Train of Thought.

This morning I came into work, only have to leave very quickly to attend to a situation. My boss is out of town this week, so I am the boss. And I think I’m doing a very good job—making rash decisions, passing down illogical edicts, suspending people willy-nilly, eating tacos. But anyway, so I took a cab to said situation and got hopelessly, borderline-yelling-at-the-cab-driver lost, and then decided to take the much safer, better directed train back to my office. And then I started thinking.

If I were homeless, and going to do some train panhandling, what song would a I choose to sing if I were to choose to sing?

This led to a playlist in my head, and I decided on either a gospel-y showtune, or an old jazz standard. Then I began thinking about what it would take for me to become homeless. I’ve discussed before my theory about safety nets. And then I started thinking about burning metaphorical bridges, which is what we generally attribute the lack of safety net to. And then I realized… If you burn all your metaphorical bridges, then you’re either on an island, or you are an island. Which explains a lot really.

Catching Up...Again.

I'm becoming one of those people. I don't know what it is that is keeping me from the blog, but I'm trying. I promise. So catching up a bit.
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A couple of weeks ago, I got to go to San Francisco to visit UT friends and go to the wedding of one of my dearest. San Francisco (which I've decided to pronounce with an accent) was lovely, though I didn't really see alot of it. I decided to not do anything much. My friends all live in interesting neighborhoods, so it was like sightseeing to walk out the front door. I will go back, since so many who I like so much live there. But really, the most important part...the wedding. When people have asked me about the wedding, all I can say is "It was lovely." Not too big, very personal, nice attire (final touches picked out by me the previous afternoon), wonderful cupcakes. And due to the legal providence of California Supreme Court, my friend and his partner were able to legally marry. It is days like this that make me ever more puzzled as to why people would be against the marriage of two wonderful people who want to start a life together.
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Today, I contributed to the national employment crisis. I had to fire someone. Though I did not technically do the firing, I did the hiring. I observed the issues. I attempted to help with said issues. I discussed and contemplated with others. I got frustrated and decided that I could do nothing else. So in all I did the firing. It's pretty awful to know that you're putting someone out there during a time when there are no jobs be found. Social Work School does very little prepare you for anything administrative. And I know it's a bit ridiculous, but I feel like today I have contributed to poverty, and unemployment, and the housing crisis, and a million other social problems. But, hey, it just wasn't a good fit. But if you know anyone in the NYC area, who works in social services or would like to, who needs a job, send them my way.
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The Olympics....I LOVE the Olympics. Especially the summer ones. Gymnastics, and fencing, and diving, and swimming. But I am, as are most people, bothered by the human rights record of the host country. I might have the same issue if the United States were hosting. And so up until the moment I turned it on, I was debating whether I could watch. But I gave in, and the Opening Ceremonies are amazing. But the commentary provided to the announcers is pretty propagandistic, and it is difficult, if not impossible, to forget the images of the families of children killed in an earthquake who were punished for wanting answers to why their schools were so unsafe, and destruction of the Tibetan state. And the abject poverty that is being hidden from the public eye, in the interest of an immense sporting event.

But then the Olympics offer people hope. And we're all about hope. The images of the man who carried the American flag into the stadium tonight, who is one of the Lost Boys of the Sudan. He tells a story about running to restaurant 5 miles away to watch the Olympics on a black and white television, and knowing that he wanted to be there. When I watch the Olympics, I rarely cheer for the Americans (unless they're the swimmers because half of them seem to have gone to UT). I generally cheer for the underdog...for countries without professional sports teams. As I've been watching tonight, there was a commercial for Visa (a problem in and of itself) that talks about the unifying nature of the Olympics, how for these few weeks, everyone is watching and cheering, inspired and hopeful. And so we say, "Go World!"

Packing It In.

When I read all the stories about the lives of our soldiers and the Iraqi soldiers being lost (over 40 in the last 5 days), I begin to wonder what would happen if we just decided to scrap the whole thing and go home. Maybe, hopefully, continue to provide aid and expertise to re-build the infrastructure of their country, as we said we were there to do, but put all the guns and the rockets and the missiles and the soldiers and the jeeps and the hummer-thingys and the tanks on a boat and ship them home. Maybe put the weapons and other accoutrements of war in a museum for future generations to see, and hopefully not use. Send all the soldiers back to their families, give them a year of paid vacation and medical and mental health treatment, and maybe jobs or free college tuition to wherever they decide to go. No applications necessary. Would the Iraqi people maybe be so relieved that we are gone that they would stop killing each other too?

