Community

Though we live in a seemingly "paperless" world, for those who have a permanent residence, you are rewarded with a substantial amount of mail. Usually said mail comes in the form of bills, flyers, promotions and other seemingly useless pieces of waste. For Phil and I, living in Arcata and now at a permanent residence, we have also started receiving mail, but the funny and amazing thing is that a lot of our mail has come hand written. Yes, world, try this on for size:

The other day, I collected the pieces of mail that had been delivered to our box, flipping through the mail for house mates, until I came across a letter for us. The envelope was hand addressed, which confused me, since we really don't get that kind of mail. I was further perplexed when I saw that it was a letter from our bank.

Dear Nicola and Phil,
Thanks for coming in and opening a savings account with me! If you need anything, stop in and say hello. I hope you enjoy your toucan checks.

Yes, toucan checks. It was a Portlandia moment when we sat down to order checks and it went something like:

"Okay, now it is time to choose your checks for the account," the bank representative, Nico, stated.
"Sure," we replied.
"What are our options?" I asked.
"Well," said Nico, "you can get the standard checks, the checks with a thin border color, the checks with the bank emblem as the background, or there is one with a tropical toucan on the front."
I looked at Phil, considered his love of birds and said, "I think we need to choose the toucan ones."
Phil and I then made comments about how happy we would be writing checks with a toucan on the front.
"Oh," Nico hesitated, "it looks like the toucan checks cost a bit more than the regular ones."
"How much more?" Phil inquired.
Nico explained to us the additional cost and added, "it appears that the toucan checks are printed with soybean ink on recycled paper and a portion of the proceeds go toward rainforest preservation."
"Hmm," Phil mused, "can you tell us a little more about this toucan? Is he a suitable representative for this rainforest preservation campaign?"
"Oh, goodness!" I laughed.
Playing his part as devil's advocate, Phil asked, "is the toucan a part of the project or is he just a random toucan?"
"Now, I can't speak to the toucan's involvement in the non-profit..." Nico played along.
We all laughed and quoted Portlandia from that moment forward.

It was ridiculous and wonderful, but the best part was that we really enjoyed our time at the bank with the associate who always helps us. We then went to the local grocery store, where the same cashier shared in our usual banter as we collected our groceries. Finally, we drove five minutes from downtown, Arcata, to our home on the outskirts of town.

Yes, our town is small. Yes, we are getting to know everyone. And, yes, having a sense of community is easier in a place where the population is smaller, we live where we work, and we play where we live. However, I refuse to believe that we can't achieve that feeling of community no matter where we are.

It was lovely getting a note from the representative at our bank, but it isn't our first hand written note here - this is the second one we have been sent from a business in Arcata. It's quirky living in a place where this just happens. It made us laugh like crazy and feel like we had stubbled upon a secret, but here's the secret:

Interact. Engage. Connect.

Also, all of you who write me notes on Facebook after reading my blog posts...don't be shy...just follow/subscribe to my blog already. Community is everything.

Hungry Hungry Ego

Getting on the phone and catching up with friends and family is sometimes hard to find time for, but when I do get a chance to sit down and have a lengthy conversations, I am incredibly thankful. Yet, phone conversations can be strange. When condensing the last few months of living into an hour-long conversation, we tend to first present the high-lights, gloss over the struggles and project what we will be taking on in the future. This, at least recently, seems to be the trend in my discussions and, in reaching this conclusion, I began to feel slightly hallow and uncertain as to what I was actually trying to convey across phone lines. And, was what I had to share, good enough? For years, I have stressed over ego-driven questions: Will I be successful? Will I establish a career? Will that career be prestigious? Blah, blah, blah. The funny thing was that only after all of the important life-goals bubbled to the surface, was there any room for thoughts of happiness, fulfillment, love, learning and...ummm...life? Destination based. Sound familiar?

I used to chat a lot about prestige and feeding the ego. Friends, in similar situations as myself, regardless of their respective paths, were also grappling with notions of achievement. I used to wonder, will I be okay just being a this. Do I need something more? And, my concerns were echoed by twenty-somethings around me. It took some soul searching, "failures" and "successes", but with time, I realized that doing something that sounded good on paper, wasn't necessarily my solution. What I wanted was more multifaceted that that.

Now, my mental dialogue has a different sound. Instead of being as obsessed with a nebulous conception of traditional success, I, in attempting to take the road less traveled, have been checking in with myself to make sure I'm not just finding another way to feed my ego. Let me try this on for size: if being on an alternative course still acts as a check list of achievement, then am I not just doing the same-same, but different? Meaning, if I start my day on a kayak instead of in a board room, but treat that in the same way as external success, wearing it like a badge or packing it away as a "win" to flaunt whenever I find the opportunity to "life-flex", then isn't it just adding fuel to the ego fire?

I had a momentary stress-fit where I began to question my choices.
Then, Phil stopped me with this question: "Is it genuine?"
"Yes," I answered without hesitation. "Yes, it is genuine."

When I think about the people who inspire me the most, I think about those who are out taking risks, living and loving despite the fact that there is no guarantee. You can regard the choices you make in many different contexts - a customer at the Santa Fe Co-op suggested taking a Carlos Castaneda approach. "Go to your death bed," he said, meaning you should think about what it would be like if you were to reflect on your life from your final hours on earth. In those moments, what was important, what had meaning, would, in theory, be made clear. Now, that seems a little morbid and heavy to be considering each choice with death in mind, but the idea of stripping away internal and external pressures that mold our lives away from our genuine desires is what I am referring to.

