If you're like I was, you hear the word 'broom' and think that the appropriate action is 'sweep.' But my attitude toward brooms has changed significantly. Here in the Nica, the escoba is used for much more than just to barrer. Sure, I used a broom to get a stray kickball out from under the car or to get at a hard to reach spiderweb. But the broom has so many more uses! Next time you think of cluttering up your back-hall closet with cleaning supplies, just think of how much easier and space-efficient it would be to get a single two-dollar broom to handle the jobs below.
Raking. Sure, it might be more effective and efficient to use an actual rake for raking, but when you're trying to rake with your hands and you don't have a rake on hand, a broom is the next best thing. Now, if you're looking to rake up ALL the leaves in your yard, you're just being far too picky. Get what you can with the broom and move on (to burning your pile of dry yard waste)!
Squeegeeing. Since wind often blows rain onto a front porch or entranceway, there is often a good-size puddle left over that would otherwise take hours, and maybe even days to dry. Now, some might invest in a squeegee to solve this issue, but to what end? The broom gets the job done just the same. Sweep the water away out to the yard and smile triumphantly that you didn't double your home-cleaning supplies cost with the purchase of a squeegee.
Car Washing. Take advantage of a downpour to wash your car. With a bucket (previously purchased to haul water from the well when necessary) and your trusty broom, you can easily wash away any dirt that has built up around tire wells and make those windows shine like new. No it's not a $5 wash-n-wax, but it'll hold you over until the next rainfall. Note: Be prepared to get soaked in this process. Unless you're Leo, the van driver at Escuela Maureen, who sends the kids out in the downpour to do his dirty work.
Gutter Cleaning/General rooftop and siding care. Leaves and gunk clogging up the gutter? Need to get the goo off the hard to reach spots of the house? Grab that bucket and water and splash some on the parts of the house that you need cleaned, and scrub away with the head of the broom. Of course, gutter cleaning will require a ladder, so if you don't have the funds for that, you're out of luck.
Dusting. Sometimes so much dust and dirt builds up that your typical routine of dust rag and Pine-Sol just won't do the trick (ok, probably not as big of a problem in places where there are not dirt roads). Unscrew the broom head from the broomstick and reach whatever spots you can. You will, of course, have to re-attach the pieces to sweep up what you just dusted onto the floor.
Wire Raising. Sometimes there's a protest at the airport and the police shut down some roads so taxis and other traffic don't drive by the airport. This causes for detours to be necessary, and as a result, vehicles that would otherwise not pass down your street have no other choice. The problem with getting a semi-truck down a non-main road is that there are all sorts of telephone/electrical/cable wires hanging too low for a semi. But with a broom, you can stand on the trailer hitch of the semi and push the wires up and over the trailer. And no one loses power. Well, at least not because of downed wires.
Dog pestering. You may not own dogs, but the neighbors dogs still spend a lot of time at your house, so they're practically your dogs. Dogs toys don't abound where you are, so it turns out that everyday household supplies will have to do. Drag the broom in circles until the dog just gives up and bites the fleas off his tail. Also doubles as a dog tummy scratcher.
How have your used your broom lately?
Monday, May 31, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Independence Dependency
I'm an addict. I've slowly come to this realization after sharing a house with two other people for the last eight months. I have a serious addiction, and we all know that the first step to solving a problem is stating the problem.
I am addicted to independence. I tend to rely on myself and do things myself. Over the past several years--specifically the three years I spent living on my own--I've developed a sort of fear of depending on other people to do things for me or on my behalf. I'm still not sure if this is a result of being let down in the past or if it's an anal-retentive personality trait that I developed on my own. Either way, I like to do things my own way.
It wasn't really an issue before and was actually quite conducive to living by myself. If a problem came up, I knew (usually) what caused it, why it happened and what needed to be done to fix it. Being independent, you're always on your own schedule and able to make your own decisions. You can do things the way you want to do them and control, to a certain extent, the outcome.
Having roommates has been a very good experience for me in that it has allowed me to see my dependence on independence. I still like things done certain ways, I won't deny that. I also think I've gotten better at not feeling like it HAS to be done those ways and recognizing that if it doesn't turn out the way I want it, the world actually will not come to an end. I've really tried to develop a mentality where all of my decisions take into account the people with whom I am living. Will they be ok with this? Should I wash this in case someone needs it soon? Could someone be sleeping or napping right now and how do I handle the noise I am potentially going to make getting such-and-such done. Simple stuff, really, but hard to get in the habit of thinking about when you're living on your own.
