Privileged to be annoyed by homework

Boo. Back to being sick AND I haven't finished this stupid paper. AND I don't think I'm going to do a good job on it. I can't muster the energy to care (from apathy, not from being sick).

So far the best part of my day has been talking to an old friend from North Carolina. It's funny how even though I am studying precisely the type of law that will affect the lives of my friends down there in the Mexican community, I can't muster up the strength to give a damn about my homework. Maybe instead of blogging, I should be reflecting on the privilege I have of being here and doing this.

"For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more." Luke 12:48.

So far so good

Well, thankfully, I talked to the paralegal who was very encouraging about my situation, and then I talked to my boss. She said it was no problem at all for me to go to the passport meeting, and to leave work early on Friday to fly out of the country. Now I just need to make sure I can get a ticket and my passport, neither of which is a guarantee at this point.

So much is happening right now. I started my new job on Monday, but really I was just in training for the last two days. Along with people from about four or five other organizations, we had a training all about farmworker law, including tax issues, housing, field sanitation, H2A & H2B workers, the Agricultural Workers Protection Act and much more. It would be a lie to say that I was captivated and sitting on the edge of my seat the entire time. It's hard to stay focused for 8 hours in the same moot court room, two days straight, even when the subject is interesting, there is plenty of free coffee and you've had many breaks. Still.

As I sat in the room and looked over the agenda, and listened to the lawyers give their presentations, I was struck by how perfect this whole situation is. Three years ago, I was working for a mom-and-pop company training spanish-speaking laborers on how to avoid electrocution in a wet crawlspace or keep from being buried alive while digging a trench. I was helping co-workers complete workers comp forms when their backs gave out or the trench did collapse. I was calling landlords to ask why rent checks were never cashed, and handing out pamphlets on the free neighborhood clinics run by Duke. I loved it. Going to law school was my best guess as to how I could continue to do this type of work as a career. I didn't want to be a social worker. I didn't want to be a translator. Human resources was never going to work. This is it. And I feel so lucky. I'm excited about this summer!

Meanwhile, my uncle is laying in a bed somewhere far south of here, unable to move anything but his eyes. Six months ago, he was flying helicopters in Afghanistan, a fact that I was never comfortable with, but which speaks to his health and the manner with which he approached life: fearlessly. I am completly baffled and frightened by the fact that my macho, overly-protective, doting, hard-drinking, fun-loving, physically fit uncle, the oldest surviving son of my grandmother, the man who used to tell me I should have one boyfriend for every day of the week, who only just met T for the first time over Christmas, but immediately liked him and welcomed him into the family only two weeks ago... that he is now bed-ridden for life, and that he is stuck in this horrible medical, legal, ethical limbo. It makes no sense. It seems unreal. I can't believe this is actually happening to us.

At the same time, T and I went out to dinner tonight, where he brought up a concern that he had. He shared a story with me that he didn't have to share. The kind of story that is easier to keep to yourself to avoid questions. But because I am dating a wonderful man, and because we have learned the hard way about radical honesty and trust, he came to me and we talked. We're not a perfect couple by any stretch. I know that T and I will weather our fair share of storms in the future, just as any couple will have to do. We've been through some hell of our own already, which we were fortunate enough to have been brought together by, rather than getting torn apart. Sometimes I don't think I stop often enough to think about how lucky we are.

I was saying to him how as I've grown older I've grown more self-confident. It's true. It's not that I feel prettier (I don't) or smarter (I don't) or even wiser (I don't, usually). The difference between who I am now and who I was when I first met T has a lot more to do with how much more I believe in myself. And because I believe in myself, I don't walk around feeling fearful all the time, like I used to do when I was younger. Now, when I feel bad, whether it's insecurity, anger or disappointment, I believe my reasons and I trust myself enough to bring those feelings to the table. And I trust T to take me seriously. Because of that trust, I don't feel guilty bringing things up, and I usually feel better after we've talked. It's awesome. It's not perfect. It doesn't always work. But it's awesome.

So it's a mixed bag these days. Wedding planning. New job. No summer funding. Family illness. Sadness. Love.

on weather

Looks like wedding planning may be starting to pick up again pretty soon. My "bride to be" (his words, not mine) and I recently talked about it and decided that it's probably an appropriate time to start edging toward that precipice again. I have to admit that after getting very excited about the planning over winter break, and then suddenly feeling like I had a bucket of cold water poured over me, I am a little reluctant to delve back into everything. But this morning I called my parents on my walk to work and my mom asked, "So, is the wedding still on?" And I realized that maybe I need to pull my head out of the sand, for at least a little bit.

On another note, the weather has been suspiciously spring-like these last few days. For the 27th time, the first warm day of a new year has nearly brought tears of joy to my eyes. At the risk of sounding like a cliche, spring feels like getting a new lease on life. Especially after a bitterly freezing, windy cold winter in the Big City. But wait, what's that you say? It's the middle of February, not exactly springtime? Yeah, shhh... I know. I'm about to get my heart broken for the 27th time when the first warm day of the new year gives way to the most unwelcome snow day of the new year, which according to my weather report will be sometime next week.