I was once told by a Santa Fe local, "when considering the lifetime of the earth, our presence on this planet, our individual lives are but fractions of a second. Understanding the greatness of this fact, our speck of existence is a miracle - to make of it what we choose."

When I share my triumphs, my struggles and the synopsis of my life, through conversations and print, ultimately the message is up to me. Where ever I go my ego can be heard, but as I find that I am enough, my voice is getting louder.


Photo credit: Joshua Mays and projectmooncircle.com

A Slice of Pizza

Phil and I don't eat out a lot; it's rare that we treat ourselves, but after a long day of work proceeded by an extra hard climbing session and a late night, we decided that we could use the convenience of comfort food - that only pizza can deliver.

We called in our order and then cruised down our wind hill, five minutes into downtown Arcata. Giddy with hearts set of cheesy goodness, we arrived at the pizza deli and collected the aromatic pie. As we departed the establishment, heading home with our treasure, a man called out to us from a dark alcove of a closed business, asking if we could spare a slice.

"Sorry, dude, all accounted for," Phil said.
"For other folks, too," I lied.
"Do you have any money you can spare," the man tried again.
"Sorry," we replied.

We got in the car and started driving down the road.
"I feel bad for lying," I blurted out. "Why do I feel so guilty about not sharing our pizza and why did I lie to him?"
"I lied to him too," Phil admitted. "I said they were all accounted for."
"Why did we feel it necessary to do that?" I asked.
"It is our pizza, and this is a big deal to us."
"You're right, this isn't an everyday thing."
Phil added, "Yeah, we paid premium price for it...with good money."
"But, I still feel bad."
"It was the way that he asked," Phil answered.
I wondered aloud, "how are you supposed to ask for food...the right way?"

Forgetting we needed to pick up a few things, we pulled into the Safeway parking lot, still mulling over the discussion we were having.
"Well, if he would have come to our house and asked us for help, I would have helped him - but not like that," Phil tried to justify.
"Would we help him?" I asked. "Truly? I mean, I want to believe that we are the kind of people who would help someone if they came to our house to ask for help, but I don't know if we would."
"Well, it is just hard. You can't just give all of your food away," Phil refuted.
"True, but maybe you do give what you can. And, yeah, that probably means you get less. But, if we are the kind of people who believe truly in wealth equality and community, then shouldn't we be okay with getting less?"
"So, does that mean that we help each person who asks for it?"
"Yeah...maybe it does," I said.

Making our way through the checkout and getting back to the car, Phil decided, "We need to drive back and give that guy a piece of pizza. If we don't, all of this is for nothing."
"I know," I agreed and we retraced our path back to the pizza deli.
When we saw the lights of the establishment glowing, Phil pulled up next to a guy on the corner, but it wasn't the same guy.
"Is this the same guy?" Phil asked.
"No," I fretted. "It was that guy back there." I motioned a little ways up the block.
Phil made his way to circle back.
"See, that's the problem!" I lamented.
"That it is compounding?"
I laughed at myself. At laughed through my embarrassment. Shaking my head, I grappled with my feelings. "No, that's the problem." My reaction of selfishness is the problem. Our greed is the problem. Our not looking other people in the eyes is the problem. Our isolation is the problem. Our demonization of others is the problem. Our not seeing people as people is the problem. Our reaction is the problem.

"You don't have to give your whole pizza away, but you have to give what you can, when you can," we concluded as we found the original guy and pulled up next to him. He was still standing against the building when I got out of the car and started towards him with the box of pizza in my hands.

"We circled the block and had to come back," I lamely explained. "I would like to offer you a piece of pizza."
Phil, now standing next to me, helped hold the box open as the guy graciously helped himself to a slice.
"Thank you," the guy said. "Smoke a lot of bowls; I hope you get to smoke a lot of bowls, guys."
"Take care," we replied as we turned to get back in the car.

Buckling up, I looked over to the guy, who had just been confronted by the other transient man on the corner - the one Phil had mistook as the original guy. What happened next, we weren't prepared for. As we looked back, we saw the original guy rip the slice of pizza in half and share it.

They shared it.

Phil and I, after experiencing a roller coaster of emotions and feeling moved by the conclusions we had reached, felt physically sick. This feeling of distress seemed to surge through me, choking my throat and making me unable to laugh or cry. We held each other and talked about the few blessings that have provided us with a life where there is a roof over our heads and food on our plates. We empathized with the feelings of distress over not having anywhere to go. Not too long ago, we were there. Knowing how similar our path might have been to that man's, I experienced an almost debilitating sadness that I have only now come to understand as shame. I was so deeply embarrassed by my actions and my thoughts, so filled with the anguish of shame over realizing my hypocrisy, then horrified by the juxtaposition of someone giving away part of his piece of pizza so willingly, that it overwhelmed me. It was profoundly moving.

So, for the last couple of days I have been struggling with this truth, only comforted by the realization that seeing what I have seen, in the way that I have seen it, does not allow me to go back.

I say that the man willingly shared his pizza, but I can only assume. Maybe he went through the same struggle as I, grappling with the same decision calculus. I believe that we are all struggling and that we go through that struggle each and every day. I will never know what he is thinking, but I do know, that for me, I have my answer:

We do help, when we can and with what we can. Every time.