Now, I'm not saying I'm totally abandoning my independent side. I still like the experience of travelling and exploring on my own. I still feel capable of living on my own and will likely always have at least a slice of the mentality that I need things done a certain way. But I've also developed an appreciation for the company of other people and the benefits of a community life. Who knows if I'll live on my own or live with roommates back in the States. But hopefully the lessons translate not only to my living situation, but to other facets of my life as well.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Anicha
When Chepe, the coordinator of the Managua group, first told me about a silent meditation retreat, I was instantly intrigued to know more. You probably know I'm not one to talk a whole lot anyway, and I contemplated whether 10 days in silence might not do me more bad than good. But in the end, my curiosity outweighed my concerns, and so it is that I spent 10 days at La Casa de Retiro Las Teresianas in El Crucero, Nicaragua.
I got to El Crucero a little earlier than expected, and so I was one of the first people there for registration. After you fill out your information sheet, your connection to the outside world is taken away - cell phones, beepers, cameras, books, journals; anything that could potentially distract the mind is checked at the door. And with good reason, too. It's hard enough to concentrate for 11 hours of meditation without there being additional distractions.
After everyone got registered, we had dinner together. There was some small talk. Hi, how ya doin? Where you from? That kind of thing. But not a whole lot beyond that. Maybe this 10 days in silence wouldn't be so hard for any of us after all!
In the meeting that followed dinner, everything we already knew was re-explained to us one more time. We were to spend the next 10 days on the premises of the meditation center. We were not to engage in any conversation with any other participant. We were to maintain full physical separation from the opposite sex outside of the meditation hall. We were to leave behind any other spiritual/religious/meditation practices in order to give a fair chance to the Vipassana technique. And finally, in order to engage in Vipassana meditation, one must vow to follow a life of Sila (moral living) that includes the following five precepts:
1. No killing any living being
2. No stealing
3. No sexual misconduct
4. No lying
5. No ingestion of intoxicants
I know the no lying seems kind of easy - like, how do I lie to someone if I can't talk to them? Right...but these are five precepts that are also applied to life outside of the 10-day course.
After the meeting, we had our first group meditation session. The course is recorded on CD by what I would call the "guru" of Vipassana meditation, S.N. Goenka. The guy's been practicing the Vipassana technique for like upwards of 50 years now. He started in the '60s, eventually becoming an assistant professor, which meant he could lead these meditation courses. Well, his first students were his parents, late in the '60s. His parents like it so much and told enough friends that Goenka had to do another course for their friends. And then the friends told friends and it just kept snowballing until Goenka was travelling all over the place giving these courses until he first made a recording of them in the early '80s. Needless to say, dude knows what he's doing.
So the first meditation session was kind of an introduction to the course with some chanting in Pali and a "good night, get some rest before you get woken up early tomorrow morning." Since I was attending the course here in the Nica, we had the original recording of Goenka plus a Spanish translation throughout the course.
Our schedule for the 10 days (with slight changes on the 4th and 9th day) was as follows:
4:00am Wake-up call (DING rang the bell repeatedly until everyone showed signs of life)
4:30am -6:30am Meditation in your room or in the meditation hall
6:30am-8:00am Breakfast and break
8:00am-9:00am Group meditation in the meditation hall
9:00am-11:00am Meditation in your room or in the meditation hall
11:00am-1:00pm Lunch and break
1:00pm-2:30pm Meditation in your room or in the meditation hall
2:30pm-3:30pm Group meditation in the meditation hall
3:30pm-5:00pm Meditation in your room or in the meditation hall
5:00pm-6:00pm "Dinner" and break
6:00pm-7:00pm Group meditation in the meditation hall
7:00pm-8:15pm Discourses from Goenka
8:15pm-9:00pm Instuctions for the following day's meditation and brief meditation session
9:30pm Lights out
I say "dinner" because it was probably about a hundred calories worth of some mixture of fruit slices and a cup of tea. Vipassana meditation is apparently best done on about a 75% full stomach, so they make sure you don't eat too much.
The discourses every night were great. Goenka touches on the history of the Vipassana meditation, tells some stories to help understand the driving forces behind Vipassana and addresses the intricacies of the technique. During the course, we could sign up for question times with the assistant professor (who is physically present at the meditation center and meditates along with the participants), but I found that if I was patient enough, all of my questions would get answered. The one time I did sign up for a question time, my question would have gotten answered the next night during the discourse. Goenka's pretty hilarious, too, so it was easy to listen to his talks.
The first full day of meditation, we started learning the Anapana technique, which is simply being aware of one's breathing. The first day was dedicated to increasing awareness of our inhaling and exhaling. The second day, we focused on feeling the sensation of the breath either at the entrance of our nostrils or on the skin between the upper lip and the nose. On the third day, we focused our attention on any sensation (itching, warmth, moisture, vibrations) that came up on that skin between the upper lip and the nose.
