There's No Place Like Home

While on my walk this weekend, it was interesting to approach the Riverwalk with Jim Burklo’s claims in mind. I focused on the traditionally “homeless” areas more than I normally do—the paths and overpasses around Wingfield Park and through the open arena-like space near Java Jungle. The homeless have never particularly bothered me, although I sometimes feel uncomfortable if they don’t conserve my personal space. For the most part, however, I think of the homeless—or perhaps houseless—as real people in an unfortunate circumstance. I can’t imagine living without a home—I would consistently feel terrified and completely directionless. For this reason, I try to do what I can to help out when I can—the last two years I participated in Cardboard Box City, which is a fundraiser for the homeless that requires you to sleep in a cardboard box in Wingfield Park for a night. This experience opened my eyes to the struggles of the homeless, and I was reminded of it on my walk today.

                With this is mind, I contemplated Burklo’s ideas about the homeless. At first, the distinction seemed rather pointless—houseless and homeless do imply the same thing in regards to people without a dwelling. However, I began to understand what Burklo meant when I considered the difference between the words “house” and “home.” A home is much more than a house: while a house is simply a structure that supports us, a home is something we create. A home does not have to be enclosed; it can refer to relationships, memories, community. The people we call homeless may not have houses, but it doesn’t mean they don’t have homes somewhere—within the people they love, within their lifetime experiences, within the areas they inhabit. As this occurred to me, I was reminded of an excerpt I read my freshman year of high school entitled Dumpster Diving. It is written by a formerly homeless man, who had to survive without a house for about a year before he could find a job. He entailed his experiences as a homeless man in such an intelligent and engaging way that I was baffled he had ever been through what he had. He was most definitely still integrated into his community when he was homeless, and he became even more aware of the wastefulness of our society through his experiences. He may have been without a house, but he was assuredly not without a home. I can imagine that this is the case for many of the people in this situation in our society. They deserve credit for maintaining a home, for there are those who will be adequately sheltered their entire lives, and never expend the energy to create a home in the area they occupy.  

That's What You Get For Waking Up In Reno

 My regular 9:30 class on Thursday was cancelled this morning, meaning I actually had the opportunity to sleep in. So, naturally, I woke up at 7:56 A.M. This was the first time I have awoken unassisted before 8:00 am in several years (if the students in my 8:00 A.M. English class couldn’t already tell by my consistently lovely, I-rolled-out-of-bed-15-minutes-ago look). Obviously, some greater force wanted me to go on my walk for Walking Blog #9. I begrudgingly pulled myself out of bed, cursed my brain for letting this rare opportunity go to waste, laced up, and started on my run downtown. This time, I made sure to travel though the casino district before preceding down the Riverwalk and through my favorite neighborhood, which I mentioned in my previous Walking Blog entry.

                Because I visited the Riverwalk again on this walk/run, the marked difference between the casino district and the Riverwalk was more apparent to me. Physically, the contrast is rather stark—the casinos, at least to me, have always seemed shoddy and unappealing. Perhaps it is the stereotypical people that peruse this district that create this aura, or simply the idea of the casinos themselves. Either way, there is a definite difference in values that is present between the Riverwalk and surrounding neighborhood and the casino district. Casinos seem manipulative, dirty, and slightly unkempt, while the Riverwalk is beautiful and inviting. I was not aware that university students were once “off limits” to this area, but I definitely understand why. Or maybe I’m still cranky after waking up so early, who knows.

I suppose I could blame the city planners for this difference, as it could be said that they “control” the literal and spatial rhetoric of this area, but I think it would be more accurate to claim that the intentions behind the casinos are more responsible.  This, of course, is not to say that every person who steps foot in a casino is the next Al Capone, but there is a certain shadiness in the nature of the place itself—its manipulation, gluttony, wastefulness, etc. On the same note, however, Reno would perhaps not be able to afford to build locations like the Riverwalk if it weren’t for the venue that the casinos contribute to the city. This symbiotic relationship between these areas is therefore not only interesting, but necessary as well. One makes the city more aesthetically appealing and draws people in this manner, while the other provides the means for its existence.

So, for now, I guess I’ll have to deal with the casinos if I still want my Riverwalk. Besides, Reno wouldn’t really be Reno without one of its signature, attractions, right?

Riverwalk (Literally)

My roommate and I ran down to the river and took a break by walking on the Riverwalk. I admired the architecture and the scenery, perhaps more than usual because it meant I wasn’t running. I especially enjoyed the local feel of the area. The small shops and restaurants like Java Jungle and Campo added a “homey” touch to the walk—it is eclectic places like these that I feel truly reflect the core of the Reno community. The beautiful flower-lined bridges and the well-kept sidewalks also contributed to the tranquil and welcoming aura.

