I have known about this initial blog post for what must be around two weeks now, and I have spent a good portion of that time sitting and pondering what to write and how best to write it. What words should I use? What is it that I want to talk about? What will make me sound like I know what I am doing and am ready for this trip? What can I say that hasn’t already been said?
To be honest, I still am not sure.
I’m writing this on Christmas day, and I’ve spent the entire day pondering (or perhaps worrying about) the superficial necessities of the trip. What snacks should I bring? What clothing should I pack? What music should I download to listen to on the plane? I have thought a lot about what I should pack and worried that I will pack too much, or even too little, and won’t be prepared for this trip. I’ve discussed the trip in length with many of my friends and family, all eager to hear about what the team and I will be doing. I’ve also done my best to answer countless questions about where Falfurrias, Texas is in relation to Dallas, Houston, and Austin (spoiler: it is not particularly close to any of them, as I’ve come to learn). And yet, in all this time spent worrying over snacks, music, and clothing, I have not given myself the time to truly relax and contemplate what it means to go on this trip.
I’ve been asking myself what it is that I hope to learn from this experience. How can I contribute meaningfully, what will I take away from this trip? And I repeatedly find myself focusing on my limitations, rather than my strengths. I’m a worrier, I’m emotional, I’m a bit (okay, more than a bit) unconfident in myself, and these have all culminated in me worrying about my position on this trip, and my ability to do good like I desperately want to. In all my thoughts about the trip, I find myself most afraid that I’ll end up stumbling along the way.
In the midst of all of my planning and worrying, I’ve realized that I haven’t yet stopped to reflect on why I’m going on this trip- and what it means for me as a student and a person. My heart knows that this is not a vacation, yet my mind refused to let me compartmentalize it as anything else, perhaps to keep me from worrying too greatly about it. But Falfurrias, and Brooks County as a whole, is more than just a destination for the team and me to do anthropological work, it is a location of complex histories and sociopolitical nuances that I am still learning so much about. Perhaps it is the anthropologist in me, but I cannot help but find myself wondering about the many different people I’ll encounter–whether it be in the field, at the Whataburger I’ve heard so much about, or even at the hotel–and the connections I’ll make, not only with the locals but also with my team.
There’s a great privilege in being able to think this way, a privilege that not all are afforded. For many, the luxury of introspection or the ability to reflect on purpose is overshadowed by the immediate demands of survival, safety, or necessity. We’re going down to the border to search for migrants–people who have faced unimaginable hardships, risking everything for the hope of a better life. These individuals’ stories are marked by resilience, desperation, and courage, but too often end unheard.
The weight of this reality isn’t lost on me. It’s a privilege to approach this work with time to ponder, plan, and even worry about things like packing and playlists. But for the people we’ll be searching for, every decision made along their journeys was one of necessity, not convenience. They didn’t have the luxury to overthink. This trip isn’t just about the work we’re doing–it’s about recognizing the humanity in every step we take and every story we uncover.
Part of me feels overwhelmed by the responsibility of experiencing something so profound, so real. There are many nuances here, ones I have only just begun to understand fully. I don’t know how I will react when I’m out there, gazing across the great expanse of ranch land, or what emotions will rise to the surface. I want to believe that I will be stoic and strong, that I’ll somehow absorb an ounce of the talent and skill of the others on this trip–but I suppose I won’t truly know until I’m there, boots in the dirt, and seeing it all for myself. Privilege allows me to do this work, and with that comes the responsibility to approach it with humility, empathy, and respect for the gravity of what we are undertaking.
As I write this I’ve come to realize that this trip isn’t about being “ready” in the way I might want to be. And I’ve come closer to accepting that that is okay. Because maybe it’s not about packing the perfect bag or erasing all my worries. Instead, maybe it’s about stepping into the unknown, being open to growth and understanding, and trusting that even in my uncertainty, I’ll find my footing.
– Makenna