Farewell...

Tonight was our last Spirituality Night... and to many people's surprise, I was incredibly sad. I started this year, by making fun of these silly nights and requirements that JVC had us do. Why spend a random hour on a Monday night, sitting around with my roommates in my living room, with candles lit, being "spiritual"!?

My love for Spirituality Night and all the other dumb things JVC had me do this year is just one way of measuring the changes I've undergone this year.

My community... our ability to mesh together and love one another, despite all of the odds placed against us, which erica from Phoenix apparently enjoyed reminding one of us at every retreat, is something I'll take with me forever. Yes, our house IS different. We are all "so different"... and you know what? I freakinnnn love it.
All of us, with our distinct personalities, synched together like peanut butter & jelly... or like salmon & mayonnaise, if you will.


So this last post-- i thought it was only fitting that I close this with a shout out of admiration to the wonderful 6 people I have shared this year with. They're an inspiration- each one driven to affect social change in some shape or way... I'm so lucky I got placed in this Apartamento, this tiny-ass apartamento which has absolutely zero personal space, and which we all rant about at some point every week, this apartamento that I will miss dearly and love, because of all of the wonderful transforming that took place inside these walls...

Apartamento MLK... let's go out and spread what we've learned (like agenda meetings and small stipends...)

Goodbye JVC, HELLO law school.... it's time to get started with changing this world. To my readers- peace and love. I'm officially closing this blog; I won't have any more time to blog given that I'll be holed up in a library studying all the time... but I leave you with one last quote...

"Go and Set The World Aflame..."- St. Iggy of Loyola

The Office.

I recently saw an episode of "The Office," a show all of my corporate world friends tell me reminds them SO much of their desk jobs. Curiosity crept up on me, and I decided to see what I had been missing out on...

THe show's hilarious. HOWEVER, I'm so thankful my life does not resemble that show in the least bit. I hope it never does.

I'm especially thankful that Michael Scott has nothing to do with my real life supervisor, J.

J is the most flexible, considerate, and encouraging person I have ever worked with in my life. We have a great realtionship, I call her "Boss" and she calls me "Missy"... We meet weekly, to go over any questions I may have, as well as for her to make sure I am on task with everything. Those meetings, she says, are for me to come to her with questions.

I can never complete a task with her noticing and not have her thank me, or go so far as to tell me what a 'GREAT JOB!!!!!' I did. When I've made a mistake, J never yells, patronizes, or talks down to me. She always tells me it's ok and not to worry. Because of her constant coolness, J knows that I feel comfortable telling her anything, even if I pressed "50" instead of "5" on the copy machine and wasted 45 pieces of paper.

This year, there have been moments where I've gotten upset over a client's situation, and I've kept myself strong throughout my appointment with the client, and when the client has left, I've just ran into J's office to vent and cry, and J per usual listens... and tells me it's ok. She's been that person I can complain about the state of the world to in the office, the person I can complain to about working with a certain difficult client, or just say, "MAN. Sorry I was late today!" and she'll say, "MISSY! That's ok! I don't care what time you get here as long as you get your work done."

Most importantly, J has believed more in me than I have in myself, certain times. Her faith in me is through the roof, and she constantly is telling me how great I'm going to do in the future. Her encouragement and motivation makes my own motivation grow and grow... making me think I am capable of things I am not even aware of yet.

One day, when I am hopefully on top of some company or organization or firm, I hope my style is like J's... to be supportive and motivating, to react calmly and cooly to "mistakes!", to be stern when needed, but to never let the person under me think that they cannot trust me.

THIS one is for my boss and for those people who just believe in you, and make your world easier. They're in many ways responsible for your successes... some day I hope I can pay back that debt to all those teachers I've had.

I'll give J a call and say "BOSS! GUESS WHO!?" and she'll say.... "MISSY!!!!!"

The City of Angels? Really?

I know I've neglected all of my loyal readers out there for a few weeks. It's almost the end of June, so time is tight... there are bags to be packed, squeezing in those last minute sightseeing trips, and hosting all those summer visitors...

I finally made my way to Los Angeles last weekend. Where do I begin? First and foremost, I have a theory that LA must have been nicknamed the "City of Angels" in an effort to attract unknowing tourists to an otherwise filthy, large, polluted and smoggy city.