                I will admit that I am a little biased; the Riverwalk is perhaps my favorite area of the city. I often take runs starting in Idlewild Park and winding through downtown. My favorite street in Reno, Marsh Avenue, is only a couple blocks south of Wingfield Park as well. I could spend a significant amount of time wandering through the Riverwalk; it is great to live in such close proximity now. So, in my opinion, the Riverwalk was well worth the money. Downtown Reno would, quite simply, lose the majority of its appeal without it. I have always thought of the Riverwalk as a sort of reprieve from the rest of the casino-laden streets, and a testament that Reno is more than the sum of its stereotypes. It showcases the quirky and beautiful side of Reno that many overlook.

(The pictures I took today wouldn't upload, so I threw in some pictures from my prom in May. Getting on those rocks in 4 inch heels was not easy, so you should definitely be impressed. :P)

                The symbolism of the Riverwalk stimulated my thoughts on how I contribute to the Reno community. Do I add or detract from the stereotypes? How do my actions reflect or represent Reno? I came to the conclusion that, in general, I am a Reno girl through and through. I have lived here since I was six, and it is a part of me—my environment is engrained in my being, whether I realize it or not. I can’t help but be drawn to the unconventional aspects of Reno, because they remind me of the community I was raised in. I love the Riverwalk not only because it is beautiful, but because it feels like home. Therefore, I think I contribute to this Reno environment, even if it is subconsciously. There are quirky things about me that lie beneath the surface; I can be eclectic and enjoy the small things. I guess once a Reno girl, always a Reno girl. J

Remembering Rancho

On my walk today, I took a pathway through the residential neighborhood near the residence hall and made my way to Rancho San Rafael Park. With nature in mind, this was the perfect place to go. As a native from Reno, I have visited this area several times, but I had yet to return to the park simply to examine the nature that it encompasses.

                I followed the street through the residential neighborhood near the dorms rather than Sierra Street so as to observe its relationship to the natural world. I was pleasantly surprised by what I experienced before arriving at the park—there were roses, trees, or plants in almost every yard, their leaves forming a canopy over the sidewalk. It occurred to me as I was walking that, although humans are deemed the destructors of nature, we do surround ourselves with it when we can. The university campus has shrubbery, flowers, and trees near every building and walkway; the neighborhood homes mimic this as well—it seems that, in addition to our dependence on nature to provide us with what we need, we also rely on it to create the beauty in our everyday lives. We put plants in our yard, benches underneath trees, and flowers on our nightstands. Perhaps nature is something we seem to subconsciously surround ourselves with because it reminds us of our roots—no matter how hectic our lives may become, we always have a connection, an identification that we can return to.

                Upon entering Rancho, this idea of a connection was reinforced. A flood of memories hit me as I wandered the pathways through the arboretum—I went on field trips here as a child, with the log ride I was terrified of (some things never change); I took family photos in fourth grade on a bridge only a short walk away from the fences where I took my senior pictures; I read a book on a blanket under a tree with a friend I miss immensely. The nature in this park had made its own impressions in my life that I had never even realized, and linked my present to highlights of my past. It was not only represented in my neighborhood, it was represented in me.

                Can I just say that life is pretty incredible sometimes? I went on a walk expecting to check off another item on my to-do list, and ended up resurfacing memories I hadn’t considered in years. I guess a walking blog after a six page synthesis essay this weekend wasn’t so bad after all.   

Smell the Roses

On my walk today, I traversed the routes that I follow when I walk to class, except I did so just as the sun was setting. The campus had a completely different atmosphere—I normally walk this route at around noon, when the paths are filled with people in constant motion and chatter; however, at dusk, it was barren and peaceful. Personally, I love visiting completely empty areas that are usually chaotic and harboring large masses of people. I equate it to sitting alone in a giant auditorium, or swimming in the ocean at night. I was distinctly reminded of this tonight when I took my walk—I was one of only a few individuals, and I thoroughly enjoyed the stark contrast in commotion. It was as if the world were settling down, and hinting at me to do the same. I felt the sense that I was, to be cliché, stopping to smell the roses.

                This change in perspective was refreshing. The empty space and the quiet atmosphere enhanced the beauty of the campus, and caused me to take notice of things I typically let slip—the slight breeze, the wonderful architecture of the buildings, the elongated shadows, the rustle of the sage-like trees in the Quad. At first, I perhaps would have called these differences “changes,” but it occurred to me that the scenery is constant—rather, it is its occupation and my willingness to observe that catalyzed the alterations. Of course, the aspects such as lighting and time of day inevitably create a unique viewpoint, but it was ultimately a change in me, an enhancement in my perspective, that opened my eyes to what I had been too distracted to see before.

