Thinkers Challengers Innovators Leaders DISCOVER THE SUSSEX MBA MASTERS OPEN DAY – SATURDAY 9 MARCH <strong>2019</strong> www.sussexmba.com
COLUMN ........................... Amy Holtz The truth is, I’m a Minnesotan “When does the sun set?” I ask my partner, staring at the roaring orange ball through the windscreen. My dad, stupidly, has given me the keys to his car and we’re speeding down Highway 71 from New London, MN, like we’re on the run. The temperature is 32 Fahrenheit, or 0°C, and as the earth cools, the sky is streaked with fluorescence. The sun’s on our right, just over Ringo Lake, dotted with its tidy ice houses, and because we’ve got nowhere else to be, I wonder how far west we can track it. Wherever you are in Minnesota, you’ve got an undisturbed view of the sky. If you stood in the middle of a field and turned in a circle, your eyes would catch a few farms, giant silver bullet silos, the odd copse of trees. But the sky wins every time. Of course you can’t realise the wonder of this until you go somewhere else, somewhere the sky lives above. And as you get older of course you see things differently. Today it feels like, if we could just make up the distance, we might just catch the sun at the end of the road. Just like the first time I took in the sea, sweeping as far as I could hold my arms; the magnitude of it seemed, like our neverending prairies, almost hostile. How can there be this much water in one place? But it’s an illusion; like watching one of those nature clips they always have on display TVs – harsh, vivid vignettes of the brutality of the wild and, for a moment, you’re in it. But then you glance behind and the spell is broken – there’s a kid crying because they tried to chew a pebble, someone’s just lost all their chips to a seagull and, further back, there’s the buses, then the hotels and further still, somewhere, are the white hills that keep us all here. They push us back towards the water, where the film can start again. My partner’s Sussex ancestors built ships, to chase down whatever was on the other side of the horizon. And my ancestors, after traversing this infinity of salt, after a thousand or so of mountains and rolling hills, looked at this unstony, flat land and thought, ‘a good place to stop.’ Nothing but a sea of grass that they hoped might feed them, surrounded by the heavens. But now, we’re pushing onwards, perfecting the circle; we leave the city limits and I treat my partner to the longest gravel road known in these parts. A farm dog rushes out to greet us and, as I try to avoid him, the brakes lock up and we skid on the refrozen ice and stones. Don’t worry, he’s fine. My heart might explode, but the sun’s plummeting so we go. Then the gravel meets the highway and we pause. There’s no one behind us. Take a picture but as always, it doesn’t show much. Still, it’s a good place to stop. Until we cross back over the sea again. ....43....