Warning: If you love LA and are possibly a resident of LA, stop reading this entry... now.

LA is a HUGE city. It is NOT a place you can walk through, get by without a car, or see in its entirety in a day. On top of the size, there's filth, graffiti, and run-down shops everywhere. For a second, I kept thinking I was back in my San Francisco neighborhood. Hollywood BLVD is the farthest thing from glamorous, same with the Sunset Strip.

A visit to the Chateau Marmont, following in the footsteps of Britney & Lindsey, started with a snooty waiter showing us to the famed patio in the historic hotel. It's a go-to place for A-list celebrities, and yet, it reminded me of nothing more than the patios of a couple boutique hotels in South Beach.

THIS is the Chateau Marmont?? I thought. THIS?? Located on this filthy street? with this tiny patio? There's no bar! There's no pool!


(Disclaimer: To be fair, the chateau is a beautiful hotel in an of itself, but you won't find it very different than a few hotels on Ocean Drive.)

A stroll through the Hollywood Hills is nothing more than a stroll through a hill filled with burnt and dead grass, coloring all of the hills dark yellow, instead of the majestic green you always pictured...

Finally, arriving at LAX, one of the busiest and most disorganized airports in the US, I sat at the gate, awaiting impatiently to board my plane... desperately yearning to get back to my San Francisco.

----

The whole experience in LA made me realize how *lucky* I am to live in San Francisco during this year of service. While San Fran has a ton of homeless people and social justice issues are easy to find, the city in and of itself is beautiful. You can walk the whole city. It's small and compacted- each neighborhood offering a different flavor. It's CLEAN! It provides the escape I've really needed sometimes, working in a (many times) depressing field.

I've struggled at times this year feeling like I haven't clicked with good ole, fun-loving, hippie hip San Francisco... but this weekend, I realized how much San Francisco has played a part in my experience with service this year. It's provided the outlet I need sometimes. When I've felt frustrated or stressed out, and I'm walking home or downtown, I have felt like San Francisco has really embraced me and wrapped it's peace-and-love arms around me..

So this one, this one's to San Francisco, the City of MUCH pain & MUCH comfort... May many more experience it!

Starfish.

As a Jesuit Volunteer, it's only natural that I would contemplate social justice throughout the year, like a mini-Buddha. Through my contemplation, several questions have obviously popped into my young mind:

What qualifies as social justice?
A quarter given to a homeless man? a day in a soup kitchen? a week long missionary trip in a 3rd world country? a year as a volunteer? a lifetime of activism? I've come to the conclusion that the main difference in some of these experiences lies between acts of charity and acts of justice. Some say charity is giving a resource (time or money) to fix an immediate problem, like giving money to a homeless person or providing them with a meal. Acts of justice seek to change social structures- and this can be a bit more vague. It seems there is a gray area in the middle, as many people willingly give the most time and money that they can, even if it does not procure a huge social change, I still consider it acting for social justice. To me, the largest difference between charity and justice lies in attitude and perspective. How is a certain experience serving you? If by giving a quarter to a homeless man, you are acting in a way to maintain your role as "giver" and his as "taker", as the "have" and the "have-not," then I think your act is charitable. If you are giving him a quarter because those are the only resources you have, and you believe that as a human being he is entitled to food, and shelter, then social justice is at play...

I think it's a mistake when we are unrealistic about what we are giving- if giving food to one person satisfies your supposed hunger for social justice, or if you believe by spending a week in Mexico in an immersion trip you know what it's like to be poor. We must always remember our place in this world, and our privilege, and how there is no "us" and "them"... we are all one and the same.

Justice cannot be achieved without solidarity.



If social justice is so great, why isn't everyone working towards it? Why is it so difficult to achieve?
I think instead of questioning why social justice is great, (as I think most people would agree that achieving a world in which justice is present in all forms of society is a great thing) I will question why more people don't join the fight. The best answer I can come up with is because it's difficult. It's far easier to take on a job that does not force you to think about how there are no answers... the road hasn't been laid yet. Some argue that working for social justice is fruitless, exhausting, and frustrating. "What is the point?" many will say. For this question, I refer to the ever so important Starfish Story that many of you have probably heard:

A man was walking on a beach where there were hundreds and hundreds of starfish coming up on the shore with the tide. At a close distance, he noticed there was a man who was picking them up and throwing them back into the ocean. The man said, "You've got to be kidding. There's gotta be thousands of starfish out here. It's not gonna matter!" The other man picked up another starfish, threw it back into the ocean and said, "It mattered to that one."