I, too, sing America.

This year, I decided that I was not going to celebrate the 4th of July. Someone had to work at my office today, so I decided it should be me, the anti-patriot. And my across-the-hall neighbor and I agreed it was the best way to express discontent. So I worked today. And I had no intention of doing anything particularly American (eating apple pie, singing Yankee Doodle Dandy, preempting something imaginary with a war). So I worked, went to visit my homeless friend, and went home. But as the day wore on, it became for me a more serious matter.

You see...the United States of America and I have lately not been getting along so well. My job often requires me to be the bearer of bad news, or to at least be in the room when said bad news is delivered. And that bad news generally comes from, or is due in part to the actions of, the US government. In the past two weeks I have told someone that though they do not make enough money to eat, the US government believes that they get too much money to be given any additional help; I have listened to people speak of losing dozens of friends to AIDS in the 1990s, simply because it wasn't thought important enough for the president to focus on; and have had to let a man know that the US Immigration service believes that despite the fact that he's been sleeping in a park next to the BQE for the last year, he really should have $400 to pay for the replacement Green Card that is required for him to have any hope of getting off the streets.

I do understand the irony of me writing all of my anti-American spiel on the Internet, when if it weren't for the that whole freedom of speech business I would be arrested for such things. But, for the love of all that is good and holy, I am tired. I am so tired of hearing of the supposed good that we're doing for people, when the people who need the most help are allowed to languish. I am tired of listening to the freedoms that we are fighting to give people in the Middle East when I know and see the blatant racism exercised by our government when an immigrant from an Arab country seeks assistance. I am over seeing the supposed freedoms of the market economy destroy scientific integrity in keeping life-saving medication from eradicating diseases that should have never been allowed to flourish so. I am simply tired.

I have spent the last few weeks writing pleading letters in my head to Barack Obama asking what he will do to help with each new issue I run into. I have written, again in my head, countless blog posts calling these things into question. And I have written one very angry and certainly awful poem. I don't know if I am right about these things, or if I am (as one of my co-workers called one of our co-workers) just some white yuppie kid with an education who wants to help for a moment before moving on to something else. But my heart is somewhat broken. And I don't know how to fix it, because I see no triumphant moment in sight. I try to keep hope, because I have to as it is tattooed as a command on my left wrist. But I'm not sure how much more my metaphorical heart can handle.

New York-iversary.

If I had been writing here 6 years ago, today would probably have been the day that I announced to my five or so readers that I was moving to New York. My best friend had left the weekend before, and had arrived today, and I had decided that it must be done. I would have written from the home of my friend Brian who kept me busy those first few days, as he knew how sad I was that Nathan had left. He would be the one who would listen to me when my uncertainty about this decision waxed and waned. I was so distressed every time I talked to Nathan on the phone, simply not being able to believe that I would see him again in only a few weeks, because really...who just up and moves of New York. I would begin collecting boxes from the HRW Special Projects move to the 7th Floor, but would hold off on packing them for a few more weeks, because REALLY...who just up and moves to New York. I would never believe that this would be permanent, or that my world would be so, so different than what I had anticipated. Or that I would love it this much. Or that there was any way I could’ve survived the things I have lived through here, or the people I have lived with. Or that my world, and the world, would be an entirely different place than it was in June of 2002.

Tonight Nathan and I went with two of my most cherished NYC friends to hear the New York Philharmonic play in Central Park. Enjoying the beautiful music, and the wonderful weather with people I love...the best way to celebrate a 6th New York-iversary.

Catching Up.

I have no idea why I haven't posted in almost a month. I have only one job. I've actually got a good deal of time on my hands. And I've probably got a good deal to say on the goings on of the World. But yeah...nothing. So now catching up.

(1) I got a new tattoo. Jen TB and I took a field trip to Hand of Glory Tattoo, where I got my first one. And where Jen got my first one. We spent a very nice day in Park Slope...brunch at my favorite diner, got inked by Jeff P. Yea Jeff P.! It is titled Hope in a Box...Arial Narrow. There's no logical reason it's in a box...it's just a design thing.

