Mexican

This week I went to El Torito (AKA expensivo comida de fake-o Mexicano) with a group of people from my work to welcome a new employee to our sister company FormDecor Modern Furniture Rental. It is a rare occasion when we all get to go to lunch, but usually a good one. I am fortunate to work with some people that are pretty cool. This is one of my first experiences working with people who are generally near my age bracket as opposed to banking and bus driving where I was always the baby.

Anyway, over lunch I was trying to communicate in HORRIBLE Spanish with a couple of FD employees who work in our shop. Neither one of them speak a touch of English, but they are good workers and I always throw out a que onda? to one of them on a weekly basis. Somehow it came out that I live in Santa Ana and play music, and through our HR manager I had a brief conversation with one of the workers. He also plays music and lives in Santa Ana. So naturally I thought to invite him and his buddy to the Gypsy Den to hear Cynthia and I play some music. He responded indifferently and indicated that he would not be welcome in a place like the Gypsy Den because it was too white of a place for him to go. So, feeling a little misunderstood I brushed it off and asked where I could go see him to play. He responded again completely disinterested and said something about how he plays in a house, and the conversation was basically over at that point.

I left feeling upset in a way. Obviously if you go to the Gypsy in Santa Ana it is not all white people... is it? I thought how amazing it would be if someone went up at open mic and sang a song in Spanish... who cares if you don't speak english at that point? I guess I can flip it and think about how I would probably never go to an open mic in a Mexican coffee shop by myself, but I don't know about any Mexican coffee shops.

Moving to Santa Ana has really shown me the rift between the white and Mexican community. I have noticed a lot of the white people in this area are complete pricks... I don't know why, but I can tell that there is not good blood between the Brown and White in my neck of the city. Nothing hostile that I am aware of more like passive aggressive indifference. Tolerance.

So as I pondered how my car gets backed into while I watch from my balcony, and how I get completely ripped off if I try to buy cookies from the roach coach on my street as I walked down my stairs. Tired, like I always am in the morning, I was extra annoyed by my growing angst for indifferent Mexicans in my neighborhood. A family of three Mexicans waked out of their house in my complex. The mother was going to walk her third grade looking son and her kindergarden aged daughter to the school bus in the morning, and I could tell they were in a rush. Their presence was barely noticed by myself as I was trying to tell my brain that I like Mexican people and there is no reason to be so upset about a few individuals who have made me upset. As I approached the gate to my street I noticed the rushing family and the little Mexican girl waiting at the gate. She had stayed behind from her rushing family to hold open the gate for me. There was nobody else there, just us, and as I walked through the gate without a word she ran off to catch up to her mom and brother.

I guess I can't be upset about the limits other people put on themselves, but perhaps when we limit ourselves we inadvertently rob others of a new opportunity to experience something new since we are all unique. Then again there are moments when none of that matters because a child who doesn't see skin color can show how limited we all are, and can bring the hope that all people can get along if they want to.

Shaken Perceptions

So tonight my Uncle called me out of the blue. He lives in Utah and I rarely get to see him. Growing up my Uncle was always my hero because he was a ton more spiritually and emotionally involved in my life then my dad ever could be. At this thought I realize how thankful I am for how physically present my dad always was in my life... which was probably a huge deal for him never having a dad himself. Anyway, he called me to tell me some of the thoughts he was having about God and how he has been feeling about relating to God in his own life.

Any other person I would have turned a deaf ear to, but not my Uncle. He has always taken opportunities to engage me in theological and spiritual conversations because this is something of great importance to him. I used to just casually listen and silently agree with most of what he had to say, but now the tone in his voice is different. My Uncle recently was divorced after a 17 year marriage, and his perspective on love, God, and relationships has been very much affected by that. I realized tonight that the trauma of losing one's ideals can be so crippling. Some people go on to never idealize anything again so as not to feel that pain, and others try to indulge in every ideal situation only to be left empty again.

I hesitate to say this, but I really feel like these types of situations fall under the age old, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger," category. I say this because my Uncles idealism about church and God now seems tempered by the sting of the un-ideal situation most people refer to as real life. What inspired me most about our conversation was the point at which we were discussing passion.

Passion is quite a buzz word, whose ulterior meaning is suffering by the way, that has such an attractive connotation to so many people. I proceeded to explain to my Uncle that I am passionless. I have no uncontrollable desire to do anything, and I generally find people rather repulsive and untrustworthy. I used to feel like I loved everyone. Like there was nothing anyone could do to hurt me because I would take the higher road; I would do the right thing constantly. It was like a drug. Now I don't feel that way, and I really don't know what to do.

This is the part that will always stay with me. My Uncle proceeded to say something to the tune of, "well, I think it is OK that you feel that way. That passion you felt before was contrived, and the lack of false passion is the beginning of real passion."

It is OK to feel passionless. You may not feel attractive or desirable in the process, but don't shut off. The lack of feeling passionate is the firebrand of passion. That is amazing. If people accept you tell them everything you know, and if people do not accept you don't even bother with them for another minute.

As long as you believe in the truth, you hold the truth, you are the truth, and you deliver the truth. No matter how you feel about what the truth should be. It will be seen in and through you despite you, and that is the highest calling a person can attain to: Representing the truth.