Doing this helped us to practice Samadhi (mastery of the mind). It's kind of like a warm-up to Vipassana. It starts sharpening your mind and getting it focused on being aware of sensations.
Then the fourth day was overwhelming, because we started the Vipassana technique which is to be aware of sensations on all parts of the body, kind of like how we were doing for the part between the lip and the nose. So you start with the top of the head, move down to the rest of the skull, the forehead, the nose...all the way down to the tips of your toes. Then you go back up to the top of the head. If you don't feel sensations on a part of your body, you're supposed to stay there about a minute and then move on if nothing crops up.
Of course, as we're learning the technique, there's a marching band going by outside - Drums, symbols, trumpets, bottle rockets...the whole deal! I was giggling to myself when I heard it. The first day of meditation, I had been frustrated by hearing cars and trucks pass by on the road outside and having all these distractions, but then I realized that I'm probably not gonna ever have a sound-proof meditation room to meditate in, so I'd better learn to ignore all the extra-curricular activity. And by the end of the course, I was barely even thinking about that stuff.
So from the fourth day on, we practiced the actual Vipassana technique. The three times a day when we had group meditations, we had Aditthana, sittings of strong determination. The idea was to not move your legs or hands or open your eyes for the full hour. I made it through most of them, but there were a number of times when I was apparently not determined enough. Back pain.
You might ask, what's the point of all this sitting and being aware. Well Vipassana meditation incorporates two main themes - the law of impermanence and equanimity. Anicha is a Pali word that must have been used hundreds of times between the meditation instructions, the discourses and the chantings. It means change or impermanence. Goenka would remind us time and again that any sensation we were experiencing had the same characteristic as the next sensation - that of arising and passing away. Nothing lasts forever. For that reason, we are to be equanimous toward these sensations, never becoming too attached to those sensations that we deem pleasurable or creating too much aversion to those sensations that we deem as not pleasurable.
The theory, then, is that by controlling our reactions to these physical sensations, we can then control our emotional reactions to circumstances in everyday life. All emotions have a physiological basis and we attach positive and negative labels to the circumstances in our life. In doing so, we essentially are living in misery all the time. It sounds like kind of a downer attitude, but only if you don't want to work out of your misery. See, for most people, we struggle to live positively in the present moment. We are either experiencing something we dislike and creating or multiplying an aversion to it, or we are longing for...craving for something we do like. Or maybe both at the same time. The Vipassana technique helps to liberate us from these cravings and aversions. Looking at all situations objectively and understanding their impermanence, we can avoid becoming too attached to or too spiteful toward any situation.
This, in turn, helps us to live in better relationships with other people. We begin to feel less entitlement to things or feelings or ways of living. We begin to appreciate the way in which people are different from us and understand why they do what they do. We begin to want all beings to experience the same sort of happiness and contentness with whatever we have in front of us at the time. And so we live more compassionately and more lovingly toward one another and toward our environment. This is called Dana, selfless love or selfless giving.
The final goal, so to speak, is Panna, wisdom or insight that purifies the mind. Actually, there are three levels of Panna. 1) suta-maya panna - wisdom gained by listening to others. 2) cinta-maya panna - intellectual or analytical understanding. 3) bhavana-maya panna - wisdom based on direct, personal experience. I experienced the first when I was told about the meditation course, the second when I read about Vipassana and received instructions for meditating, and I am now in the process of developing the third by experiencing the meditation itself. Purifying the mind through bhavana-maya panna can lead to full enlightenment for those who fully invest in the technique.
Eventually, the idea is that one becomes aware of all physiological sensations on the surface level and the interior of the body, looking at these sensations objectively and with an understanding that they all arise and pass away. If one can do this with their own body, it sharpens the mind to apply the same concept to their life, and thus one can live free from cravings and aversions, peacefully experiencing each moment as it arises. But you can't crave for the sensation - then you would just be creating a new misery for yourself!
By the end of the course, we had all become good friends without really talking with one another. I could barely talk when we first broke the silence, and other people had the same problem, too. One of the first topics of conversation was the tremor that we experienced on the ninth day. A few people made the comment that our meditation was getting to be a little too powerful if it was going to shake the ground underneath us.
It's a pretty amazing thing that these Vipassana courses can sustain themselves. New students are not required to pay anything and only at the end of the 10-day course can they make a donation that would be used for the next course in that country. All other expenses come from donations to the bigger Vipassana organization and, in greater part, from returning students. It's that Dana, the selfless giving, that allows the technique to continue to be passed around the world. Hopefully I'll be able to experience that giving back next year.
