Will it Play in Peoria?

Re-reading my last update, it struck me that my opening comments about the family holiday in Peoria might have sounded incriminating. I’ve also gotten a few off-handed comments. My mother said of the post: It was long.

Well I can read between the lines.

So let me set the record straight.

First of all, Peoria really is a lovely place. Despite the name, the root of which (peor) in Spanish means the worst, it’s got many positive points.

A bluff city, it overlooks the grand Illinois which still carries barges, pushed by tugs, of corn and soybeans, downriver to the Mississippi and eventually the Gulf of Mexico. Back in the 1800s, Peoria became the first world distillery leader. The revenue generated by the liquor barons spawned development, including the construction of majestic in-town mansions. To this day, along Moss and High, these mansions stand tall and stately, with coach porticoes and ornate copper turrets, scalloped roofs and wrap-around porches, a reminder of the opulence of that era.

Of the people, Peorians are friendly in a genuine way. There’s an oft-quoted expression from Vaudeville days, Will it play in Peoria? I like to think it refers to the fair-mindedness of the people versus the boring predictability of middle-American townsfolk. The bar and restaurant scene is decent and prices are good for an ample plate; cost of living is manageable enough to support a decent art scene. Drive a few miles out of town and you are suddenly in rolling, expansive countryside; and if you go far enough you get to the End of the Road where they serve-up a good plate of eggs and bacon and better Bloody Marys.

Secondly, for the record, my family are a group of interesting and generous people. Musicians, artists, scientists, activists, adventurers and geeks, they are engaged with their world - and definitely worth writing about. On holidays we cook, eat and drink, talk (too much) liberal politics and generally relish in each others' company. I remember one Christmas reunion in back country Colorado: I brought along then-partner Tom who, scrambling for a seat at the dinner table packed with aunts, uncles and cousins, remarked: I don’t mind where I sit; there’s not a dud in the bunch.

Tom’s gone; but his comment lives in the family history.

Still…holidays are always a challenge because family can bring you back to your haunted, pimply youth in an instant. In an inflection or a look, you’ve time-traveled back to Friars Road, face-to-face with your own unfinished business. As the Buddhists put it: Family is the final frontier of enlightenment.

But family are a part of my history; so they are oftentimes present on the page, or just slightly off-stage, influencing what I say.

And then there’s you, dear reader, who creates your own world from the written word. This is the challenge and the beauty of writing: to get your truth on the page – open to as many interpretations as there are readers.

I'm sure I'll be facing much more scrutiny (especially from my Self) as I proceed through the writing of my Mexico story. I hope to be truthful, fair and entertaining – that I don’t incite the ire of my family (or my Mexican host-family) – though I cannot make promises. Most of all, I hope I allow enough space on the page for my readers to fill-in with their own frivolous, biased, and expansive imaginations.

Who knows?  Perhaps my Mexico book, when finished and published, will play in Peoria.

Into the Creative Void

I did lose my way, loose my way, on this holiday. I have to reorient, re-frame, resolve to remain on the path of creativity.

Much of this journal writing is about psyching myself up. If I don’t cheer for me who will?

Time to leave the laments over holiday indiscretions behind – too much alcohol, gluten and diary, not enough peace, love and family understanding – and re-enter that dreamy space.

Reading Jonny Copp’s journal excerpt (Patagonia, Thanksgiving 2006) on the puddle jumper outa Peoria, I am transported to a different place. From the flat barren farm terrain and rheumy winter skies of the US Midwest to the rugged outback of Argentina – and further beyond that to the life and mind of my cousin.

He reminds me of what I already know: life itself is a journey, if you take it that way. Or you just take what comes; and even that can be its own kind of adventure.

I would like to have known him better. I know little about climbing, tried it once on a wall in a gym in (aptly-named) Rockville. But Jonny’s journey (and journal) go beyond the physical sport to the mental and spiritual, the real limits we reach for inside ourselves, in the boredom of base camp rituals.

Don’t get me wrong: his goal was clear, and that chispa, the spark to get to the top was alive inside him. The peak of San Lorenzo, though physically obscured by the ‘domed-out giant turbulent cloud mass’, was ever present in his mind’s eye.