I think it's important that people working for social justice not only not get discouraged, but also view their discouragement as another social injustice. The fact that it is often so difficult to achieve fairness in this world is an injustice in itself. We may not change the world over night, but we can make it a teeny tiny bit better if we each do our part...

We don't need to become public defenders or social workers to be working for social justice. Challenge yourself. Pick up a piece of trash from the street. Buy from a local business. Recycle. Compost. Buy a local journal/magazine/literary piece. Tell one person about one social injustice that you learned about recently this week. Pick a cause and promote it. Vote.

.. pick up a freaking starfish and throw it back in the ocean.

A Single Soul

San Francisco was a circus this weekend. It was the annual "Bay To Breakers" marathon on Sunday that takes place, where the runners don't matter half as much as the partyers. Costumes required? Yep. Booze all day? Yep.

Needless to say, the weekend was spent in preparation for the loony event...putting together costumes, searching high and low for those perfect Lady Gaga pants, or that wolf mask you can't seem to find anywhere... as well as taking it easy to physically prepare yourself for the wreckage on Sunday.

Simply put, on Sunday, I have never made so many friends in such a short amount of time in my entire life. The ease of the conversations flowing left and right was tranquilizing... no hang-ups, no worries, everyone is just having a great time. I met several people throughout the day, but specifically, one person I met stood out in my mind that I just clicked with instantly.

It just worked. We became friends automatically, and it seemed like we had been friends forever. The conversation was flowing nonstop, and we could not stop laughing. The encounter made me think about how in so many of my other friendships, while I may have known them for a long time, the likeness of spirit does not exist. Time does not automatically deepen a friendship or bring it to a whole new level. Time, actually, has nothing to do with it at all.

As I explained to a best friend over the phone, the ability for each of us to spot each other across a room and just by looking, know if something is wrong, or what our mood is, is invaluable. This kind of connection does not always come through time... I think there's a greater being at work in a friendship like that.

I believe it was Aristotle who said, "A friend is a single soul dwelling in two bodies." No offense to Aristotle, but I think I'd like to make an amendment and say that a good friend* is absolutely a single soul or spirit dwelling in two bodies. We can be friends with others for various amounts of time, but time does not define your relationship, the sharing of spirit does. Who are the friends that you feel half your spirit resides in? These are the friendships that you'll be hanging onto with dear life forever...

Shh.

Last week, I spent 4 days, Sunday-Thursday, on a silent retreat in a remote retreat center about 45 minutes from San Francisco.

I was nervous- unsure what to expect. Ugh. Was I gonna be bored?? Will I receive a life-changing spiritual enlightenment at the end of the experience? Will it be torture, or pure bliss?

As we entered into silence through a washing of the hands (very "Last Supper"esque), I smiled, feeling liek we were playing a game. Whoever talks first loses!!! NOT ME! NOT IT!!!

Eventually, I found myself craving attention. I wanted eye contact, a hug, a friendly pat on the back, a smile, SOMETHING to show that I was being acknowledged. I longed for laughter, for a friendly conversation.

Each day we met with an assigned Spiritual Director for an hour, during which we were permitted to speak. I found myself overly chatty during this hour, and instead of talking about spirituality, I tried to make the conversation casual, just wanting to talk and laugh.

By far the hardest part was eating in silence. As a Latina, meals are a very celebratory part of my day. To eat in silence was painful for me, I stared down at my plate as I ate... like I was part of a jail. Or a detention center. Something scary. I found myslef watching others eat, looking outside, just wanting to desperately share a conversation during my meal and have some time off! Oh, sweet desperation...

-----

I broke silence a number of times during retreat by either phoning home or talking to one of my roommates. The challenge was too big to bear.