(2) Obama final wins. Hooray! And now it begins again. I was on a plane back to NYC on Sunday (more about that in (3)) and was sitting next to a family from South Africa. The father asked me about the election, and predicted that McCain will win. I've been told that to people abroad our elections are on par with the latest news about Paris and Nicole and Lindsey and friends. And they too find it absurd that people start campaigning like 2 years before an election and expect to somehow keep our attention. They seem to have little faith in our political system, or in the promise of a new political regime. We've got alot of work to do to restore our country in the eyes of the world.

(3) I took a trip to London last weekend. It was awesome. Crazy fun. I and some friends went to London to celebrate the 30th birthday of our friend, Amanda. It's a beautiful city. Buildings holding the most mundane things, like records and police, were built hundreds of years ago. Our hotel was a 20 minute walk to Big Ben and to Westminster Abbey. And we had an amazing view of the Thames from our hotel rooms...at our 5-star hotel. Friday night we went to Roller Disco, which was off the hook. And Saturday sightseeing and then Saturday night, a Masquerade Ball for Amanda and her friend Abi, jointly celebrating their birthdays. It was great fun and we gained some awesome international friends, who have all promised me a visit to NYC soon. Pictures at left.

Another Question.

So yesterday when I read the headline that the gay marriage ban in California had been lifted, I was super excited. And then I got an e-mail from a dear friend, who because the ban has been lifted will actually get to marry this summer, rather than his ceremony being merely symbolic. Again, so exciting. But then this morning, perusing the news, it begins again that people are now gearing up to fight the ban to protect marriage from such corruption. So my question is, why does marriage need to be protected from people who love each other committing their lives to each other?

I read this morning, much to my chagrin, that all three candidates are opposed to gay marriage. I understand this as a political decision, but do not understand it as a human decision. Maybe it's because I am not married that I cannot understand why the institution needs to be protected. But under the same vein, if we need to protect marriage from same-sex couples, don't we also need to protect it from divorcing couples, or from people who marry for money or publicity, or from people with tacky wedding dresses? All equally insidious. For real...can someone explain this to me?

All the Time.

I was reading this story today, and wow...read it and then come back to me. Okay, you're back. Can you imagine spending the rest of your life within 15 feet of a person? That's not 15 yards, that's 15 feet. But then imagine spending the rest of your life within 15 feet of a person. There is no room for anger, or nonchalance, or emotional distance. And there's no electricity, so very few means to distract yourself from that person. Just something to think about.

A Glimmer.

A few weeks ago, I was asked to write the communion meditation to follow a sermon at CCfB called Love and Concern. I was coming off an incredible night at work and so wrote about some of the people I work with/for.

I have come to believe that all you really need is to survive is a safety net. Most of the people that I find on the street are people who have no one. They lose one piece of their life's puzzle, pieces we all generally take for granted, and everything falls apart. I met a man a few months ago, who is homeless only because he lost his ID. Losing his ID lost him his job, lost him his housing, left him with nowhere to go, and sleeping at the bottom of some stairs in Queens. This man essentially does not exist. No one knows he's there, or that he is in such need, or that he slipped through the cracks so, so easily. He is an immigrant, has survived a war. Has no where, no one to go home to, and so has no home. He is left in limbo, knowing very well that no one should have to live like he is living. Another man I met recently has fallen victim to the same problem, but in a different world. He has lost his partner of 35 years to cancer. And now he too is homeless. He has enough money to get by, and a roof over his head, but the person that made it home is no longer there. He has no one to take care of him when he is sick, or to listen to him when he is sad, or angry, frightened, or excited.

I believe we have all encountered such people in our daily lives, or have maybe felt this ourselves. The moment you step off the plane, or park your moving truck, and know that you are just one in a city of millions. Or maybe in a child who has suddenly been moved to this country, without any knowledge of language or culture. Or in a young person growing up in poverty, feeling that there is no way out. Or someone suddenly single after they thought that part of their life was over. Or suddenly faced with an illness that threatens to take their life, or that of someone they love. And suddenly we are each left standing alone, wondering what to do next. Knowing that it should not be this way. Knowing that we should not go unprotected, uncared for.

But when we stop to catch our breath, we remember that are not unprotected. Though it is at times obscured by our panic, we are covered by the hand of God, given shelter in these times. Given community among God’s people to know that we are not alone. And we know that in the end, we are covered by grace, and will be given a place of rest.

