Everyone is a hero

Point-of-view Everyone is a hero. I am a happy person. I'm an optimist and I see the good in people, even when their actions seem to hurt me. I give everyone the benefit of the doubt. After all, except for an unfortunately psychopathic minority, I believe that everyone acts according to what they think is right. Whether or not I agree with it is a completely different topic. Right now I want to talk about positive people, as opposed to negative people. The first dichotomy that springs to mind is the 50% water glass. Is the glass half full, or is it half empty? This image has been overworked to the point where it becomes a meaningless cliché... who cares? Let's get to the point. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a sop, and people can't just walk over me, because I WILL say something. But I firmly believe that every negative interaction has at least one iota of positive benefit. Recognizing and using that little sliver of good can be difficult, but it is extremely important. I've realized that someone very close to me is a black hole of negativity. In his world, everything has a dark side. He sees wrong where I see right. He sees failure where I see progress. He points out the tarnish, every time, on my silver lining. Every positive emotion muist hide some kind of plot or ploy. If he's not happy, no one is happy, and it is everyone else's fault. This is not good for me. I am not about to write a tutorial on how to deal with negative people. Instead, I will make a list of things I will do in an attempt to talk to this person in a way that doesn't send either of us to our respective arsenals of unproductive defense mechanisms. My three-strikes-you're-out mantra has faltered (probably three-fold by now), because I am certain that working through this is worth the frustration and tears. 1: What is the source? I guess the first thing to do is establish where this negativity comes from. I will not divulge personal details from his life, but there are a LOT of sources. A few of the unfortunate experiences of his childhood could be considered traumatic by any compassionate person. He has experienced a much more difficult home life than I have, and his upbringing was, according to his recollection, quite harsh. I have no choice but to accept his history verbatim. However, I have also heard him categorize somewhat less epic experiences as "traumatic", and I begin to wonder if this is a crutch. He has so many 'traumas' that I find I have to torque my words to the point of pedantry in an attempt to skirt all of his 'trigger' words. Little progress here. 2: Smile and nod This is my safe-place. Maybe it's my upbringing, but I am very good at turning to stone when I know that speaking my mind will not improve the situation. Some people bubble up like hot lava, or burst like a boiling geyser and burn when the pressure is too much. My fuse is much longer. I'm like the fault line between the tectonic plates of our opinions. I can tolerate it for a very long time. I can internalize all kinds of hurt until one day, a raw crack is chipped. Everything falls. The smile-and-nod approach is not a good strategy for me. 3: Be ostentatiously positive This is also a fall-back of mine. When Someone tells me something that they just hate, I try to tell them that it could actually be a good thing. This is most often viewed my Most People as an attack, seeking to debase their horizon of failure. This attack to my positivity is especially hurtful, when it happens. In my worldview, there is LOTS of bad stuff. I am only one little person. However, I am one little person with a big heart, and maybe even a big enough brain to do a little bit of good. So when someone I trust turns out to be a "you're always wrong" person, that is a very unwelcome addition to what I already get from all sides. Yes, I know that my dreams and ambitions are idealistic, but throwing poop in my face isn't going to help anyone. I'm too tired and sad to post any more tonight. But please, the three of you who read this, don't get discouraged by those you say that what you think is worthless. Because it isn't. New thoughts bring new ideas, new ideas bring change, and change is what we need.

Chicago!

So where am I now-a-days? Michigan? Paraguay? Colorado? The moon? No. I am in our nation's third largest city, Chicago! I have always loved this city, having visited my uncle here several times as a kid. It's just a short train ride over from East Lansing, so I took a few more city trips while in college. But this is the first time I've spent more than a few days here. In fact, I've been here since September.