At the end of retreat- while others spoke about finding God in the silence, and having a sort of revelation about their faith or life through the silence, I continually asked myself, what did the silence teach me? What did I learn from being quiet?

I learned how dependent my happiness is on my contact with others... I learned how much I treasure laughing and conversing with people I care about. I realized just how important sharing a meal over a chat is.



The protagonist from Into The Wild who ventured into the Alaskan wilderness to live a life of solitude died only after 3 months. He maintained a journal, and in it he wrote, "happiness is only real when shared..." After his yearning to be one with nature and solitude became realized, he tragically learned that real happiness only comes about when you're with others...

The silence made me feel alone, and it was through that loneliness that I realized how important living in communion with others is to my overall happiness as a human being.

10 months...

It's officially MAY. I've reached the point in the year where 6 months ago I said I would be freaking out...

I find it so hard to believe I landed in this foreign land almost 10 months ago.

At times it seems like I have been here much longer than that, that time is dragging on. It is hard to come home to a small 4-bedroom apartment, which you share with 6 others. A tiny room which never has belonged to you. The lack of furniture in my room causes my roommate and I to live in a mess of clutter...

...nothing has a place in this temporary lifestyle. There have been moments where, while surprising given the nature of the program, my life has become a bit routine.

Work. Rush home. Gym? Dinner. Shower. Bed. Work. Rush home. Gym? Dinner. Shower. Bed.
and so on...

The lack of time to just do nothing takes a toll causing me to feel worn down, and I think, "UGH! I can't believe it's only MAY."

There are other moments where I feel like I cannot believe May has come so quickly...

It was only 10 months ago where I boarded a plane, flew across this country nervous about what would await me, who I would encounter, what lessons I would learn...

Looking back at all of that past anticipation and nervousness, I smile at how silly it was to get scared when everything turned out fine.

I have already been here for 10 months, and now, sitting down with someone homeless to talk is easy for me... I've become a pro with stalking doctors in order to get supportive letters for social security applications, I've learned how to keep track of each of my 16 cases. I can give you details about any of them, without cheating, off the top of my head, unlike at the beginning of the year where I was constantly confusing clients and their diagnoses, doctors, and paperwork.

Only 10 months, and it's easy to overlook how much we have learned in this process at our jobs, and how much better at them we have gotten. While I have come closer to mastering the Social Security application process, the real value is how as Jesuit Volunteers, we've become accustomed to interacting on an even field with the homeless, or those typically seen as second-class citizens.

At the beginning of the year through the first-half, interaction with the homeless was not easy. The otherness that was automatically created between us, between provider and receiver, Giver and taker, was hard to ignore. It is difficult to help someone because you are a fellow human being, versus helping someone because it's you are superior. I would feel nervous, choose my words carefully, trying to respect their privacy but also trying to understand their situation as best I could. Walking on eggshells alot. While I felt I needed to hear their painful stories for my own good, my own social awakening, I did not want to trivialize their pain by acquiring any kind of selfish benefit through their difficult telling of it... even if my social awakening was a necessary condition to working for social justice.

It made me feel bad to want or crave their stories, to want to feel their pain too.

Their stories of extreme heartbreak, trauma and disaster, automatically isolated me.

As the year has gone on, this constant interaction has sort of caused all of these hesitancies to die down when I am sitting down with a client... after a while, the eggshells disappear. There is not enough time to feel awkward or isolated, or to not ask the questions that need to be asked. Conversations have become second-nature. Laughing has become second-nature, and many times, I forget we are in a work office, because it seems like we are two friends sitting down and talking. At the same time, discussing my client's mental problems for so long has caused me to not react with such shock anymore.

I have heard so many painful stories, it is hard to flinch at this point anymore. Before coming here, I had never met someone who was suicidal. Now, I've met so many, it's hard to look at them differently or react suprisingly.

Have I forgotten the pain that is there and become numb, or, did it never leave us and we've learned to live with it all along?

I think that when you erase the shock factor of a painful story when two people are sitting together, that wall that is placed between both of you comes down. They have lived with it for so long, it is part of them. They forget their stories are shocking, until they tell them to a complete stranger all over again. I tell myself that by not tearing up at every meeting or by not putting on a sorrowful face with them each time, we stop feeling sorry for them and we start being in solidarity. I am not ignoring their pain, but more than ever, I am embracing it.

