The Declaration of Independence
History speaks to me. My favorite travel destinations, by far, involve history. I crave history. When I am unable to experience history in person, I can usually be found reading a historical fiction novel with a great story. For this reason, it is no surprise that I was a history major in college. You will rarely find me spouting off historical facts and dates simply because I love the social aspect of history. The people, the places, the monumental occasions–the fact that what happened then effects what happens now.
History moves me. Trying to imagine what it would be like to live and experience different time periods is exhilarating. As I stand in a historical place I almost shutter when I realize who was there before me. This only makes me crave history more, but I always end up thankful for the events and people of the past that make my present possible.
As I walked into the rotunda of Archives of the United States of America, my excitement was almost beyond containment. In addition to history, I love words. The convergence of two of my greatest loves is almost unbearable. My previous trip to our nation’s capital found the Archives building under renovations. I was crushed to be so close, yet so far away from some of my favorite living history.
The lighting of the rotunda was dim in order to preserve the documents. The hues of light recalled the candlelight and gaslight that would have been used to write and view the documents originally, and it was perfect. I patiently walked around the room in the proper direction, stopping to read about the history leading to the writing of the documents as well as the history of preserving the documents. My heart skipped a beat when at last I saw, “We the People.” After 234 years, the words are still so powerful.
As I admired The Declaration of Independence, this document I have read about since elementary school, memorized on more than one occasion, and have a copy of, I was struck by the invisible ink. I know how old the document is, but I never expected the ink to be so faded. I was compelled to memorize every detail of my experience so I would never forget.
I did not really read the documents. I recited a few lines to myself, but mostly I just stared with the same wide-eyed wonder I had as a child experiencing history. I observed my fellow tourists and imagined bringing friends and family to this very spot where I stood. The spot where I became a part of history.
Remembering The Seen 