by Craig Berger
The thirty degree temperatures, the cold, wet flakes, and what turned out to be a long walk from my car to the restaurant had my Californian girlfriend shivering under my umbrella and me wondering how I was going to pull this off. Luckily, the snow/rain/whatever it was lightened as we approached my car. Acknowledging it was cold and less-than-beautiful out, I mentioned that Federal Hill was right up the street. "Do you want to check it out?," I asked, nervously. While she had to have thought I was crazy, she agreed. Finally reaching the edge of the hill five minutes later, I clutched the ring box in my right pocket, as she took a panoramic photo of the Baltimore skyline on her phone. I pointed out the fading Ravens logo on the side of the hill; as she stepped forward to look, I grabbed the ring out of my pocket. As I went to kneel, my umbrella in one hand, the ring box open in the other, I heard her say, "Alright, let's go," as she turned away and took a step back toward the car, shaking from the cold. "Wait," I said. When she turned to see what could possibly make me want to stay any longer, I was already down on one knee. "Will you marry me?," I asked. Covering her mouth with both hands, tears welling in her eyes, she nodded, eventually able to reply "yes."
In the couple weeks that have passed since my engagement, I have replayed this experience many different times, gradually remembering additional details from that night that my nerves had initially blocked (in writing this post, I was able to recall even more). The realization I keep encountering is how, in the course of living our lives, we sanctify certain places. We fill these hangouts, stores, parks, bars, and campuses with our experiences, our interactions with people, and through that process, we transform them--in our memories, in our everyday lives, and in the recollections of ourselves and others.
I've always realized that my view of places changes as I accumulate experiences in them, but I see now that this power to see places differently over time based on these experiences also impacts others (even people who may not yet be here). I can imagine taking my kids back to Federal Hill in a decade, pointing out the general area where the knee of my dress pants touched the cold, wet cement. I can also visualize many students here returning to UMBC in several years, walking around with significant others, their kids, or other loved ones, and pointing out where their significant moments took place: where they were when they met their partner, the place where they were when they realized what they wanted to do with their life, or even that physical piece of campus they walked by each day, always noticing something new.
I find incredible power in realizing that these places weren't consecrated in my life because of any heroic mission I completed. It is those everyday moments and my ability to be real in them that make these places important to me. Some of those moments are big and obvious, similar to my proposal. Others are more difficult to anticipate. But it's empowering to me to know that I have the ability to shape these places myself.
I'm curious: what would you consider to be "treasured places" in your lives? What makes them so?
Co-Create UMBC is a blog for and about UMBC, written by David Hoffman and Craig Berger from the Office of Student Life. Join the Co-Create UMBC group on MyUMBC. Like Co-Create UMBC on Facebook. And follow David and Craig on Twitter.
The thirty degree temperatures, the cold, wet flakes, and what turned out to be a long walk from my car to the restaurant had my Californian girlfriend shivering under my umbrella and me wondering how I was going to pull this off. Luckily, the snow/rain/whatever it was lightened as we approached my car. Acknowledging it was cold and less-than-beautiful out, I mentioned that Federal Hill was right up the street. "Do you want to check it out?," I asked, nervously. While she had to have thought I was crazy, she agreed. Finally reaching the edge of the hill five minutes later, I clutched the ring box in my right pocket, as she took a panoramic photo of the Baltimore skyline on her phone. I pointed out the fading Ravens logo on the side of the hill; as she stepped forward to look, I grabbed the ring out of my pocket. As I went to kneel, my umbrella in one hand, the ring box open in the other, I heard her say, "Alright, let's go," as she turned away and took a step back toward the car, shaking from the cold. "Wait," I said. When she turned to see what could possibly make me want to stay any longer, I was already down on one knee. "Will you marry me?," I asked. Covering her mouth with both hands, tears welling in her eyes, she nodded, eventually able to reply "yes."
In the couple weeks that have passed since my engagement, I have replayed this experience many different times, gradually remembering additional details from that night that my nerves had initially blocked (in writing this post, I was able to recall even more). The realization I keep encountering is how, in the course of living our lives, we sanctify certain places. We fill these hangouts, stores, parks, bars, and campuses with our experiences, our interactions with people, and through that process, we transform them--in our memories, in our everyday lives, and in the recollections of ourselves and others.
I've always realized that my view of places changes as I accumulate experiences in them, but I see now that this power to see places differently over time based on these experiences also impacts others (even people who may not yet be here). I can imagine taking my kids back to Federal Hill in a decade, pointing out the general area where the knee of my dress pants touched the cold, wet cement. I can also visualize many students here returning to UMBC in several years, walking around with significant others, their kids, or other loved ones, and pointing out where their significant moments took place: where they were when they met their partner, the place where they were when they realized what they wanted to do with their life, or even that physical piece of campus they walked by each day, always noticing something new.
I find incredible power in realizing that these places weren't consecrated in my life because of any heroic mission I completed. It is those everyday moments and my ability to be real in them that make these places important to me. Some of those moments are big and obvious, similar to my proposal. Others are more difficult to anticipate. But it's empowering to me to know that I have the ability to shape these places myself.
I'm curious: what would you consider to be "treasured places" in your lives? What makes them so?
Co-Create UMBC is a blog for and about UMBC, written by David Hoffman and Craig Berger from the Office of Student Life. Join the Co-Create UMBC group on MyUMBC. Like Co-Create UMBC on Facebook. And follow David and Craig on Twitter.
