There's never enough time. I get that. The problem is, the little precious time we have is wasted jumping from one meeting to the next. Work is overvalued and personal time takes the place of rest and we wonder why we're suddenly so exhausted. In our minds, the benefit outweighs the cost, but I am here to argue that that is a dangerous and incorrect assumption. I have been more happy sitting in a park looking at the sky through gently swaying leaves than I was when things were moving like clockwork. Incredibly enough, even with our hiccups, we still look like superstars.
But the real distinction comes from whether we are okay, not whether we act okay. All is not so dreamy here in the land of milk and honey. I've been struggling for a while now to find the "fun" that I am missing. I refuse to believe that it is the nature of the beast. I do not think that given the amount of work that we have that we cannot make time for laughter and rest and camaraderie.
I don't think it's the big outings that make the difference. I think it's the little moments of silliness. Small moments of freedom where there's no expectations of behavior or propriety. That we loosen the chains a bit and are allowed to kick our feet up. Continuously. Not at the end of the week. Not away from volunteers. It should be as often as possible. Putting ourselves into these shells because that's what is expected of us as professionals is a joke. Amigos or amigos, we are who we are. It's why we create such strong friendships that become open invitations to a couch or, god forbid, a bed. We exchange poop stories, we laugh, we cry, we walk, we talk, we feedback, we poop some more. And then we share it with this small group because they are the only ones who can ever understand.
Small moments of time. Letting the person who signed the papers to get on the plane come out a little bit more often. An army of workers is not what we are. We're supposed to be different. We're supposed to be flawed. The beautiful thing about it all is that through our shared connection, the little a over our hearts, somehow we still manage to make it all work out.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Sounds Like a Personal Problem
Why am I here? I had to ask myself that today. Or, more accurately, what am I here for? What are my goals and expectations. I keep telling the people around me to examine their own motivations, and yet had you asked me that question an hour ago, I would not have had a clear answer. I am here to support something I believe in and to learn about myself and the process of being in this and similar environments so that I can be ready when the next opportunity to lead something that I believe in arises.
I sat in a police station for a few hours Tuesday morning. I guess that would have made for a more interesting post. Since they took my phone, you'll have to make do with the insights that I give you in this post. And maybe sometime at the end of this post I will enthrall you with that story.
Life, ironically, is about growth. Apparently the process doesn't stop when you learn how to pull up your diapers after a successful squat and your mommy gives you a big smile to let you know how thankful she is that she doesn't have to clean anything off of the floor or from between your legs. I have a lot of growing to do. I see processes and have perceptions and find it incredibly difficult to adjust to doing things in ways that I don't agree with. I guess my mother never properly taught me to share anything beyond toys, which, of course, is to say nothing about the amazing maternal abilities that she clearly possesses.
Sorry, I digress. I like working alone. I guess it has taken me long enough to learn that about myself. I like being in control of my own resources, process, and product. Only this summer, the resources are a bunch of emotional and hormonal teenagers, the process is not at all under my control, and the product is a very large grey question mark. If someone asks me what Amigos is and what it does, anyone and everyone starts the honed, tried, and true elevator pitch. The only problem is that it says absolutely nothing about what I do on a day to day basis. Sure, it can in ambiguous and vague ways describe what the goals of the organization are, but day to day activities? Unlikely. Unless there's some small print somewhere that talks about carrying around dead puppies in plastic bags.
Who am I? What am I doing here? To two shotgun hoisting motorcycle riding rentacops who, I swear, looked like two ambiguous characters off of SNL, apparently I am a threatening individual in my pocketless shorts, wifebeater, and sandals. And no I do not have pockets to carry my passport. No I did not know that this was law and punishable by fine and/or an extremely pointless visit to the local police station. There. There goes your story. It was 6:45 in the morning and I had just finished running barefoot in an empty lot at the edge of town.
But to answer the other part of my question, I am here to support success. The problem is that no one really has taken the time to sit me down and tell me exactly what that means.
I sat in a police station for a few hours Tuesday morning. I guess that would have made for a more interesting post. Since they took my phone, you'll have to make do with the insights that I give you in this post. And maybe sometime at the end of this post I will enthrall you with that story.
Life, ironically, is about growth. Apparently the process doesn't stop when you learn how to pull up your diapers after a successful squat and your mommy gives you a big smile to let you know how thankful she is that she doesn't have to clean anything off of the floor or from between your legs. I have a lot of growing to do. I see processes and have perceptions and find it incredibly difficult to adjust to doing things in ways that I don't agree with. I guess my mother never properly taught me to share anything beyond toys, which, of course, is to say nothing about the amazing maternal abilities that she clearly possesses.
