She wasn’t looking for a knight. She was looking for a sword.
It occurred to me, reading those gilt letters stretched across the black t-shirt of a manicurist at my local nail salon, that many of us are searching, not just for a pointy stick, but for an opponent worth trouncing.
I think that’s why I went to Ireland. I wanted to step into an epic tale, to find something important enough that I would willingly lay down my life. Not that I had a death wish, mind you, but I had what I’ll call an intensity wish. In those years, I’d often imagine myself as part of the French Resistance or picture raising my sister’s kids after the rest of the family had somehow (scenarios varied) been tragically wiped off the planet.
My daily glance at the New York Times assures me I’m not alone. Whether its sailing across the ocean in a solar powered boat or storming the capital to “save the nation,” humans seek to create powerful experiences imbued with meaning.
At some deep level, we’re all seeking a life of purpose. We want to wake up in the morning knowing that our day’s activities are, in some cosmic way, brave, triumphant, and far-reaching. So while it might seem I went to Ireland looking for magic or healing, at the core I was searching for something I could call my purpose. My reason for getting up in the morning. Something worth fighting for.
It might seem odd, by today’s measures, to think that studying herbalism was an act of resistance. But, at the time, it was. And my teacher, her website photo showing a woman who looked every inch an old world witch, surely would be someone who would spew fire and brimstone before running from a fight. So I went to Ireland, looking for remedies that would cut through the stranglehold of the pharmaceutical companies and knowledge that would re-humanize medicine.
But what I came home with was something richer and truer (and far less violent!).
What I came away with was not something to fight for but, instead, something to live for.