I have ‘turbulent cloud masses’ that block my way too. One’s been hovering before me for two weeks, in the midst of family holiday joy and trauma. I haven’t been ready to ice-axe my way in the dark slippery mist to get beyond and through it. So I sit at base camp taunted by questions that obscure my path: Where IS this story leading? What AM I trying to say?  And who REALLY cares?

‘Here,’ writes my cousin, ‘there is always the potential for being ill-prepared for the extraordinary. If you don’t believe it can happen, it probably won’t, for you.‘

Domed-out days like these, writing about and around the writing rather than writing, I pray for the sky to open up and the ideas to blow in on a sudden high. But more often than not, I have to gather the courage to head into the unknown, feeling around in the dark for the thread of my story, grasping at whatever nub of rock I can hold onto and propel myself onward.

Whatever nub.

Ahh, today it’s Rioverde Arrival, the beginning of my real Peace Corps experience, bonding with my host-family, trepidation at the thought of being stuck in the middle of nowhere rural Mexico for two whole years – and my drive to be accepted so I wouldn’t feel so lonely.

It’s a slippery nub; I feel the resistance rising up in me to reveal the painful truth, my hopes and the ambitions for a ‘successful service' luring me into some suspicious waters.

'I awoke to my host family’s orange truck starting up each morning and fell asleep to the sound of Mexican CNN playing on the flat screen at night. Saul’s brother got the orange business and Saul got the Rainbow Restaurant and Hotel. Another brother ran the eco-tour company and the sister managed the clothing boutique in the Centro. My host family was high-up on the Conquistadors’ pecking order which revealed 88 shades of a Mexican. Light-skinned, the Flores family came from Spanish blood. They were land-owners and merchants, educated and sophisticated; and I felt comfortable in the relative sameness.

'They even spoke a little English; they had an 'American family' in Kansas whom they visited on occasion. They believed in cross-cultural exchange; thought it educational for their young son. And they talked about bringing the American ways to incite change in their community. They hoped I'd help them regain control of their Agenda 21 initiative.

'Was this the ‘something bigger than me’ to which I aspired when I started the Peace Corps process almost a year ago? Seeds of doubt continued to germinate. Was this too comfortable? Living and working with the entitled, was I likely to lose perspective? Fall into the trap of ‘perverse paternalism’ that Professor Gamboa warned of on one of our pre-service training lectures? Time would tell. And I had all the time in the world, if I could only be patient.'

Doubt inside the slippery writing doubt...is that what I want to say about my Rioverde arrival? Is that the best place to begin? It doesn’t matter; it’s enough to buoy me, re-ignite the spark to get this Mexico adventure story down on the page – like Jonny’s urgency to climb, infused in his journals, watching, waiting, assessing the chances to make it to the top, and sometimes entering the void against the odds.

RIP Jonny Copp, 1974-2009

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r52qft0OX4w  --> In memory of Jonny Copp and Micah Dash, from "The Sharp End"

Put in the Efffort & Let Go of the Result - Peace Corps Lessons DO Apply to *Real Life*

Striving these last three weeks to reach my Kickstarter book campaign goal, so focused on the concrete $15k metric, I've lost site of my hard-earned Peace Corps lessons.  

Put in the effort, let go of the result. Do what you can with what you've got where you are.

But these mantras awaken me this morning...out of my campaign trance. Perhaps these lessons do apply to *real life* and will be valuable to readers of my book.  Ah, my book, there's a book at the end of this, and I've lost site of that too, in all the pressure to make this financial goal that will fund the completion and self-publishing.

There’s such a fine line between Effort and Ease, between Striving and Kicking-back.

With 5 days to go, how much do I push?  I have over 100 backers and I’m at over $9000 – an amazing effort. But it’s not enough.  Do I accept that?  Or dig my heals in and do whatever I can to get to the $15k mark?

I’m living my Peace Corps deadline experience all over again. Last year at this very time I was desperate to wrap-up the Viva Viveros project with concrete success. What if we hadn’t sold those Zamachihue trees the last week of my Peace Corps service? What if I hadn’t pushed up until the end to get that contract signed with CONANP and find a way to transport 20,000 trees across the state to the National Parque Potosi in a borrowed, converted flatbed?  