                I believe this speaks volumes as to our society today. I often feel that the pace of our society distracts me from the enchanting and captivating qualities that make our world so beautiful. With this in mind, this walk definitely inspired me to take time out of every day to savor the little things.  

Reno Transportation

In my neighborhood, I have to travel on foot, although I do have a car. I enjoy this, because I like getting the consistent exercise, even if it is mild. I choose to walk rather than bike or skateboard, partly because I don’t trust myself with all those people around during the day, and partly because I’d rather use my own two feet than any sort of mechanism when I can. And bike racks? No thank you. In terms of obstacles, I don’t have many major hindrances—I suppose I could complain about an occasionally heavy backpack or a hill or two, but overall, I don’t really mind. Except on the Thursdays, when I have to wear pants to lab in ninety degree weather. I do mind that. Is it Fall yet?

                Anyway, other forms of transportation that are available include biking and skateboarding (we’ve been over that one), the University shuttle, the Free Spirit bus, and the regular bus system. Like I said, I also have a car (which has made me curiously popular when my vehicle-less friends are in need…), and of course, transportation via the air is always available if I ever needed a means of long distance travel. I hardly ever use public transportation; I have never ridden a bus in Reno and I’ve lived here for 12 years. However, I think it is a great alternative to driving singularly, especially if the desired location is in close proximity. I’m not exactly aware of the quality of the public transportation system in Reno; I believe it is fairly good, however. The Free Spirit bus is appealing, but obviously that’s because it’s free. Perhaps if the transportation system was cleaner and less—well, public—it would be more appealing to a larger group of people, but obviously that is somewhat unrealistic.

                For now, I think I’ll stick with walking. J

Advertisements in the Neighborhood

                 Living on campus seems to increase exposure to advertisements; however, the content of these advertisements is unique to any other area I have been. There are advertisements hidden almost everywhere, but they are by no means overbearing or imposing on the surroundings. On my walk, I encountered posters for movies and concerts next to the Jot Travis building, ads for tutoring on the northeast corner of the Quad, and a board specifically designed for student advertisements on the first floor of the Joe Crowley Student Union. The advertisements are relatively small, considering the ads we often get bombarded with while driving on the freeway or window-shopping. They are, of course, intended to be enticing, but they are simultaneously informative and non-intrusive. The advertisements are often for events, clubs, services, and opportunities on campus. Because the intent of the ads seems to entice participation, their nature seems less manipulative and more interest-based; innocent, if you will.

                For this reason, I definitely think the advertisements in my neighborhood reflect its values. The values of a university are academic and socially encouraging; they push students to explore their interests and find new passions. This is in line with my values as well—I appreciate encouragement, but I am wary of manipulation, as I find it disrespectful and uninviting. I am definitely more drawn to an ad that invites me to meet new people or engage my mind; thankfully, this is appropriate in a university setting. This is also reflected in their appearances—the advertisements are noticeable, but not so large and obnoxious that they become common knowledge.

                After considering this prompt on my walk, I was surprisingly refreshed by what I had encountered. I highly respect the encouraging and exciting atmosphere on this campus. Ironically, perhaps all it took was a little advertising.    

Communities in Humanity (Specificity in Race and Gender)

The concept of racial and gender separation is a difficult idea to consider. I have honestly never paid much attention to the representation of race or gender in my neighborhood, especially in this new university setting. Not because I don't care, but because it doesn't often occur to me to define people this way. For me, this solidifies that I live in a well-integrated community.  Diversity is a more prevalent topic on a college campus, where it is often represented and respected. In terms of demographics, I feel that this is represented in the campus neighborhood as well. However, as I was walking down Sierra Street, it occurred to me that there is a separation of gender as far as fraternities and sororities are concerned. This was interesting to me, as it suddenly put this question in a new perspective. If we do tend to separate based on race or gender, which is often true, why do we do so? Do we feel safer when surrounded by people who are fundamentally like us?

                I think the answer is yes. This is how culture, tradition, and habitat develop—not only globally, but within local settings as well, such as a college community. We are automatically attracted to those we share a bond with, whether this is expressed through our interests, demographics, gender, level of intelligence, or common experiences. We integrate ourselves in these communities, perhaps without even realizing it. Take the Nevada Living Learning Community, for example. All of us who chose this residence hall as living quarters chose to simultaneously integrate ourselves in a community with people who think like we do. In light of these claims, the effects on mobility are perhaps implied. One will travel and thrive in an area where they feel accepted and comfortable; they will inherently choose their surroundings based on these criteria. 

