I don't remember who it was that told me if I dug a hole deep enough, I could get to China. But I do remember trying. My neighbor Matt and I, with our 4-inch metal shovels in my mom's would-be flower bed, once dug for an entire day--stopping only to eat, use the bathroom, and explain to passers-by that we, yes WE, were on our way to C-h-i-n-a China. They'd nod and smile, "Wooooww, you are?!" I think we knew they didn't really think we could do it, yet somehow, we knew we could. Once the hole was about ankle deep I peered inside intently, determined that if I looked hard enough I would spot Chinese children running around with chopsticks and little pointy hats to shade them from the hot eastern sun. "I see them! We're there; we're almost there, Matt!" We jumped up and down chanting, "We're going to China! We're gong to China!."
I remember this so well. And I also remember (please don't tell Matt this) that I didn't really see Chinese children. Being around 7 years old at the time, I was young, but I wasn't stupid. But I had faith. I believed, truly believed, that if we worked hard enough, dug long enough, eventually we would reach our goal. And you know what one of the funniest things is now that I think back? My mom didn't even try to stop me from digging up her yard. My guess is that I said, "Hey Mom, we're gonna dig to China, okay?" And she said, "That's nice, honey." She's never been one to stand in the way of my dreams. Especially not when she's on the phone.
Eventually, I got to China. It took 25 years and 24 hours in airports in airplanes, but I got there. Eventually I realized the shovel wasn't going to hack it.
So I got to thinking today: When did I stop believing that I could dig to China? Maybe it was learning in school that the earth has a molten lava core that would incinerate me before I even got close to it? That there would be layers of impenetrable rock that I'd have to somehow dig through before I could get close to being incinerated? That digging to China is possible only in theory and that no one has ever, nor will ever actually achieve such a feat? Yes, I guess school taught me that, and so that's probably when the dream died. But Matt and I could have dug until our hands fell off and I don't believe that we ever would have stopped believing. It took someone to tell us we couldn't. Then we stopped. We stopped digging. We stopped believing. (Then my mom got off the phone and screamed, "What happened to my yard!?")
We don't question our abilities, the possibilities of our own endurance and courage, all on our own. We're taught to do that. The "You can'ts" and "It's impossibles" from well-meaning adults and from our own failed attempts toward small successes penetrate our schemas, become embedded in the fabric of who we are and who we (might) become.
I, for one, need to get that dig-to-china spirit back.