It would have been a pity. But the truth is, the BIG work was done. The Zama Mamas and I had had a year of shared experience within us already, trying, learning, fighting, taking action, having small wins and disappointments.

Same thing with this Kickstarter initiative. Maybe it’s not time for this Kickstarter campaign. Maybe there IS more learning in *failure* this time around than there would be in success. 

I awoke this morning with a delightful sense of relief at the thought of really letting go, and in my grogginess, before getting out of bed and facing reality, preparing my concession speech.

Because yesterday, god knows, was a Shining kind of day.  I caught myself on Skype video looking like Jack Nicholson hunched insanely over his typewriter with a stack of neatly typed pages beside him - every page filled over and over again with ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’  Ahhhhh, get me outa here!

I wouldn't want to tell my supporters this quite yet, that I'm going looney and planning my concession speech - or fluctuating between the two extremes.  

I want to forge ahead with Right Effort, appreciate all that I've learned, and reflect on all the people with whom I've connected (or re-connected) during this brief but intense process. (Remember, I'm the one who chose the 30- vs. 60- or 90-day campaign deadline.)

Turns out Kickstart isn't just about the money. It's kickstarted me to finally come out of my shell and start talking about my book project, bringing the Peace Corps Mexico experience home. 

The salons and happy hours and fiestas - the stranger at the bar who was so jazzed by my Mexico stories he pledged $150 bucks. 

Professor Edgardo from Mexico who found me on Facebook and pledged $1000 pesos. 

My mom and aunt who committed fat chunks and recruited their friends and neighbors to get on-board too. 

Good old AMS work colleagues who hosted a dinner and invited their friends to listen to my tall tales. 

My meeting with the Mexican embassy and the Mt Pleasant library, both of which are leading to book talks and slideshows.

All the Peace Corps pals who've pitched in because 'I'm telling all their stories.' 

My brother who devoted time to help my 88 year old uncle through the onerous online payment process when he couldn't remember his Amazon password. 

And my friend Rita who logged-in from Rioverde to send her support for the gringa across the border. 

People who've never heard of Kickstarter, many who don't know me - but all who believe in this creative, collective process.

Be grateful. That's another life-saving Mexico mantra.  And I'm feeling that now.  And one more: 
Never give up.

The Show Must Go On - Sustainability Begins with You

I picked a terrible time to run a campaign to 'bring the world home' and share my 'story of sustainability from south of the border.'

I’ve been back from Peace Corps Mexico for 7 months, and I felt finally ready to come out of my shell and get re-engaged in my ‘new DC life.’

So I launched my Kickstarter Campaign on Oct 5th – it felt urgent – and I gave myself a month to raise $15,000 in an all-or-nothing all-out effort.

But no one (perhaps only the special select few) in Washington wants to hear it right now.

They ask:  How can we help others if we cannot even help ourselves?!

Exactly. This is one of the messages of my book – and the workshops I’m developing to train leaders to cultivate resilient organizations and teams to create sustainable projects. 

It was a hard lesson for me to learn. It took a year, in Peace Corps Mexico, of challenges and mistakes, heat exhaustion and homesickness, cross-cultural confusion and miscommunication, parasites, corrupt politicians and naysayers, before I realized:

Sustainability begins with me.

I had to let go of my ego, my idea of what Peace Corps service and even sustainable development was supposed to be and, ironically, focus on myself - make some friends, dance the Huapango, eat the móle (the sauce not the animal), conjugate my verbs correctly, and learn to function 'on Mexican time'…if I was going to have any hope of enduring and being of service.

That’s when this model emerged in my mind – the Pyramid Model of Sustainability. It became the basis for my work in the communities, and it’s the organizing principle for my book.

Once I got it, then I able to move to the Level 2 of the Pyramid of Sustainability - working por, para y con la gente - by for and with the people of my community to create change.  

So what about you? What can you do right down, during this shutdown, to make a difference in your own life and in your community?  It’s a time of fear – where notions of the way things should have broken down. 

How do you turn a breakdown into a breakthrough?

Maybe it's time to take-up yoga, commit to that exercise routine you’ve always set aside because of work demands, discover some new strength within yourself to cope, even fight?