I think that before, I was so focused on the shock of their pain, that their PAIN was driving my ambition to seek a better life for them. "They deserve a better life beacuse they've experienced such trauma..." I would say...

Now, it's more, "They've ALWAYS deserved a better life because they are a person, and everyone should have a roof over their heads, despite their traumas."

When that wall comes down, their pain stops being the focus of the conversation, and instead, they themselves become the focus. Their lives, their humor, their personality comes out... they as people.

"Treat the person, not the disease" would apply...

The approach to interaction with the homeless has become easier and freer... it's something I forget was difficult 10 months ago. I hope I never feel scared or uncomfortable to sit down with someone who I feel is different than me, economically, culturally, socially, etc. I want to grasp on to the easiness of the conversations that flow between my clients and I forever... the common thread that ties us all together as human beings is easy to overlook and forget sometimes, it's easy to alienate others and isolate yourself, but it is in standing with others that are different than you, who's lives you wish to better, that real change is made. You can't know how you're affecting other people's lives who you never interact with... no textbook can teach that. The only way you'll learn is by going out and talking to those that you want to be directly affecting...

The Blame Game...

Misconceptions

All homeless people are people of color. Homeless people come in all colors... I have an equal amount of white clients as I do of color...

Most homeless people are single men. Actually, women make up the world's poorest population. In San Francisco however, I do mostly deal with males, and most of those men are single.

All homeless people are drug addicts & alcoholics, and that's how they got to be homeless. Last week on the street, I picked up a flyer for a documentary on homelessness in San Francisco whose slogan was, "If you don't have mental issues before you become homeless, you will get them when you become homeless."

The majority of my clientele are people who have turned to alcohol or drugs as a result of their homelessness. In a cold winter's night, with no money, and with physical and mental pain, the only way to get some peace of mind is often through a joint, or a beer.

---

It's simple for everyone to blame everyone else. It is easy for the privileged to point fingers at the unprivileged for becoming that way. It's THEIR fault. THEY did drugs, THEY are responsible for getting this way. Whatever makes us feel better about giving less. Whatever makes us feel more secure. "If we follow the right steps and make the right decisions, we will not get that way"...

For the underpriveldged, it's easier to put the blame on society's barriers and on the upperclass. "Take your money to the grave with you..." a man at Subway yelled at me today when no one would give him money for a sandwich. Many of them claim they were robbed, or taken advantage of, or cheated by the government...

Taking responsibility or just accepting something is beyond your control is much more difficult than just blaming someone else. It is easy for us to blame each other for our fortune and misfortune. Who's controlling this blame game? I'd say it's fear. Fear to accept that some things are really out of our control, and that goes for both sides. There is not always a path to success or security- making right choices does not always lead to safety, and it is a scary thing to realize.

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Homelessness, while it has been the result of poor choices for some, has occurred by chance for many, many people. MOST of my clients were destined down the path of homelessness since childhood- either through abusive and unstable familial relationships, or through early traumatic experiences leading to a life of extreme mental disability. MOST of my clients are trying to get help- trying to get an education, constantly looking for resources, trying to get into treatment. MOST of my clients have serious goals and dreams that may seem absurd to you, like being 45 years old & homeless, yet insisting that you WILL be a doctor someday. Their dreams and faith keep them in treatment and keep them working toward a better life, whether or not they ever achieve that M.D.

I had a client who's mother was addicted to cocaine during her pregnancy with him. He was BORN an addict- went through the foster care system to be placed with adoptive parents who literally tortured him for his entire life... forcing him to sleep on the garage floor for years, given dog food for meals, and his feet were placed in pots of boiling water causing 3rd degree burns...

this boy, now a man, never had a chance of living a normal life.

----

I challenge all of you reading this, that next time you see a homeless person on the street, do not look away. Be just and acknowledge his presence by looking at him. Don't brush him off and assume he's just a dirty drunk who made some bad choices--- he probably has an incredibly painful story, and he may even have a college degree, to your surprise. Recognize your privilege, but also, acknowledge the presence of a common thread of humanity that resides in both of you...