Spending the summer in Colorado was great. It's a beautiful place, and I met a lot of really good people. I worked in a Fair Trade store, hiked in the foothills of the Rockies and even had a whirlwind summer romance. But as the fall approached and my summer sublease ended, I had to face the facts: Boulder was just too darn expensive! I was working quite a few hours at the FT store, and my summer sublease was amazingly cheap. But subleases are hard to come by during the school year, and my rent was about to increase by several hundred dollars a month... more than I was making, even if I cut little corners like washing my clothes or eating. So I packed up once again and few back to Chicago.

My employment search in Chicago didn't go as well as I'd hoped, as the city job market is already saturated with unemployed Michiganians. A couple of leads led nowhere, and I almost considered attending bar-tending school just to make myself more employable. As my money ran out, I realized it was time to do the one thing that I absolutely dreaded: Move back home with my parents. There are certainly no jobs available in the UP, but at least I would have free room and bored. (Pun very intended.) So I found myself back on the bus, moving for the seventh time in five months, and unsure what my next step was going to be. I was out of money and almost out of hope. Furthermore the continuing reverse-culture-shock wasn't making this any easier, but that's a story for an entirely different time.

Careerfinder, Monster, USAjobs, Craigslist. This is basically where I lived for several weeks. I sent out scores of emails. I wrote dozens of cover letters and plastered my resume on every jobsearch website I could find. I got a few responses, but most of them were automated emails directing me to pay $20 to $75 to continue processing my application. Scam. One gentleman actually did call to offer me a job... which he refused to describe. During our 15 minute phone conversation, I tried over and over again, unsuccessfully, to get him to tell me WHO he was, WHAT his company did, and what my actual job would be. Every question was met with an evasive and vague response that begged more suspicious questions than they answered. The best I could get out of him was that they "assessed clients' needs and provided a vital service". What needs this mysterious service was to fulfill is still a mystery. I told him I would consider it. In truth, I pictured myself on a bike delivering unmarked brown paper packages to Chinatown at odd, inconsistent hours, and as I had no intention of being shot at or held for ransom, I never called him back.

Fortunately for me, I managed to catch a little blip on facebook about a possible job in Chicago. A friend of mine from college worked at a Latino Community Center on the southwest side, and they were looking for ESL instructors for the fall. And they needed them ASAP! I sent my friend a message asking about it, and she replied with a "Yes you'd be awesome can you get me your resume cover letter and statement of interest by this afternoon?!?" That was a busy day. A few days later I got a phone call. They liked my resume and wanted me to come in for an interview. As I was still in the UP, I negotiated for doing it over Skype, and it went very well. I was offered the job! Starting Friday. It was Tuesday. That was another busy day.

On the bus again! (I was beginning to think that I spent more time on busses than not on busses.) I arrived in Chicago at 11:30 am on Friday, all ready for my first day of work starting at 3 pm. The only problem was that I had never been to the southwest side, and had no idea where this place was. Through the wonderous powers of technology (namely, the GPS map on my phone), I was able to find the right train, navigate the bus system, and with only minimal trial-and-error, burst in a half an hour early, still carrying around 75 lbs of gear. I was rumpled, sweating and unshaven, slightly dazed and just starting to realize that I hadn't eaten anything in the past 18 hours.

Despite this less-than-optimal first impression, they must have liked me, because I am still working there, three months later. I had missed most of the teacher training by the time I got there, so I got off to a bit of a rough start, especially with the multiple pages of 'just-so' paperwork we had to do. But it is getting better. My first three weeks were insanely busy: Besides getting used to the new job and writing my lesson plans, I was also looking for an apartment, and taking an intensive 18-hour-per-weekend TEFL certification class. I am really not sure how I survived that confluence of mind-stretching, sleep-depriving forces.

But I did survive. In all honesty, it was rough for a while. There were moments when I didn't think I could do it. It was too much, all at once, with just not enough hours in the day to do it all. And maybe it was. But I found an apartment. I earned my teaching certificate with the highest marks in the class. Lesson planning is still a challenge, but it is getting better. But most importantly, it is worth it. When things get dark, I have to ask myself: "Why am I doing this? What is this all for?" Answer: my students.

