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...