The homeless come in all shapes, sizes, and colors... homelessness is caused by a variety of reasons, not just the ones you believe...

let's start breaking down these stereotypes that plague us all and only prevent homelessness from being addressed seriously.

Ewa.

Every so often, I meet a client who's outlook on life, given their circumstances, humbles me completely. It's a rude awakening- like a splash of cold water on the face...

Ewa is a pleasantly plump, mid 50s Russian woman, complete with a thick accent. She could easily play the role of Mrs. Claus in a local play. She was assigned to me for help with her medical insurance. She barely speaks English, so the language barrier makes reading the simplest sentence a huge mission. With my obvious lack of proficiency in Russian, we have a fun time playing charades. Most of the time, I'm just trying to convey something simple, like the fact that medi-CAL is just switching her provider and she has nothing to worry about, or that, her premiums are going down. No big life-changing news...

Ewa shows up unannounced... usually with a letter from Medi-CAL that she needs me to translate for her. I'll complete the task, and when I am done explaining, Ewa will reach over and pull a gift out of her black bag for me.

She NEVER shows up empty handed. No matter how small the task is for me to complete, our meetings never end without a gift, a card, a huge hug, and a kiss on the cheek- sometimes complete with a lipstick stain.

What's the big deal, right?

Well, Ewa makes around $900/month. She's mentally disabled, and she lives in a tiny single room in a subsidized "hotel." Regardless of all of these circumstances, her ability to give selflessly... affectionately & monetarily- is incredibly humbling. Her gifts are no small gesture either- from Valentine chocolates & a heart shaped card, to a full-on Easter basket, complete with fake grass. The cards are always written in English, and in cursive, with a "Miss" in front of my name... must've taken her hours.

----
How can someone who has so little give so much?? My work for her is so insignificant and so small, that it does not merit the kind of gratitude she has.

No matter how many times I tell her to stop spending her money on buying me gifts, she always just laughs, smiles, and says, "Darling, you have no idea how much you help me. I am so thankful."

I usually give her a hug and sit back at my desk for a minute just trying to process her amount of generosity.

People tell me I have a care-free attitude... some call me a free-spirit... optimistic, by others. At times I'll believe that I am doing my part through this year of service to give to others. I generally agree, and then I meet with Ewa and feel kicked to the very bottom of an endless pit. She's winning the generosity race by dozens of miles...

The truth is, none of us in the middle to upper social classes can fully comprehend what it's like to be completely generous because we never give all that we possibly can. We get caught up in our busy lives, stressing over the state of our dire economy, worried about what's going to happen to our money. We'll make a monthly contribution to a Church, or even commit to a volunteer program for a year, and feel satisfied with our commitment to service, our levels of generosity...

The true givers are those who have nothing and give all... it is through Ewa's giving and my receiving, that I am challenged to do more. Give more. Smile more. Appreciate more.

If someone who has no one and lives in poverty can give of themselves completely, and project a face of happiness to others, how can the rest of us who are fortunate not?
---

I don't know when I'll see Ewa again, and I like the mystery.

She shows up unannounced- like a little trick of fate, the universe telling me I need another jolt of her electricity...

Our next unscheduled meeting will as usual take place on a day where I will be running around, amid the stress and bustle of my everyday, and in desperate need of some perspective...

I can't wait.

Do you have a moment?

Why is it so difficult to find a moment to stop and relax amid our busy and hectic lives? Even when we set aside time to relax, we usually spend it stressed out.

Let me relax for an hour and schedule a facial. Finish work early. Drive through traffic. Running late. Show up. Try to relax for 40 minutes, as the facialist picks away at your face. She'll put a mask on you and let you just be for 10 minutes. What do you have to do after this?? I have that paper due! Oh, I also need to pick up my prescriptions. Maybe I'll do laundry tonight.

In "Eat, Pray, Love" Elizabeth Gilbert writes about how the New York Times wrote a piece on a team of neurologists who wired up a Tibetan monk for experimental brain-scanning. They wanted to see what would happened to a transcendent mind during moments of enlightenment. In the mind of a normal person, all of our thoughts that whirl around constantly register on a brain scan as yellow and red flashes. The more impassioned, the redder. Mystics across cultures hae described the stilling of the brain during meditation as a blue light. Sure enough, she writes, the Tibetan monk monitored was able to quiet his mind so completely that no red or yellow could be seen. All of his energy was collected into the center of his brain into a small blue light.