                This idea caused me to reconsider how I choose to acclimate to my region—how I form my niche, if you will. When I thought about it, I began to understand that I am definitely a “niche” person. I love to be within a community where I can connect to others in multiple, complex levels. This has an interesting connection to the idea of mobility, and is perhaps a common thread throughout humanity.   

                                   

                                                                               It's our home! :)

Politics of Mobility, Place, and Food

In terms of the politics of mobility, place, and food, I would say that I am moderately involved in the place in which I live (although after the bioregional quizzes, I have begun to question my intelligence in general). The term “involved” here is hard to place, however. It occurred to me that my involvement cannot be truly determined until the idea of “place” is defined. One could define my place in progressively more specific terms—the Earth, North America, the United States, Nevada, Reno, off of Virginia street, on the UNR campus, on the fifth floor of the Nevada Living Learning Community. With this in mind, I immediately thought of the ripple effect. Like dropping a stone into a body of water, each action I take creates a ripple, the weakest being on the outskirts, and increasing with intensity until the center, where a splash can often occur. A decision I make today impacts my closest surrounding environment with the strongest ripple, but it also affects the entire world in a miniscule, almost undetectable way. Although it may seem insignificant, when one considers the amount of people on the earth and their every action affecting our planet, billions of undetectable vibrations suddenly become extremely noticeable in their coalition. In other words, my involvement in my “place” is constant, whether I intend it to be so or not.

                As I considered this, I realized I create a place for those around me through a structure of inhabitation. I inhabit the same area as others; the world I create with my actions and involvement is part of their world, and theirs is part of mine. While I may make my own decisions, those decisions never stand alone. I inhabit my environment, and it inhabits me. For example, I choose to eat local and organically if at all possible. This affects my own body and ability to be sufficiently mobile, but it also helps the local farmers, promotes the discontinuation of preservative and pesticides, and takes a step toward improving the environmental conditions. The more people who buy local, the more popular it becomes, and the greater effect it will have.

                The politics of mobility come into play here. The local food is more expensive, meaning families and individuals with a lower income may choose to forgo this option in light of personal economics. However, they may also choose to ride their bikes to work in order to avoid the expense of gas, whereas a higher income family might drive. The interconnectedness of the world and the environment is extremely complex, then. Each person has a unique and interpersonal connection with the area they inhabit, whether this be their residence hall or the entire world. 

My Neighborhood: Walking Journal #1

It occurred to me as I pondered my definition of “neighborhood” during my walk that I consider my surrounding geography to progress somewhat like a family. The places I visit every day—my residence hall, my classes, and the central campus of UNR in general—could be considered my “immediate family”; in other words, my most familiar and “homey” surroundings (though I might not go as far as labeling my lecture halls and classrooms homey, especially on Fridays. On Friday, they are dungeons. But neighborly dungeons nonetheless, I suppose.) Beyond this, the surrounding areas that I may not tread as often could be considered my “close relatives”—the dog park, downtown Reno, and the surrounding streets and homes. Outside of this are the distant cousins I rarely visit, but still have a good time with every once in a while. With this in mind, I suppose I define the boundaries of my neighborhood by a mixture of geography and a sense of familiarity. The locations that are more distant almost automatically qualify as outside my immediate neighborhood. Also, I have found that I generally do not define the boundaries of my neighborhood by the people within it, especially in this new environment—which is ironic, seeing as I equated my neighborhood with my family.

Downtown Reno

Tahoe

Bridge over Virginia on campus

Tahoe again! 

My route was largely determined by the unexplored area around my residence hall. I chose to take the streets that I hadn’t had the chance to peruse, and inspect the houses that are situated around the campus. I enjoyed the antique and unconventional feel of this area; it was refreshing compared to my old neighborhood, which was newly built. The streets I chose were usually connected to both the residential area and the campus—in other words, I had a glimpse of the University of Nevada campus while I explored the residential streets. The most significant impression I had was that I enjoy the fact that the campus is situated on a hill. I like the idea that the terrain and geography of an area never truly disappears, even when it’s built upon; in actuality, it is present in my everyday life, simply because I live and work there. Another impression I had was that my neighborhood has a more uniquely personal definition because I am furthering my education in the very place I reside. Not only is my residence hall properly deemed a “Living Learning Community,” but so is the entire campus. This university has become my new school and my new home.