Perhaps it’s time to gather your co-workers and plant yourselves on the steps of the Capitol.  Yelling (not at your TV) may be cathartic. How about those War Vets who’ve been protesting the all week at the WWII memorial, protesting the VA's shudown and lack of services?

Or take a day to volunteer at Martha’s Table, like my friend Chantelle, a furloughed worker from HHS, who was then graced by a surprise visit by the President. Here they are making sandwiches together?

Small actions can lead to sweet surprises.

Take one TODAY.

Because sustainability really does begin with YOU.

The Show Must Go On - Sustainability Begins with You

I picked a terrible time to run a campaign to bring the world home and share my story of sustainability from south of the border.

I’ve been back from Peace Corps Mexico for 7 months, and I felt finally ready to come out of my shell and get re-engaged in my ‘new DC life.’

So I launched my Kickstarter Campaign on Oct 5th – it felt urgent – and I gave myself a month to raise $15,000 in an all-or-nothing all-out effort.

But no one (perhaps only the special select few) in Washington wants to hear it right now.

They ask:  How can we help others if we cannot even help ourselves?!

Exactly. This is one of the messages of my book – and the workshops I’m developing to train leaders to cultivate resilient organizations and teams to create sustainable projects. 

It was a hard lesson for me to learn. It took a year, in Peace Corps Mexico, of challenges and mistakes, heat exhaustion and homesickness, cross-cultural confusion and miscommunication, parasites, corrupt politicians and naysayers, before I realized:

Sustainability begins with me.

I had to let go of my ego, my idea of what Peace Corps service and even sustainable development was supposed to be and, ironically, focus on myself - make some friends, dance the Huapango, eat the móle (the sauce not the animal), conjugate my verbs correctly, and learn to function 'on Mexican time'…if I was going to have any hope of enduring and being of service.

That’s when this model emerged in my mind – the Pyramid Model of Sustainability. It became the basis for my work in the communities, and it’s the organizing principle for my book.

Once I got it, then I able to move to the Level 2 of the Pyramid of Sustainability - working por, para y con la gente - by for and with the people of my community to create change.  

So what about you? What can you do right down, during this shutdown, to make a difference in your own life and in your community?  It’s a time of fear – where notions of the way things should have broken down. 

How do you turn a breakdown into a breakthrough?

Maybe it's time to take-up yoga, commit to that exercise routine you’ve always set aside because of work demands, discover some new strength within yourself to cope, even fight?

Perhaps it’s time to gather your co-workers and plant yourselves on the steps of the Capitol.  Yelling (not at your TV) may be cathartic. How about those War Vets who’ve been protesting the all week at the WWII memorial, protesting the VA's shudown and lack of services?

Or take a day to volunteer at Martha’s Table, like my friend Chantelle, a furloughed worker from HHS, who was then graced by a surprise visit by the President. Here they are making sandwiches together?

Small actions can lead to sweet surprises.

Take one TODAY.

Because sustainability really does begin with YOU.

On Confidence ~ The Warrior vs. The Worrier

The other night at a party, over dolmades and champagne (realizing Goal 1 of my Vision!), a friend asked me:  How do you just go for things, Anne? You really put yourself out there. You must be so confident.  I have this great idea; but I have so many doubts.  

The truth is:  I have loads of doubts. On a daily basis I question myself:  Who am I to be writing a book?  Shouldn’t I be looking for a *real* job? Maybe I SHOULD have stayed in Mexico.

I have learned over time to notice that little voice, the Worrier, not the Warrior that I really am. I thank the Worrier for its concern. It’s trying its best to keep me in the safe status quo where ‘I belong.’  Then I go back to my vision and proceed forward.  Vamos adalante, as the Mexicans say, forward we go.

Your vision will serve you. If you have progressed through the visioning steps with mindfulness and sincerity, from conception of ideas, to formulating and sharing, to committing to action, your Vision becomes a force bigger than Doubt and Worry. You can glance at it from time to time if you like.  But you will find, without scrutinizing it and checking off boxes, you are REALIZING it.

Like me in Rock Creek Park last weekend.  I was running on the dirt path,  alongside the babbling stream, beneath the canopy of trees, in the oppressive humidity. And suddenly it hit me: I’m doing just what I dreamed of for my new DC life.  I’m back in on the Rock Creek trail, hopping piles of manure, dumping sweat, acclimatizing to life in the swamp, and feeling... happy. In the afternoon, I was meeting my sangha to discuss a new book we were reading on The Power of Meditation. And I was reviewing contracts for a new green roof.

