Under the Banyan Trees

We've all heard it before. And we've rarely believed it. Your friend, lifting her shoulders and cocking her head slightly to the right, declares, This experience changed my life!  You hug your friend and say that's fantastic .And you want to believe her, and you even do for a while. And then. . .  inevitably, weeks pass, months pass, and maybe even years pass. And nothing changes.

Your friend wasn't crazy or disingenuous; she simply wasn't ready. It happens. . . because a life won't be altered unless the person living it is prepared.

I was more than prepared when my life-changing experience occurred (it changed me, I swear!). Like an aspiring film star who spends years smiling half-heartedly through gigs of pet food commercials and two minute soap opera spots knowing he can't accept those jobs forever but unable to break into movies. Until a practically cosmic event occurs. He sees something. Or meets someone.  Or feels a jolt of urgency and possibility through the unexpected.

My adventure as a visiting professor in Taiwan was itself not unanticipated, but what I experienced could not have been planned. I blame it on the trees.

For a month I didn't know the name of  those majestic trees with twisted trunks, perfectly green leaves, and earth-colored tendrils that nearly reached the ground and protected visitors entering the campus of Feng Chia University.  I just knew the trees brought me joy as I walked under the natural umbrella trying to stave off the intense heat that I didn't adjust to even after six weeks. Like a friend unconditionally offering sympathy and happiness, the trees welcomed me every morning at 9:45.  

One sweaty Thursday afternoon after four hours of communication studies, a student revealed the trees' name: banyan. And the jolt occurred.  I had heard of those trees! Hell, everyone had. People composed songs about banyan trees, people fell in love with banyan trees, and people, like me, learned from the banyans.


That night, I realized I had also learned from my students. And I had learned from the development of a class I taught for the first time. And I had gleaned something from everyone I encountered who couldn't understand me because I didn't speak or read their language. I understood that I thrive on discovery, that I need to be learning to be happy. And I felt, after myriad late night grading sessions in student housing and early morning tea runs before the humidity became unbearable, that I could accomplish more than I had ever believed I could. And that is life-changing.
Couldn't leave without taking a selfie with the Banyan trees

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