Walking home from the train today, I noticed the waning sun casting a golden light over some buildings in my neighborhood, juxtaposed by the dark storm clouds off in the distance. Back in Virginia, this was one of my favorite sights... Golden green trees in the late afternoon with dark stormy clouds just yonder. I spent a moment taking in the sight, trying to decide if this same weather/color phenomenon was as beautiful in the middle of a crowded city street as in suburban (tree-lined) Virginia. Then I saw something flying lazily, gracefully across the skyline, carried along by the breeze and cast in that same lovely shade of gold. It was a plastic bag, I realized. I kept walking.

The other night, when I still had to wear a scarf, full coat buttoned up to my chin, gloves, a hat and long underwear, it snowed. A lot. For the first time, the snow stuck on more than just the cars. T went down to walk the dog and called up to me from the bottom of the stairs: "Come down. You're going to want to see this." So down I trudged, into the six inches of snow, wearing sneakers and the whole winter get-up. He was right. It was a beautiful sight and the streets were strangely quiet, lending a bit of that Southern ambience to the scene. We threw snowballs at the dog, buried treats for him in the ground, made a snowman to try to scare the s*~t out of him (unsuccessfully) and generally made merry. A pair of Mexican couples from the southern end of the neighborhood had made their way up to the park by our apartment and the streets echoed with their unselfconscious laughter. They were throwing snowballs at one another and pulling one another to the ground. It reminded me of the time, just before I left my job in North Carolina, when a morning snowfall struck unexpectedly on a morning when none of the crews had work. There were only a couple of new employees hanging around the warehouse taking care of some odds and ends, and I didn't know them that well. As I sat at my computer, one of them had rushed in urgently, with a look of alarm on his face. "Quick, tell the patrona," he said, gesturing toward the window. "There's something wrong with the light out there." He was talking about a street lamp that for some reason sat in the middle of the warehouse yard. I asked him what the problem was. "It's sparking. Some kind of an explosion!" We rushed to the window. The street lamp was casting a light on the falling snow, refracting into the darkness and creating the illusion of sparks. I asked if he had ever seen snow before. "No, I've only been here a few months," he said. For some reason, that was one of those amazing moments that I'll never be able to recreate or retell. But when I saw those couples playing around in the snow, I thought of that nameless guy at my old job, and was really glad I had known him.

Making good time in 2009

I've never had real New Years resolutions that I actually vow to stick to. Usually I do make a resolution or two in the spirit of sharing with friends over a toast at midnight, but this year, I didn't even do that. Instead, I silently vowed to myself in the wee hours of the first morning of 2009 that I would try to be more mindful this year. I want to write more. I want to open myself up more to talking about the things that really matter to me, the things that are on my mind. I want to spend less time distracting myself with things that don't matter at all. (Hello, Wii and Uno FreeFall!) For a moment, I entertained the idea of vowing to post on this blog every day for the whole year, or maybe write in my journal or something. But I'm not one for making promises I know I won't keep. So, instead, I'm just going to try. And I am holding myself to it by announcing that here.

So now I'm sitting in the Duke undergraduate library, typing out this first entry for the year while I kill time down in North Carolina. I'm in NC to visit old friends, people from a life I feel I've left pretty far behind by now, but not so far that it's irrelevant. I spent a good two years here, developing my post-college identity and setting the course that eventually landed me here in law school, engaged and more content and settled, if a bit more boring. Boring has been the theme of this "vacation" home to visit friends and family all over Virginia and NC. Not that it's been boring, but that I wonder if I AM boring. Even writing that, I laugh at myself a little. I don't feel boring, and that's what matters. But hanging around my bro, and other old friends, I remember myself from five years ago, seven years ago, when I would run around all night with them, hoping from diner to basement to liquor store to parking garage, playing video games and doing stupid suburban things. They don't do that stuff anymore, but they have moved on the grown-up version of such pasttimes: parties with friends in the city, clowning in the circus (literally), I don't know. I just feel different. It's not bad, it's just something I don't notice except under certain circumstances.

Anyway, that's one thing running through my mind this break. Another was the whole shadow of living under my parents' roof again. That's the kind of stuff that trips me up from writing on a blog, because it's dark and scary and I'm afraid of making my family life sound terrible. I'm also protective of it, but at the same time feel an urge to write. What I realized, on my drive down to NC, is that I am terrified of sadness. Too much time at home and I start to feel scared and lonely. So I'm ready to go back up to the big city, where T awaits me and I can live MY life rather than worry about my family's. I just wonder, I keep wondering if I am running away from something.