Sorry, I digress. I like working alone. I guess it has taken me long enough to learn that about myself. I like being in control of my own resources, process, and product. Only this summer, the resources are a bunch of emotional and hormonal teenagers, the process is not at all under my control, and the product is a very large grey question mark. If someone asks me what Amigos is and what it does, anyone and everyone starts the honed, tried, and true elevator pitch. The only problem is that it says absolutely nothing about what I do on a day to day basis. Sure, it can in ambiguous and vague ways describe what the goals of the organization are, but day to day activities? Unlikely. Unless there's some small print somewhere that talks about carrying around dead puppies in plastic bags.
Who am I? What am I doing here? To two shotgun hoisting motorcycle riding rentacops who, I swear, looked like two ambiguous characters off of SNL, apparently I am a threatening individual in my pocketless shorts, wifebeater, and sandals. And no I do not have pockets to carry my passport. No I did not know that this was law and punishable by fine and/or an extremely pointless visit to the local police station. There. There goes your story. It was 6:45 in the morning and I had just finished running barefoot in an empty lot at the edge of town.
But to answer the other part of my question, I am here to support success. The problem is that no one really has taken the time to sit me down and tell me exactly what that means.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Life Happens. Deal with it.
Maybe I'm just bad at this. It's the consistency that kills me. Or maybe, despite the fact that I have many interesting things that are happening around me, I still don't believe that I have anything interesting to say. I've actually had several ideas for posts. There was supposed to be one that went into how life is never going to be hard enough to make you quit. And then there was one about having to bite the bullet and getting your hands dirty. And finally the one I was going to write this morning would be a self-reflective piece about what it takes to be a part of a team. So I will write all three. Deal with it.
It's hard to see potential in someone and not force them to live up to it. I guess this is what parents have to go through on a daily basis. Having a slightly more removed view and not being face to face with the challenges that come up make it unreasonably easy to imagine a solution. This is not to say, of course, that the envisioned solution is actually the correct course of action. Because sometimes life is so much more scary than the people around you can believe. We all have our own fears - places that we refuse to go, steps we cannot take - that may seem completely irrational to those around us. And I get that. But this is real life, not Room 101. There will always be support. Someone to hold your hand and tell you that there is a purpose to the process. That coming out on the other side of the bridge is worth the risk of making it across. I am here because I believe in life. I believe in its ability to take care of me. Some people would ascribe my feeling of well-being and trust in the future to some sort of deity, but I simply have faith in life itself. Life, as far as I've seen it, has never given out more than can be handled. And when it has, people die. That sounds unbelievably harsh. But I believe it. Strength of will. It is why some people survive and some people don't. Or maybe I'm meandering.
Or maybe not. Because life is not always perfect. Things happen. Awful things. Sad things. Amazingly joyful things. But if you keep your eyes open, it is a mixture. Because some days will be good in the morning and end up being terrible nights. It's all about fortitude. Sometimes we have to handle things we don't want to or are not ready to handle. Sometimes there are hard choices to make or leaps that are not one hundred percent certain to land on solid ground. I don't particularly enjoy being the bad guy. I don't like telling people that what they are doing is wrong. It tears my heart into small and unmanageable pieces. But sometimes you have to. Sometimes you have to go to the places and do the things that you don't want to do because when you come out on the other side you are stronger. You are polished. And I guess that's supposed to make it worth it.
Is that my worth to a team? The guy that isn't afraid to keep running until he drops because he trusts that the coach knows what he is doing? I was told recently that my contribution is a warmth that makes people feel comfortable. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of turning that warmth off in order to get people to take me seriously. But now that I see the habit, it is changing. Because I am devoted to the journey. Maybe one day I will have my own project to run, and I will do everything that I can to make sure that I am ready.
It's hard to see potential in someone and not force them to live up to it. I guess this is what parents have to go through on a daily basis. Having a slightly more removed view and not being face to face with the challenges that come up make it unreasonably easy to imagine a solution. This is not to say, of course, that the envisioned solution is actually the correct course of action. Because sometimes life is so much more scary than the people around you can believe. We all have our own fears - places that we refuse to go, steps we cannot take - that may seem completely irrational to those around us. And I get that. But this is real life, not Room 101. There will always be support. Someone to hold your hand and tell you that there is a purpose to the process. That coming out on the other side of the bridge is worth the risk of making it across. I am here because I believe in life. I believe in its ability to take care of me. Some people would ascribe my feeling of well-being and trust in the future to some sort of deity, but I simply have faith in life itself. Life, as far as I've seen it, has never given out more than can be handled. And when it has, people die. That sounds unbelievably harsh. But I believe it. Strength of will. It is why some people survive and some people don't. Or maybe I'm meandering.
