The Borders of the El Segundo Blue

Their tiny, baby blue wings awaken in March; they lay their eggs under the leaves of coastal shrubs in May, and take their last breaths by June.  I grew up near this federally endangered species of butterfly, the El Segundo Blue, which is endemic to my hometown of El Segundo, California.  It resides within a few small, gated, federally protected areas.  Like the butterfly, I have lived in a suburb in the heart of Los Angeles County, yet isolated from the world of LA. Our kindred circumstances have caused me to identify with the butterfly throughout my life.

Inside the small world of my village, closed in and protected by LAX, the Pacific Ocean, a Chevron refinery, and an industrial district, my habitat has been protected. Like the El Segundo Blue, I had the secure environment that promoted my early growth and success.  Within a range from Sepulveda Boulevard to the El Segundo Beach, my early universe didn't grow much.  I was the one who grew.

My Grandma Oni first took me to the beach.  The dolphins, sea lions, and occasional grey whales frequenting the coast during certain times of year represented to me something beautiful, but the sheer freedom experienced by the sea creatures was something that I didn't understand. My Grandma would point out to me the sea creatures as they passed, and explain to me their importance on the Earth, but the outstanding magnitude of the range that these creatures knew baffled me.  The El Segundo Blue, however, was an animal I understood.

The butterfly's entire species consists of a few thousand individuals that live within several gated areas within our 3-square-mile town.  It eats only one specific breed of plant, the dune buckwheat, which grows only in the local coast sand dunes.

In 10th grade, I took a trip into the dunes to help remove invasive species of plants that harm the butterfly's food source, but the real reason I wanted to go was to get a closer look at the endangered species about which I had learned so much, having lived in its proximity for so long.  A guide pointed out a few bushes of the butterfly's food source, and later, during a break, I approached the bushes that signified the location of the butterfly, and felt around for their smooth cocoons in the soft sand; (they would be in the pupa stage until the following spring), and voila! I found one almost immediately.   This was the moment that changed my life.

With its safety in mind, I gently raised its tiny brown cylinder to my eye, observed it, and contemplated it.  The inch-long, segmented pupa was exactly what I had been looking for my entire life.  It was more than a species on the brink of extinction that I held in my hand; I held the protection from the outside world; I held a life lived in seclusion; I held myself. 

As I pondered the plight of this animal, I determined that I knew one thing for sure: due to local human development , in the entirety of its life, this special little bug would never fly more than a few feet from where it was at that moment.

Considering my relationship with my hometown, I came to wonder whether I, like the El Segundo Blue, would be restricted by the isolating borders of my hometown, and whether or not I had the strength to expand upon my personal borders, and prevent my roots from holding me down. The butterfly and I had a similar early habitat  - a protective environment to foster our early growth and success, but unlike the butterfly, I needed to expand my borders, and become a sea creature.  I inhumed the cocoon in the sand, and considered college life, asking myself, "Will I be ready to move on from El Segundo, and be happy somewhere else?"

I concluded that this question could only be answered with some genuine experimentation. The next summer, I decided to spend the season at Stanford University's High School Summer College, and see how I felt about life outside my borders. I spent eight weeks expanding my knowledge for the first time into college level chemistry and mathematics, and felt at home among scholars from around the world.  It wasn't until the second week of classes though when I determined that a college life suited me. 

At first the event didn't seem like anything incredibly out of the ordinary.  I had received notice that I was chosen to attend a field trip out onto the bay with a few other science nerds (as we often call ourselves) for wildlife viewing and sailing, and we set sail that Saturday morning.  I had been chosen for a few other events so far, and even helped out with the SPOON charity, so it didn't surprise me that I would get to go on this trip too.  When we got out onto the water though, the excitement changed.  The wind blowing through my hair, I felt the freedom of the sea penetrate my soul.  The sun beat me down, but the flowing air kept me up.  When we sailed out past the Bay Bridge, I gazed at the boundlessness of the horizon, and thought to myself, "wow, this feels good."  I was teetering on the edge of an epiphany until I was ultimately thrust off the edge by the least likely of all creatures.  A little seal swam right by the boat, stuck his head out of the water, and seemed to look at me directly, as if to say, "Now do you get it?"  I had been living my dream!  I was taking the classes I loved, with my soon-becoming best friends, and I had service opportunities literally outside my window!

To my astonishment, at that moment I discovered that, although my hometown made me who I am, it also prepared me to be an independent, responsible person, and to have a life beyond the world I know in El Segundo.  I learned that what I truly need in my environment is neither the proximity to the beach nor my family and community by my side, but the passion, intellect and service in my surroundings that I had in a college environment.  One thing I know for sure, is that there is more in store for me outside the borders of the El Segundo Blue.

 Wow - I love this. Good voice. Good writing.