I will tell you all about my classes, my students and the ridiculous things that I make them do. You will get to hear about my awesome roommates and the ridiculous things that no one makes us do, but seem to happen anyway. I will tell stories about missing my bus stop, taking the wrong train, drinking fine whisky with rich people, and accidentally crashing a college party in the 'burbs. But those will have to wait for another day. I haven't eaten in 18 hours.

The more I see the less I know

It is infrequent that a single song, movie or talk makes big, lasting difference to me. But I've actually found both a song and a lecture that I have taken to heart in the last few weeks.

First, the song is called "Say Hey" by Michael Franti & Spearhead. (Yes, Michael Franti sounds like a Finnish name, but I'm pretty sure he is not.) I have many many happy sounding songs, but this one stands out to me for some reason. The video is a lot of fun. (I especially like the little old lady movin' her hips better than I can!) It is such a simple, exuberant song; It is absolutely impossible to hear this song and be mad or unhappy. The main line of the song is nothing more or less than "I love you, I love you, I love you!" This is everything. Can you really say it any other way? It's fantastic. I have been thinking about this song for weeks, and it makes me smile every time, even just thinking about it.

"It seems like everywhere I go,

The more I see, the less I know.

But I know one thing, that I love you.

I love you! I love you! I love you!"

The message is simple, but deep.

Second, I just watched a lecture on ted.com about children in India who made a difference. Kids at the Riverside school are being taught to be Contagious. They are being challenged, taken seriously, and shown that their opinions make a difference. This is an amazing phenomenon. India is a country of a billion+ people, a large portion of whom are impoverished and uneducated. Women, and especially children, make up a huge percentage of this underprivileged class. But India's children today will be their adults in just a few years. This program is remarkable in that it focuses on childrens' ability to DO. They are challenged to say "I can."

There are three stages. It all starts with Awareness: seeing the change. For example, children at the Riverside school were being taught about child labor, and to illustrate this, they were actually made to roll incense sticks for 8 hours, just for one day. Just one day. This opened their eyes, and really personalized and drove home the realities of child labor in India.

We Americans, as a country, are blooming in the Awareness stage. We know about the big problems, like pollution, climate change, environmental degradation, AIDS and other diseases, human rights violations and so on. Television and the Internet have fostered unprecedented leaps in access to information and global awareness. Despite the pridefully militant ignorance of a certain, unfortunately vociferous minority (I view the arrogance of the smug "anti-elitist" crowd incredibly ironic), we have have an fantastic wealth of knowledge at our very fingertips. With very few exceptions, there is really no excuse for ignorance.

The next step is Enabling: being changed. Now that these children are aware of the issue at hand, the school helped support a program in which the kids went out into the community to talk to people in taxies, businesses and just on the street to spread their newfound awareness. They learn first hand the challenges and obstacles that come with being entrepreneurs of social change.

We have only just juuust begun the Enablement phase. Far too often I witness people displaying knowledge about a hot-button issue, saying it's a horrible reality of life, and doing nothing. A line from the film Hotel Rwanda, a true story about the April 1998 genocide, stuck in my mind; The main character, Paul, was questioning an American journalist as to how people could be aware of the atrocities occurring in this country, and still do nothing. The journalist made the succinct yet cuttingly true remark: "People will watch this on the evening news and say "That's horrible," and then continue eating their dinner."

Activism is hard. We are tiny people in a big world, and one little voice is easily lost in the roar of mass media and general global hugeness. But if you don't say it, and I don't say it, then who will? We need to realize, as a nation, that we ARE in the Enablement phase. We really do have the ability, as a large, listened to, democratic country, to make real changes in the world. Especially as Americans, we are in a unique position as instigators and promotors of social change. Our media, policies and language all have such a global reach, that it would be irresponsible to NOT do something.