Or maybe not. Because life is not always perfect. Things happen. Awful things. Sad things. Amazingly joyful things. But if you keep your eyes open, it is a mixture. Because some days will be good in the morning and end up being terrible nights. It's all about fortitude. Sometimes we have to handle things we don't want to or are not ready to handle. Sometimes there are hard choices to make or leaps that are not one hundred percent certain to land on solid ground. I don't particularly enjoy being the bad guy. I don't like telling people that what they are doing is wrong. It tears my heart into small and unmanageable pieces. But sometimes you have to. Sometimes you have to go to the places and do the things that you don't want to do because when you come out on the other side you are stronger. You are polished. And I guess that's supposed to make it worth it.
Is that my worth to a team? The guy that isn't afraid to keep running until he drops because he trusts that the coach knows what he is doing? I was told recently that my contribution is a warmth that makes people feel comfortable. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of turning that warmth off in order to get people to take me seriously. But now that I see the habit, it is changing. Because I am devoted to the journey. Maybe one day I will have my own project to run, and I will do everything that I can to make sure that I am ready.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Volunteers are in community
Hello everyone,
I'm sorry things have been so crazy. I said I would be more consistent about updating this, and I plan to keep it that way. Volunteers are in community. Such a simple statement for such a ridiculous action. How this organization manages to get more than fifty high school students (most of them anyway) on a plane and into the homes of caring Latin American men and women year after year I will never understand. I do understand the why though, and that is all that matters to me. And I understand part of it. There are a lot of sleepless nights. And laughter that springs from exhausted insanity. And a lot of hours checking and trusting and proceeding. Because at the end of the day, no matter what gets left behind or who doesn't do their fair share, you have to push forward. Time waits for no one. But yes. Vols are in community.
Life here is different than I expected. For the past two years of my life, I have continuously received small tasks to complete, and once they are finished, I would ask for more. Here, I have this enormous thriving mess that constantly has to be checked and remembered and all of the parts move even when they're not supposed to. I can feel them moving. The volunteers. I can feel them settling into their communities. Walking around their neighborhoods and meeting and speaking and struggling and failing and succeeding. I can hear their sniffles and their laughter and their tears and their loud farts as they try to adjust to things they've never tried before.
Briefing, where the volunteers receive their training, is an odd beast. You've stolen these little ones from their homes and are holding them above their new bowls. Like fish they thrash and squirm and scream with a need for life. To be in their new homes. But you have to make sure that their new homes are clean and ready for their arrival. And then you give them one quick breath as you pair them with these people who they are praying will be their new best friends. Then you must give them older brothers and sisters who swear to spend sleepless nights ensuring their safety and to fight tirelessly for an ounce of their happiness and satisfaction. My eyes teared watching the excitement of seeing them find out their partnerships and supervisors for the summer. It seems just yesterday that JCC was formed. I miss and love each of them still. Even the ones that stabbed me in the heart. And then of course there are my girls from Houston. Even though I am not their supervisor, they are still my girls, and I am still their papa.
And now we hide in our sanctuary here in Chitré. Protected from them for only a little while until the piercing screech of the telephone sends us to their sides. And to be honest, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
I'm sorry things have been so crazy. I said I would be more consistent about updating this, and I plan to keep it that way. Volunteers are in community. Such a simple statement for such a ridiculous action. How this organization manages to get more than fifty high school students (most of them anyway) on a plane and into the homes of caring Latin American men and women year after year I will never understand. I do understand the why though, and that is all that matters to me. And I understand part of it. There are a lot of sleepless nights. And laughter that springs from exhausted insanity. And a lot of hours checking and trusting and proceeding. Because at the end of the day, no matter what gets left behind or who doesn't do their fair share, you have to push forward. Time waits for no one. But yes. Vols are in community.