I must confess to you, that sometimes when I write these seemingly inspired things, I do it really just hoping that it will be true. As evidenced by my previous post, I've been struggling a bit lately. I was discussing this last week with my logical voice in Queens, and he told me that I need to quit my job and go work in a bank. I have realized that I get to a point of overwhelm about every 6 months. Due to the ridiculous amount of work I've been doing lately, I lasted about 9 months this time. I get to the point where cannot escape all of the trauma and chaos I experience with people all the time, and where I cannot see an end to it. I begin to selfishly and whole-heartedly hope for the apocalypse, because really....could it be any worse? But then, this week, a glimmer of hope.

On Sunday night, I got a call from a man living in the neighborhood of a client that I had been looking for for a couple of weeks. This man lives in the neighborhood and gets his coffee everyday from the Dunkin' Donuts where my client stands outside for most of his days. They had been speaking, and my client had mentioned that I had been trying to help him and asked that this man give me a call. So I get this call, and my world is rocked. Part of overwhelm is coloured by martyrdom..."I'm the only who cares. No one else is trying to do anything. These people will die...DIE...if I, and I alone, don't help them." But then, someone, whose job it is not to help people in this man's situation, calls and wants to help me help him. New York will never cease to amaze me.

***DISCLAIMER***I realize that some of you might be puzzled/bothered by the fact that I am really excited, rather than freaked out, at the prospect of a random man getting my phone number from a homeless person. Just know that this is neither the most dangerous, nor the craziest, thing that I have done in the course of my job. Fear not, all work takes place in well-lit public spaces with co-workers nearby.

Full.

I was reading the blog of a blog friend today, and he talks about being empty. No reserves of wit or wisdom. No ideas. Unable to make any movements. I read this and thought to myself, "Is this my problem?" But then no. I feel like my problem is the opposite. I am full. Fullness is sometimes good. A full heart. A full stomach. But not really this kind. This is more the kind of fullness that you get from...I don't know...a key lime pie eating competition. You like...no, love key lime pie. So you eat some, and then eat some more, and it's a contest, so you quickly eat some more. You're kind of gasping for breath now, but you've gotta keep going. It's for a trophy, and you love trophies almost as much as key lime pie. And it's over...you've won. But now you really don't want anymore key lime pie...ever, ever again. The analogy loses something along the way, but you get the idea. Fullness that starts with something you love, and ends up making you very, very ill...and maybe a little bit sad that you couldn't just say no.

I do the work I do because I love it. I started out in one area and loved that, but then saw a need in another area. So I started working there, but maintained ties to the first group of people I worked with. But then the job I had became something other than what it should've been, and I needed an outlet (or another job) to make me feel like I don't need to just scrap it all and start over. I got that job, and I loved that job, and that job was awesome. I felt like I was doing something great for people. And it gave me the experience I needed to be able to move on from my awful job. So I'm working, and working, and working. Directing a worthwhile program, providing support to a community that is very important to me, helping people move in off the street. And I love it. I feel like I am doing, or at least attempting to do, everything I possibly can. But then I go on like that for about 9 months. My brain fills up piece by piece. If you were to draw a picture of my brain right now and label all of the nouns (ie. people, places and things) that are occupying space in my head, I do believe that there would be not one vacant space at this point in time.

So last week, I was laid off from my second job. We had a reorganization about two months ago, and in doing that they did away with all of the part-time spots...one of which was mine. But they had no one to work my shifts, so I and my co-workers were kept on until we were no longer needed. Kind of like Survivor. Last Tuesday, I got a call saying that they had found someone to fill my spot and I would have two more weeks. You're thinking "Hooray! You get to sleep and maybe see your friends and meet new people." And that is what I had hoped to think. But the Friday before all of this, I made a significant break through with a client who has refused to work with anyone. We were on our way!!! And now, I'm going away. And suddenly the space this man had taken up in my head expands, and occupies what was taken up by an assortment of everyday things. And now I'm feeling a bit paralyzed. So I go to my more logic inner voices for help. But sadly the logical voices don't really reside in my head, but in Queens, and Hoboken, and Boerum Hill, and San Francisco. I call them and e-mail them to distract me, and to advise me, and to help me realize that it's not all on me. They offer a listening ear, a bit of advice, an amazing lot of help. I hope to maybe be bit less full soon. Hopefully, not empty. But existing in a place where there is room for newness, but also for the old to expand.