It obviously takes years to get to the point where you can silence your thoughts and impulses so much, but, we don't exactly go around trying to reach that point either.

My "relaxing" weekend consisted of plenty of rushing to get ready to be out the door on time, imbibing, getting to bed late, and recovering the following day, only to do it all over again. Great time? yes. Relaxing? not so much.

I propose there to be a set of days from the week, labeled as "pre-week," preferably taking place on Sunday and Monday. Our work schedule should be from Tuesday through Friday. During the weekend of Friday and Saturday, we have our chance to go all out and live out our college selves. During the pre-week, we stay still. Do nothing. No noise. Just be. Collect yourself, to do it all over again.

If any culture is remotely attuned to this sort of thing, it's the Italians, my kind of people. They use the phrase Il bel far niente to convey this emotion... literally, "the beauty of doing nothing" is ingrained in their minds daily... from 3-hr long siestas to, as one mechanic told me in Rome, closing for business on a random Tuesday just "because! it's too hot outside today!"

I'm thinking we should adapt the same concept in America. Let's add a pre-week, maybe people would be less stressed out --> healthier --> happier --> less obsessed with materialism & greed --> end of financial crisis we're in.

Anyone have Pres. Obama's number? I may be onto something...

The Name Game.

Two days ago I stood in line for my guiltiest pleasure-- ahem, Starbucks--and as the "barista" (as they like to call themselves) asked for my name, Rosemary slipped out of my mouth before I could think.

No, not the spice.

I actually said my name was Rosemary. Why, you ask? Why the hell would you give a fake name? Meh... I've been Melissa all my life. Why not for one moment be known as someone, something else? Let the virtue of another name encompass me for a brief snippet in time...

"Rosemary. 1 Skim Caramel Macchiato," the barista called.

When all eyes turned to me, and I realized I was Rosemary-- whoever she was, I became caught up in her world.. in what she was into, what kind of qualities she possessed... I decided Rosemary was a conservative librarian. She's an old soul... lives alone, with a cat. She's kind of a cat lady, but she's got some real wisdom...she's obsessed with books. Reads a ton. Likes to be covered up.

What's in a name anyway? Do our names affect the people we become? Are we predestined depending on what names we're given? Would George Washington have been as great had he been named Billy Mack? Would Britney Spears be Britney if she was named Victoria Guggenheim?

(So Willy Shakespeare would disagree after his whole "What's in a name? That which we call a rose" rant... but, I hereby challenge old Willy)

Who would I be if my name was Kelly? slut. Dawn? earthchild. Naomi? strong. Nancy? old.

It's weird that certain names carry certain connotations- at least to me they do, and hey it's my blog, so what I say goes.

That day at Starbucks, as the barista called my name and I thought about Rosemary, I realized I could never be her. The name didn't fit. And maybe it's because I'm really NOT Rosemary.


BUT, what if.. what if I can be someone else? Maybe a Nicole, or a Michelle? Who knows. I'll try it out next time I hit up Starbucks. Maybe I'll find one that feels more comfortable than the one I own... or maybe I won't. Who knows? Who am I anyway? AH.. that's a whole other post.

Fred.

Fred is my first client I had at the office. On my first day, they basically handed me his file and said, "Get him on a fixed income." I spent the first week grueling over the mess of forms and applications for Social Security that were hard to understand, trying to prepare for my first meeting with him.

When the day came that we were going to meet, I remember being really nervous... antsy even. How would I talk to a homeless person? Would they be aggressive? Curse alot? Smell bad? What if they are really abrasive? I had created in my mind this otherness about "them". (The need for us to define ourselves by pointing out what we are not is a nasty habit- but meh, I'll leave that for another post.)

The day came, and this short and kind, caucasian man in his 40s, walked himself very slowly over to my cubicle, and said, "Hi Ma'am. Nice to meet you."... and my journey with Fred began.