Life here is different than I expected. For the past two years of my life, I have continuously received small tasks to complete, and once they are finished, I would ask for more. Here, I have this enormous thriving mess that constantly has to be checked and remembered and all of the parts move even when they're not supposed to. I can feel them moving. The volunteers. I can feel them settling into their communities. Walking around their neighborhoods and meeting and speaking and struggling and failing and succeeding. I can hear their sniffles and their laughter and their tears and their loud farts as they try to adjust to things they've never tried before.
Briefing, where the volunteers receive their training, is an odd beast. You've stolen these little ones from their homes and are holding them above their new bowls. Like fish they thrash and squirm and scream with a need for life. To be in their new homes. But you have to make sure that their new homes are clean and ready for their arrival. And then you give them one quick breath as you pair them with these people who they are praying will be their new best friends. Then you must give them older brothers and sisters who swear to spend sleepless nights ensuring their safety and to fight tirelessly for an ounce of their happiness and satisfaction. My eyes teared watching the excitement of seeing them find out their partnerships and supervisors for the summer. It seems just yesterday that JCC was formed. I miss and love each of them still. Even the ones that stabbed me in the heart. And then of course there are my girls from Houston. Even though I am not their supervisor, they are still my girls, and I am still their papa.
And now we hide in our sanctuary here in Chitré. Protected from them for only a little while until the piercing screech of the telephone sends us to their sides. And to be honest, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Welcome me to Panama
Saturday, May 28, 2011
10:15pm CST
So I'm actually a little embarrassed that it's been two years since I wrote for this blog. I guess it's because, as always, I don't believe that I actually have interesting things to say. But everyone keeps telling me that they want to hear what I'm up to this summer, so I will update this as often as I can. Because our Senior Project Supervisor, or Coordinadora, Lauren is an excellent photographer and admittedly better storyteller , I will relegate myself to uninteresting writing responsibilities. Visit her amazing blog to see for yourself: silentmusingsofamind.blogspot.com
It's been a little over a week since I arrived here in Panama. Already I miss my friends and family back in Houston. It is stiflingly hot here, but I try to pretend like I'm not dying as often as possible so that my beautiful coworkers, Rebecca "BGrubs" Grubman and Lauren "Loha" Havens, can remain jealous of my cool nonchalance while they wilt under this unforgiving sun.
Panama, however, is a breathtaking place. Its lush green paisaje and beautifully brown inhabitants make a wonderful combination that fits the fairy tale descriptions that my dear friend, Mallory Pierpoint, has given me since the day she arrived in Texas. I already know that at the end of this whirlwindy three months, I will be unwilling and unready to leave.
I am working this summer as an Associate Project Director. The description of my position can be found at this site: http://www.amigoslink.org/projectstaff/. Basically, I'm just a Scrooge who happens to live in Panama for the summer. I work with my amazing Project Director (BGrubs), SPS (Loha), and 6 super supervisors (Rebecca, Becky, Carmen, Ben, Aaron, and Madison) to make sure 65 high school age (usually) volunteers have an amazing summer. Because the volunteers are why I come back to this organization year after year.
Anyway, before I get sentimental, let me catch you up on events so far. First was the arrival to Panama after a sleepy 11 hour day spent in airports and airplanes (thanks International Office). BGrubs and I immediately got to work with a maelstrom of meetings and chores, including trying to convince The Miami Mike to let us rent his hostel. He is quite the character, and it took six hours and lots of promises to get him to let us take over his place for the summer. He eventually cracked after discussing it at length with his demon statue, so now I have a place to sleep. We've been meeting with our amazingly helpful partner agency contacts for the summer, some of whom have been popping up in the Azuero 2011 facebook album (which this blog does not officially endorse, but there are pictures) and visiting communities - trying to get the word out about the imminent arrival of our volunteers for the summer.
We also got a chance to go back to Panama City to go pick up Loha on her 21st birthday this past Thursday (yay). There I met some really cool people, including a certain Luis Landero who is proving incredibly hard to find on social media networks, and got to run around the an antiquely beautiful section of the city, Casco Viejo. The panama canal museum (not the one at the canal ironically) was extremely fascinating - I know Adam Cryer and the rest of my former coworkers at Pinnacle could have gotten lost in there for a while. I can't wait to find a book that goes through the history of the canal and the political relationship between the us and panama because of its construction. I was also fascinated by the varied construction projects that are going on around the city. They did a good job of reminding me why I chose Structural Engineering as a career in the first place, and that at some point when I have to go back to school that it will all be worth it. Speaking of which, applying to grad school will not be fun. Who is going to want to help me start, work on, and complete my applications?