In those moments, give yourself a pat on the back. Whether you have a coach or not, you learn to become your own biggest supporter. Celebrating accomplishments is part of the game.

And back to my friend’s question about Confidence.

Each blog story I write, complete, and post breeds more commitment and diffuses the doubt.  Sure, I still have moments, hours, days of questioning.  But I forge ahead despite it.  The Warrior says to the little Worrier:  Thanks for sharing; now kindly eff*@#%-off.   

Perhaps Confidence, or better yet, Courage is a muscle you build, a byproduct of again and again pushing through the fears and noticing:  my Vision is coming true!  

The Beauty of Transitions ~ Beginner's Mind

That’s what I’ve got, being back in the *first world*, hometown DC, after two and a half years away - Beginner's Mind - the sweet side of Transitions. Everything that was once old has a shiny new sheen, like the Greek medallion necklace that sat in my jewelry box in storage for these last couple of years. I pull it out and clasp it on; it’s dazzling, doesn’t even need polishing, ensembles well with the khaki blazer I liberate from dry-clearer plastic and a pair of brand new strappy ComfortOne sandals I never had a chance to wear before shipping off to the Peace Corps. 

What a change from Chocos. I feel elegant and ready for happy hour on the New U, which finally lives up to its name.  The neighborhood has exploded with life, trendy, spendy, way-too-cool-for-school youts, loud-talkers, hill-walkers. I really can't afford a teeny-ini cocktail in this part of town on a post-Peace Corps Volunteer salary of zero and a well-honed rural Mexican ‘codo’ (el cheapo) mindset.  I’m used to 15 pesito cervezas (a little over a buck a beer) at Rita’s bar, my local Rioverde watering hole. Though until I met Rita, I wasn’t exactly welcomed into the cantinas – for men and ‘mala mujeres’ (i.e., prostitutes) only.  So I was confined to drinking my cerveza and an occasional tequila in my Diaz Rincon, my tiny apartment on the edge of town.

That made my first visit to a bar in my Mt Pleasant neighborhood, my first week back home, something special.  Marx Café was packed that Friday night with men and women, young and old, gay and straight, Latinos and 
 Gringos and even a 100 percent Navajo man named Lamar I got to talking to. Sidling up to the bar and ordering a glass of Malbec from Manny, the Mexican-American bartender, I felt like a real grown-up.  But when the flaming cheese came out, and the entire bar broke into applause, that’s when I felt grateful I was home. 

And there are other little things I marvel over.  The rain!  Sweet, soft, tapping on my roof at night, and the canopy of green that envelops my neighborhood. My runs through Rock Creek Park along the soggy bridle path, across foot bridges, watching red cardinals dart through the forest, hopping piles of horseshit, listening to the rush of the creek, and drinking the moisture into my skin.

How long will these Beginner’s Mind moments last?  I want to hold on to them; but after three months back, I sense that walking-on-air-in-love-with-everything feeling fading. The realities of leaking roofs and stolen iPhones, parking tickets, gluten intolerance, and Whole Paycheck grocery bills snaps me out of my romance.  

And how much rain can I stand?! After the soggiest spring on Washington record, I’m almost pining for the desert again, the prickly pear cactus jutting into cloudless skies, the dull predictability of small town life.

But more than that, I miss my friends Rita and Sergio.  It hit me just how much when I jumped onto Facebook the other night to check messages; and there was Sergio, posting a new entry to his Historias Rioverdences (Rioverde History) page.  Comments were pouring in from friends South of the Border; so I posted my two pesos:  ‘Gracias, Profe Sergio, for your history lessons and antique images. Keep the stories coming. Viva Rioverde!’   

Within seconds there was a message back:  ‘We miss you, Anna!  We’re at Rita’s bar and everyone say hello!’

Huh, to be back in El Fenix with the gang of tomato pickers and muni bureaucrats and car mechanics connecting across the language and culture divide…

Every change requires a loss and a gain – an ending and a new beginning.  Thanks to Beginner’s Mind, on the good days, I'm appreciating the beauty in all of it.