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 ^{(it's beta!)}

I have a rock.

Not just any rock mind you; my rock.

I literally stumbled upon my rock. I was wandering, ankle-deep, through a stream in Glacier National Park, Montana. It was August, perhaps two years ago, and the chilly mountain water felt pleasant between my toes.

I remember the moment well, after tripping over this rock an almost foolish joy swept over me as I glanced down. I was seeing my rock for the first time (of course it wasn’t my rock then, but I’m getting there) and thus I grabbed it up out of the stream bed and grinned. Something inside me declared it mine with childish glee, for you see, it wasn’t just any rock, this rock had a heart.

From most angles my rock is rather dull. It is a beigish-tannish-yellow, (you know the color like antique parchment), edged in charcoal lines with something like the sheen of graphite. But flip my rock over and there it is, plain as day: a heart.

The heart fits my thumb perfectly and I worry it sometimes when thinking through difficult things. And of course my rock has been with me through some difficult times: surgery, AP exams, championships… and the heart has gotten more and more distinct.

My rock reminds me of the places I’ve traveled, the beauty I’ve seen. My family has been all over the United States, (my twin and I boast that we’ve each visited 38 states) and gathering rocks and shells has always been a family habit. I still have a rock I found in the Ho Rainforest in Washington when I was seven. It is a matte black but when washed, deep red speckles appear and remain until the surface dries again.

I have always loved traveling to new places, meeting new people, learning and seeing new things. I am no sort of geologist but the rocks around the house (never more than three or four to a pile, of course) bring back memories of camping in the Rockies, setting off fireworks in England or driving through the San Joaquin. I have rocks from the colleges I’ve visited and have tried deciding which college I want to attend based upon the rocks I’ve collected from each campus (sadly the process was inconclusive).

Traveling has done good things to me. I’m probably one of the few teenagers in the suburbs these days that has seen the Milky Way. I can tell you the difference between East and West coast mentalities, which I prefer and why and I have no problems turning near strangers into close friends. I know how to pitch a tent, build a fire, make food bear-proof and climb rocks. Rocks are integral to travel, it seems; especially out west where there’s often nothing to do but climb them or take them home.

Rocks, I think, have a lot to do with the way I view people. Rocks are dirt, made beautiful and interesting through pressure and time. And while people aren’t dirt, the earliest creation myths symbolically choose clay as the main ingredient for life, add some divine intervention and here we are. Plus, like rocks, people are certainly made more beautiful and more interesting through how they handle pressure, change and time. After all, many people may have personalities that could use a little cleaning, but look past the dirt and it might be worth it to bring them home.