Anyway, that's it for now. There's a lot of random tidbits and not a lot of information in this post. Maybe someday I'll get better and these entries will actually be worth reading.
10:15pm CST
So I'm actually a little embarrassed that it's been two years since I wrote for this blog. I guess it's because, as always, I don't believe that I actually have interesting things to say. But everyone keeps telling me that they want to hear what I'm up to this summer, so I will update this as often as I can. Because our Senior Project Supervisor, or Coordinadora, Lauren is an excellent photographer and admittedly better storyteller , I will relegate myself to uninteresting writing responsibilities. Visit her amazing blog to see for yourself: silentmusingsofamind.blogspot.com
It's been a little over a week since I arrived here in Panama. Already I miss my friends and family back in Houston. It is stiflingly hot here, but I try to pretend like I'm not dying as often as possible so that my beautiful coworkers, Rebecca "BGrubs" Grubman and Lauren "Loha" Havens, can remain jealous of my cool nonchalance while they wilt under this unforgiving sun.
Panama, however, is a breathtaking place. Its lush green paisaje and beautifully brown inhabitants make a wonderful combination that fits the fairy tale descriptions that my dear friend, Mallory Pierpoint, has given me since the day she arrived in Texas. I already know that at the end of this whirlwindy three months, I will be unwilling and unready to leave.
I am working this summer as an Associate Project Director. The description of my position can be found at this site: http://www.amigoslink.org/projectstaff/. Basically, I'm just a Scrooge who happens to live in Panama for the summer. I work with my amazing Project Director (BGrubs), SPS (Loha), and 6 super supervisors (Rebecca, Becky, Carmen, Ben, Aaron, and Madison) to make sure 65 high school age (usually) volunteers have an amazing summer. Because the volunteers are why I come back to this organization year after year.
Anyway, before I get sentimental, let me catch you up on events so far. First was the arrival to Panama after a sleepy 11 hour day spent in airports and airplanes (thanks International Office). BGrubs and I immediately got to work with a maelstrom of meetings and chores, including trying to convince The Miami Mike to let us rent his hostel. He is quite the character, and it took six hours and lots of promises to get him to let us take over his place for the summer. He eventually cracked after discussing it at length with his demon statue, so now I have a place to sleep. We've been meeting with our amazingly helpful partner agency contacts for the summer, some of whom have been popping up in the Azuero 2011 facebook album (which this blog does not officially endorse, but there are pictures) and visiting communities - trying to get the word out about the imminent arrival of our volunteers for the summer.
We also got a chance to go back to Panama City to go pick up Loha on her 21st birthday this past Thursday (yay). There I met some really cool people, including a certain Luis Landero who is proving incredibly hard to find on social media networks, and got to run around the an antiquely beautiful section of the city, Casco Viejo. The panama canal museum (not the one at the canal ironically) was extremely fascinating - I know Adam Cryer and the rest of my former coworkers at Pinnacle could have gotten lost in there for a while. I can't wait to find a book that goes through the history of the canal and the political relationship between the us and panama because of its construction. I was also fascinated by the varied construction projects that are going on around the city. They did a good job of reminding me why I chose Structural Engineering as a career in the first place, and that at some point when I have to go back to school that it will all be worth it. Speaking of which, applying to grad school will not be fun. Who is going to want to help me start, work on, and complete my applications?
Anyway, that's it for now. There's a lot of random tidbits and not a lot of information in this post. Maybe someday I'll get better and these entries will actually be worth reading.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Luz
We got together our most courageous supervisors and gathered war paint. After properly adorning ourselves with as little as the heat would allow, we decorated ourselves in a manner that would appease those that we had angered. Aided with banshee cries and tribal drums, we
threw ourselves at the mercy of the god of luz. We danced and screamed until our throats were raw. We begged and pleaded for the return of the Internet in all of its celestial glory, but to no avail. Then there came a message: all of the members of the household would have to join before we were to be blessed with light. So we gathered our fellow tribeswomen, and as my bloodied hands kept time, we swayed under the tribal sheet, beseeching the powers that be for our beloved luz. And then, like a ray of sunlight, it came, and we rejoiced.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
So I thought this was important enough to blog about. Outside in our living room there is a tarantula hanging out under a bucket I had to trap him under. Apparently we have to kill him because Jorge, our native supervisor, says he's dangerous. Wikipedia says he's mostly harmless to humans (which is why some people keep them as pets). I really don't want to kill him. I want to name him Spike and take him 
home to meet Troubles...
home to meet Troubles...
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