught me that all we have is who we are, and that being rich doesn’t come from having thousands of Colones, but from having a number of people that you have read and accepted, just the way they are.