As Gandiji put it: Be the change you want to see in the world. That is the essence of the third step: Empowerment: leading the change. With so many opportunities, so much information, and such a position of power, every one of us has the potential to be the change. There is no reason you can't. If you don't, then that is your choice. Everything else is just an excuse.

The memorable closing comment of the lecture is: "If not us, then who? If not now, then when?"

Aujourd'hui nous sommes tous Haïtians

January 12th, 2010: A magnitude 7 earthquake struck Port-au-Prince late tuesday afternoon, causing massive destruction in Haiti's capital city. The death toll is not yet known, but estimates range between 50,000 and 100,000 casualties. Time magazine has ranked this disaster in the top 10 deadliest earthquakes in known history.

The world is stunned. Relief efforts are pouring in from the international community, but the city's devastated infrastructure has made distribution painfully slow and inefficient. The UN has failed to take control and leadership: pulling doctors out of makeshift hospitals then sending them back, organizing food and water distribution but failing to control the clamoring, desperate mob, and fleeing. Some political celebrities and cultural icons such as Hillary Clinton, Lenny Kravits and President Obama have also responded to the situation with varying degrees of commitment and effectiveness. Hillary's remarks that '[The US] will be there,' and 'Haiti will come out stronger than before,' seem hollow; mere lip service and political etiquette rather than critical analysis. On the other hand, Obama has pledged $100 million dollars to rebuild Haiti, adding that these efforts will remain a US priority long after they disappear from TV and internet news sites.

What will become of the small Caribbean country is yet to be seen. The threats of disease, starvation and violence are looming like an angry boil ready to burst. Staggering numbers of people desperately require medical attention, but makeshift hospitals are understaffed, overcrowded and undersupplied. Water is a huge problem, as is food, but even when these resources are present, difficulty in distributing them to those in need (particularly women and children) exacerbates the situation severely. Desperate people will fight to survive, often at the expense of others, leading to violence and turmoil. Political upheaval is imminent; Haiti is already ranked in the world's top 10 most corrupt nations, and the dismal failure of the Haitian government to respond to the crisis could easily become its coup de grâce, paving the way for radical regime change.

But the news is not all bad. Despite the difficulties on the ground, international response to the disaster has been astounding. Text-message donations have produced a staggering $10 million US dollars so far for the US Red Cross alone! This is by far the most money raised this quickly in the organizations entire history. I believe the reason is this: All too often, people sitting at home and watching the news will gape in horror and even shed a tear at the images and information flowing in from ground zero. But they also feel helpless, like there is little they can really do, without going too far out of their way. Even the best intentions often fall flat after 20 minutes away from the TV when the dog needs to go out and Baby Jimmy has the flu and the game is coming on. But this new text-message donation system is brilliant! Who doesn't have a cell phone now a days? Texting, especially for the younger generation, is as natural as brushing your teeth. But it's even easier: by texting the word HAITI to the number 90999, a donation of $10 automatically gets sent to the Red Cross, and is billed to your monthly phone bill. It can be done instantly. If I had cell phone service at my house I would have already done this, but it seems I will have to wait until tomorrow.

Today we are all Haitians. It seems appropriate to echo the 2001 headline from the French newspaper Le Monde following the destruction of the World Trade Center on 9/11. Disasters of great magnitude, after the shock and disbelief clears, have a way of uniting people across lines of nationality, race and language, espousing a kind of solidarity not often seen in this world. But they may also create violence and chaos, as desperate individuals struggle to stay alive, and start viewing others as competition for resources rather than brothers and sisters. These tragedies lay bare the real human spirit, indiscriminately exposing both the vile uglinessand the shining beauty that we are all capable of. We must act together, with solidarity and optimism, because in times like these, that may be all we have.

Theme Music

Say Hey! - Michael Franti & Spearhead <--- Click, por favor!