Fred and I spent months preparing his application as he bounced in and out of the hospital for his disabilities. We spent our meetings getting work done and checking in, at times we'd joke around together and have a good time. Eventually, he was approved for benefits- my first approval which was definately needed to reawaken my motivation.

Today, a few months after our last encounter, Fred walked into my office looking weak. His friend had kicked him out. He needed a place to stay for the night-desperately. Those of you who don't know, San Francisco has about 5,000 homeless people every night. Getting into a shelter at 3 PM in the afternoon is pretty much impossible.

I looked at him and he began to cry... "I just need to rest." I asked him to wait in the waiting room as I decided I would try to call each shelter and see if there was anything that could possibly be done.

An hour of intense advocacy and hounding later, 2 shelters called me back to confirm that they would have a bed for him for the night, and a meal.

I jumped up from my chair, exclaimed "YES!" and ran over to tell him. He smiled, and thanked me, and left the office.


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What's the value of one bed for one night?

A bed for one night does not seem like much to us- and by us, I mean people who've never had to worry about where they'd spend the night.

It doesn't seem like a big deal, definitely not something worth feeling great about. After all, he will be homeless again tomorrow...

Throughout the beginning of the JVC year, I struggled with my ideas of social justice and how I felt like I wasn't really achieving any justice for my clients. A fixed income? Whoopie-- A $900 check each month hardly seems just. I got someone an apartment? great-- they live in the ghetto where their rooms are infested with bed bugs. Then, I started thinking about the grandiose scale I had placed social justice on. I imagined social justice to mean having an unfair law amended, or saving 1000s of people from genocide. I forgot about what social justice could mean to one of my clients. I was looking at it through the wrong lense...

Ask yourself what a good night's sleep could mean for someone who's terminally ill and been sleeping in the back of an open truck for a couple months, in the dead of Winter. Social justice comes in all shapes and sizes- a bed for one night may seem like nothing to you, but it may be what one person wants and needs.

Tommorow's a new day, and Fred & I will figure it out... we'll jump through the hoops and hurdles as they come along, until we get him into long-term housing. Together, we'll figure it out and try to make his life better... using HIS scale, not mine...

...but for now, for tonight, he'll rest and get the sleep he needs and deserves.

the raindrop of JVC

I've embarcked on a strange journey this year... surrendering myself to a year of service, living communally with 6 other volunteers (whom I didn't know before I got here), on a monthly stipend of $85. It is very much a spiritual journey- one where my personal relationship with God is pulled and pushed, twisted, morphed & transformed... all with the hope of ending the year with a relationship that is stronger and newer than ever before.

The rollercoaster began in August.
1, getting on a plane to California
5 seconds later, meeting 70 other random volunteers, including my new housemates
10..., moving into my new apartment
and so on, time has continued to fly.

My job is focused on helping mentally disabled homeless people through social work. I help them find housing, get on a fixed income, access treatment, etc. Fun stuff. My thoughts on social justice have changed in the middle of all of this work--

At times, I sense my cynicism towards homelessness growing:
i.e. Homeless person: "I need housing. I just got clean. I have no money."
me: "okay well, there's subsidized housing available for very low prices in the ghetto."
homeless person: "no im not going to the ghetto i'd rather live on the street."

Other times, I find myself constantly on their side:
i.e. homeless person: "I have child molestation charges on my record, im suicidal, and im sorry i did it. I need help."
I find myself talking to them about having faith, getting into treatment, and taking care of themselves...

With this inner conflict I end up finding compromise at some point:
social justice issues that I see this year are but a tiny, tiny mark on the spectrum of issues that are occurring globally. My job is a single raindrop in the early stages of a tempest. While some may try to cheat the system, and others feel entitled to receiving free services, many of them are indeed looking for help for the right reasons. In the end, both groups have nothing; all they are trying to do is survive.

I wouldn't want to live in the ghetto either.
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I hesitated with creating this blog earlier in the year, it seemed like too much work. Lately, I've been somewhat peer pressured into blogging; Blogging is everywhere- my boss blogs. my housemates blog. boys blog. my favorite singer blogs. I figured I should keep up with the trends (for fear of feeling old or outdated), and see what can develop from this craze that seems to be infiltrating my life from every end, calling me so desperately to participate...