In English there is only one word for ‘knowing’ something, anything: a statistic, a person, an equation, a place, a feeling. Until recently I did not realize how limiting this aspect of our language could be. In Spanish two distinct types of ‘knowing’ are delineated between. There is saber- which is used for facts and things which one can empirically know, and then there is conocer- which is used to describe something which one is familiar with, or knows by experience.
I love to saber things, especially about other cultures. Growing up in a fair trade town I always considered this type of knowledge necessary to be an informed member of the global community. Yet, after reading enough National Geographic and collecting a lot of documentary factoids I figured I was set. My ‘print and paper’ dose of the world was just enough to satisfy my curiosity, but never too much as to shake me from my rock solid comfort zone.
Had I written this essay three months ago I would have said that the place where I was most content was on top of my ‘bicycle yellow’ chicken coop- the coop my grandfather and I built by hand nearly ten years ago. It was the perfect homework spot, and (upstate NY weather permitting) where I would spend my afternoons. With my family close at hand, and the comfortingly familiar sound of my hens swelling up beneath me, I was perfectly at peace. I could never imagine that I’d want anything more from life than to be in the place that I loved surrounded by the people that I loved. Until one day I decided to leave it all behind.
On August 23rd I boarded a plane to begin my year as a Rotary Exchange Student in Ecuador. This entailed staying in the home of an unknown family and living in an unfamiliar culture, all while trying to learn a foreign language.
When I told everyone back home what I intended to do they were shocked. From Girl Scouting and playing in the marching band to donning the school’s mascot costume I was always very engaged in my community. Furthermore, I was incredibly vocal in my adoration of our John Mellencamp-esque small town. While all of my classmates were anxious to ‘fly the coop’ after graduation I was laying plans to stay close and eventually move back to good ole’ Ballston Spa. Nobody could believe that I would take such a leap- least of all me.
Yet at some point I became aware that being knowledgeable doesn’t mean that you necessarily know anything. Without stepping past my front door I ‘knew’ Ecuador from travel guides and Google searches. I saber-ed that I was heading to a developing country that boasted the largest Indigenous population in South America and held strictly to its Roman Catholic values. However, it was not until travelling two and a half hours for my pregnant host sister to receive appropriate health care did I conocer ‘developing’. Not before attending Mass partly in Quechua (the native language) did I conocer that the Indigenous culture is alive and well. And it took living on the same block with four generations to conocer Latin American familial dynamics. What was once merely abstract notions became my new normal.
I was so comfortable where I was, but I came to realize that I was too comfortable- stagnant, complacent. I now know that I will never be perfectly content in any one place. The roof of my ‘bicycle yellow’ chicken coop is my base, but I will not allow myself to be smothered in my safety blanket. Instead of collecting trivial pursuit tidbits I now vow to collect enriching personal experiences. My goal for higher education is to attend a school that will help me to conocer the world and not solely saber it from the distant pages of textbooks.