If I had to pick one song to be playing somewhere in my vicinity at all times, I think I would choose this one. It's just impossible to be Grumpy Gary while listening to this song. You could have just fallen from an overloaded melon truck onto a vendor stand selling only pointy doodads and "clearance sale" vegetables after stubbing your toe on an exposed nail, which ultimate caused your plummet from the melon truck in the first place. You'd be pretty pissed. But then this song would play and people would start dancing and you'd smile despite yourself and go "Aw, well jeez, at least I didn't have to walk here," then you'd start to wiggle a little bit yourself.

At least, that's what I'd do.

A very long hat

The man standing next to me is wearing a grey-blue and black striped hat that flows off his head, all the way down the his back, legs, and touches the ground. I could live inside that hat. If that were my hat, I would stuff a 5-dollar bill (if I had one) into the end for me to forget about, then find again wonderingly several weeks later. What a delightful day that would be. But of course I hardly have plans that extend beyond the next 6 hours, so that would be uncharacteristically structured for me.

Three girls sit with their macbooks a few tables down. I'm completely taken by the pretty girl with wavy brown hair (who got up and tripped gracefully on a chair just as I was typing this). She keeps looking at me, and I at her, then we both pretend we were looking somewhere else. I think her name is Lucy, or Lola, or Lily, so something with L's; I think we've met before. She's talking about me with her friends. All three keep glancing back at me, and laughing. I'm not sure if this is a good or a bad thing.

She is excessively touching her hair. It is very pretty, I must admit, but she's the kind of girl who knows she's pretty, and can string a guy along just as easily as swishing her hair over her shoulder or taking a sip of cool water.

Strange Mushrooms and Double-Happy Cigarettes

Never be afraid to try new things. Or better yet, be afraid – be very afraid – but push forward and do it anyway. You may be delightfully surprised. This is how I became acquainted with White Needle mushrooms and Double-Happy cigarettes.

When one of my Chinese ESL students invited me to a dinner party at his house, I was hesitant. I told myself that my anxiety was from blurring the boundaries between teacher and pupil, but that was merely an excuse. What I was really nervous about was being the only guest who didn't speak Chinese or know anything about their culture. Sure, I can point to Guangdong or Tianjin on a map, and I can use chopsticks, sort of. But what about table manners, for example? Mealtime customs are one of the most salient features of a foreign culture. Where do you sit? Who eats first? Where do you put your eating utensils - if there are any - when you are done? Do you finish your food, or leave some on the plate? My stomach was a knot.

I stood outside in the dark, staring at my cell phone and considering if I should call him and make up some excuse for my absence. I dialed his number, held my breath,... and asked which house was his. I couldn't see the numbers in the dark.

Delighted that I showed up, he invited me inside. Even though it was after 6, I was the first one there. I stood awkwardly against the kitchen wall while he bustled about, finishing the spread. I recognized most of the food, raw in dishes crowded around an electric vat in the center. There were shrimp, crab and mussels, cabbage, tofu and rice noodles. A pile of slick red-pink raw beef looked dubious. I had to ask about the quail eggs, a pungent brown-green sauce, and some kind of long, pale mushrooms in clumped, stringy bunches. I didn't have to ask about the beverages: four bottles of American soft drinks. We chatted idly until the other guests began arriving.

First to enter was a short fellow with a toothy grin, along with my host's younger brother. I commented that, with longer hair and an inch more height, the younger and older brothers could be twins. They disagreed completely, but laughed diplomatically at my joke. A short time later a tall, talkative business student arrived with a short, soft-spoken computer programmer with hair that stuck out above his ears like the roof of a pagoda. I was relieved that they all spoke excellent English and were immediately open and friendly to me. They each in turn asked me if I was a Michigan Tech student, and what I was doing here if I was not. What was Michigan State like? Do I like snow? We talked about school and the weather while we waited for the last two guests to arrive. Finally, a lean, pale man in thin-rimmed glasses appeared with a pretty girl, eyes bright and beauty mark well-placed upon her cheek. She was warm and outgoing, and curious to know what I was doing here if not going to Tech. Her English was perfect and her laugh contagious. By contrast I never even caught the thin man's name.