Well, I have to get back to driving around these old streets and trying to make sense of being here. As unhappy as I sometimes feel with living in a big city and having disrupted something good T and I had going on in Richmond, I feel very very grateful to be with him in our tiny little apartment, and I don't really care where it is. Big city, tiny town, boondocks or cookie-cutter suburbs, I am just happy to have the little family I have and be living in something that is mine, that is the present.

in the thick of it

i'm in the thick of it, in a good way. school is in full swing, with students scurrying along the sidewalks from the main law school building to the other one, clutching cups of coffee and passing off tips about where to find the free pizza. the weather is starting to turn cold. it makes me grateful for the vendor who sells me coffee on monday and wednesday mornings at 60 cents a cup.

we tried a new taqueria today. rather, a loncheria, with $1 bean & cheese tacos and some amazing huevos a la mexicana. it just opened up at the curb market around the corner from our apartment and i stumbled upon it when i accidentally rode the subway a stop too far and had to walk home the long way. eating in a little room with sparse walls and bachata blasting from a boombox behind the counter happily reminded me of durham. t pointed out, as we were sitting around the table scooping up beans with tortillas, that our friend a (who is in the peace corps in guatemala) is eating like this every day. he quickly added: "i think he's sick of it." can't say i'm surprised, as i'm sure i'd be sick of it too after a while. but sometimes i wish i were tucked off in some little village in the middle of nowhere, eating beans and tortillas and speaking spanish.

we went to the countryside this weekend in celebration of our 6-year anniversary. it was a breath of fresh air, both literally and the other way. rolling hills. the smell of autumn. diners with bottomless mugs of coffee. train whistles. scenic routes. what-would-it-be-like-to-live-here?'s. since falling in love with t on that road trip way back when the country had yet to go to war, i seem to always get a little giddy this time of year. pumpkins, train tracks, long drives, and red and yellow leaves = falling in love. somehow, even the worst parts of our history have not eradicated my association of halloween decorations with this little love story of ours. maybe its that the best and the worst times have all happened this time of year, and maybe that's why this time of year my senses become so heightened.

on a less personal note, in just two weeks, it will be time for another gut-wrenching evening of watching the page turn and catching our first glimpse of the new chapter that lays before us. how long, how depressing these last eight years have been for us as Americans. it makes me sad. no matter how much hope there is to cherish, election day must also be a time to pause and reflect on the frightening power of the American people to steer our destiny down its fated path.

Siler City used to be a ghost town.

Siler City, NC
May Day, 2006

Desafortunadamente

"Desafortunadamente" is a word that I have always had a hard time getting right. For a long time, I would cut out a syllable here or there, making it "desfortunadamente" or "desafortunamente". Truth be told, I'm only crossing my fingers and hoping I spelled it right here. But it's the first word that comes to mind for this post, and I don't have the heart to look it up to verify its correctness.

I just did something that I have been putting off for two months. I submitted my resignation to the BOD for the organization I've been working with for three years. My heart truly aches to think about it, in a way that I suspect has more to do with me than with anything I ever did as part of the Board. But for the last couple of months, my only contribution has been to read e-mail subject lines before quickly closing the browser and shifting my mind to other thoughts. The experience, while eye-opening, is not what I had hoped for.

For one, and perhaps the biggest issue, I did not stay in the community. Shortly after I was nominated, I began to realize that my time in town was likely drawing to a close. Shortly after I was elected, T and I made the decision to move. Shortly after the first training, we were relocated a state away. But for a year, I made it work, for two reasons: 1) I love and believe in the mission of the organization and 2) my friends who nominated me for the position did so because they believed I could make a positive difference.

Obviously, to step down brings self-criticism in the form of inverse logic: stepping down means abandoning the organization, abandoning my friends. But I can't let that logic continue unchallenged, which is what I was doing by avoiding this topic altogether. The fact is, I love the organization and my friends, and can probably be more free to participate in a way that is right for me now that I am no longer a part of the BOD. But I had to swallow my pride and admit to messing up, because I have effectively abandoned my post, before moving on.

So that's what I did. I sent an e-mail to explain (but not excuse) my absence and I hope that I don't get too criticized for it, as I am coming to see that's what paralyzes me the most. In the end, though, I think this was the best thing for everyone involved, and I feel somewhat relieved.

Sigh.

Change in tone

If I were to ask you to stop this instant and name how you feel, would you be able to put a name to that emotion? I rarely can. Sometimes I get the sensation that I am coasting through life without spending enough time on self-reflection. Actually, I spend very little time on self-reflection these days.

One of the good things to come out of living alone and removed from your friends and family is that you are left with little choice but to befriend yourself. I spent many evenings on Sedgefield Street scribbling unrefined cartoons that depicted my little insecurities (bad haircuts) and deepest fears (ending up alone), minor occassions for joy (delicious tacos) and profound experiences (the night the "migra" rumors came to El Centro). Some day I would like to pull those doodles together into a zine or something, just as a keepsake.

I wonder if you just grow distant from yourself as you become more involved in relationships, work, life. Or am I purposely distancing myself from whatever thoughts are running through my head?