I still felt a little awkward, but everyone was friendly and laughing, and I began to relax. The tall, jovial guy indicated the mushrooms and taught me the Chinese name, jīnzhēngū, making me sound out each syllable until I could properly discuss "white-needle mushrooms" in Chinese. They all found my pronunciation quite entertaining.

Finally it was time to sit down and eat. The host indicated a place next to him for me to sit. The pretty girl and the other guests took turns explaining to me how this meal works. The vat is filled with boiling water, seasoned with sesame, soy and some kind of brown lychee-like fruit bobbing around among shrimp-balls and roiling sesame seeds. Everyone selects what they want, and drops it into the vat. 'But how do you know what food is yours?' I ask. The pretty girl thought for a moment. While the food cooked, she explained that the purpose of the community vat is to create an atmosphere of familiarity and unity. Since it was impossible to determine "whose food is whose," it belongs to everyone. Nods of agreement all around confirmed her interpretation.

Only a few minutes of chat elapsed before we started chasing bobbing shrimp-balls around the vat with chopsticks. It took me a moment to properly adjust the bamboo sticks in my hand before I proceeded to fail, over and over, to capture one of those damn, slippery pink globes of gook. I gave up and went for a quail egg, and fared no better. My friends laughed good-naturedly and my pitiful chopstickery, and I laughed at myself. Finally I managed to snag a mussel, and dipped it in my fish sauce. I was surprised to discover that the brown, pungently piscine goop is actually quite delicious.

Up until now the conversation had been primarily in English, and mostly directed at me. Now that we were seated, the dinner talk switched to Chinese, with the occasional anglophone aside from my host or the pretty girl to catch me up. Eventually both of them got caught up themselves in side-conversations, but I was content to sit back and listen. A small thrill ran through me as I realized that I was beginning to detect patterns, and even recognized some oft-repeated words, making me smile through my rice noodles.

Then came my real moment of glory. I adjusted my chopsticks to imitate how Younger Brother was holding them, and focused. Like a tiger I surveyed the vat, picking out my prey: a lone shrimp-ball that had been separated from the herd. A slight irregularity in its roundness indicated a previous escape; lucky then, but now it was wounded. The time had come; I made my move. The first strike sent the shrimp-ball spinning away, a dodge to the right. I almost had it the second time, but it just barely slipped from my grasp. My strength almost out, I made one last, desperate strike, and it was all over. The whole table cheered as I raised the firmly-pinched shrimp-ball dripping from the vat. I dipped it calmly in my bowl of sauce, raised it to my lips, and tasted fishy victory.

When no one could eat any more, we sat around to chat, ate more, and cleared the table. Before I went home, Tall Man presented me with a gift: a box of cigarettes, bright lucky-red gilded with patterns of gold lace, like a tiny imperial palace with a health risk warning. Shuangxi, they were called. Double-Happy cigarettes. I tried to protest, citing the fact that I don't smoke, but my demur led to greater insistence that I accept the gift, that he wanted me to have them. How could I refuse? Smiling sheepishly I thanked him and slipped the box into my pocket, after offering a cigarette to whoever wanted one. I thanked my host for the delicious meal, said goodbye to the remaining guests, and stepped back out into the darkness.

I came home that night content, full of food, and promising myself to learn Chinese. I was invigorated. For a few hours, I left Michigan entirely; I flew around the world and met incredible people, not so different from myself as I expected. I found myself suddenly awake again, as if I had been sleeping for the last few months, not really looking around me to see the possibilities of every day.

What a fool I would have been if, standing out there in the dark, I had turned and fled instead of facing a potentially uncomfortable situation. Like my dad always told me, 'you miss 100% of the shots you don't take.' So be bold. Find out for yourself what it's like outside the box. Maybe you'll even find Double-Happiness.