I got to El Crucero a little earlier than expected, and so I was one of the first people there for registration. After you fill out your information sheet, your connection to the outside world is taken away - cell phones, beepers, cameras, books, journals; anything that could potentially distract the mind is checked at the door. And with good reason, too. It's hard enough to concentrate for 11 hours of meditation without there being additional distractions.
After everyone got registered, we had dinner together. There was some small talk. Hi, how ya doin? Where you from? That kind of thing. But not a whole lot beyond that. Maybe this 10 days in silence wouldn't be so hard for any of us after all!
In the meeting that followed dinner, everything we already knew was re-explained to us one more time. We were to spend the next 10 days on the premises of the meditation center. We were not to engage in any conversation with any other participant. We were to maintain full physical separation from the opposite sex outside of the meditation hall. We were to leave behind any other spiritual/religious/meditation practices in order to give a fair chance to the Vipassana technique. And finally, in order to engage in Vipassana meditation, one must vow to follow a life of Sila (moral living) that includes the following five precepts:
1. No killing any living being
2. No stealing
3. No sexual misconduct
4. No lying
5. No ingestion of intoxicants
I know the no lying seems kind of easy - like, how do I lie to someone if I can't talk to them? Right...but these are five precepts that are also applied to life outside of the 10-day course.
After the meeting, we had our first group meditation session. The course is recorded on CD by what I would call the "guru" of Vipassana meditation, S.N. Goenka. The guy's been practicing the Vipassana technique for like upwards of 50 years now. He started in the '60s, eventually becoming an assistant professor, which meant he could lead these meditation courses. Well, his first students were his parents, late in the '60s. His parents like it so much and told enough friends that Goenka had to do another course for their friends. And then the friends told friends and it just kept snowballing until Goenka was travelling all over the place giving these courses until he first made a recording of them in the early '80s. Needless to say, dude knows what he's doing.
So the first meditation session was kind of an introduction to the course with some chanting in Pali and a "good night, get some rest before you get woken up early tomorrow morning." Since I was attending the course here in the Nica, we had the original recording of Goenka plus a Spanish translation throughout the course.
Our schedule for the 10 days (with slight changes on the 4th and 9th day) was as follows:
4:00am Wake-up call (DING rang the bell repeatedly until everyone showed signs of life)
4:30am -6:30am Meditation in your room or in the meditation hall
6:30am-8:00am Breakfast and break
8:00am-9:00am Group meditation in the meditation hall
9:00am-11:00am Meditation in your room or in the meditation hall
11:00am-1:00pm Lunch and break
1:00pm-2:30pm Meditation in your room or in the meditation hall
2:30pm-3:30pm Group meditation in the meditation hall
3:30pm-5:00pm Meditation in your room or in the meditation hall
5:00pm-6:00pm "Dinner" and break
6:00pm-7:00pm Group meditation in the meditation hall
7:00pm-8:15pm Discourses from Goenka
8:15pm-9:00pm Instuctions for the following day's meditation and brief meditation session
9:30pm Lights out
I say "dinner" because it was probably about a hundred calories worth of some mixture of fruit slices and a cup of tea. Vipassana meditation is apparently best done on about a 75% full stomach, so they make sure you don't eat too much.
The discourses every night were great. Goenka touches on the history of the Vipassana meditation, tells some stories to help understand the driving forces behind Vipassana and addresses the intricacies of the technique. During the course, we could sign up for question times with the assistant professor (who is physically present at the meditation center and meditates along with the participants), but I found that if I was patient enough, all of my questions would get answered. The one time I did sign up for a question time, my question would have gotten answered the next night during the discourse. Goenka's pretty hilarious, too, so it was easy to listen to his talks.
The first full day of meditation, we started learning the Anapana technique, which is simply being aware of one's breathing. The first day was dedicated to increasing awareness of our inhaling and exhaling. The second day, we focused on feeling the sensation of the breath either at the entrance of our nostrils or on the skin between the upper lip and the nose. On the third day, we focused our attention on any sensation (itching, warmth, moisture, vibrations) that came up on that skin between the upper lip and the nose.
Doing this helped us to practice Samadhi (mastery of the mind). It's kind of like a warm-up to Vipassana. It starts sharpening your mind and getting it focused on being aware of sensations.
Then the fourth day was overwhelming, because we started the Vipassana technique which is to be aware of sensations on all parts of the body, kind of like how we were doing for the part between the lip and the nose. So you start with the top of the head, move down to the rest of the skull, the forehead, the nose...all the way down to the tips of your toes. Then you go back up to the top of the head. If you don't feel sensations on a part of your body, you're supposed to stay there about a minute and then move on if nothing crops up.
Of course, as we're learning the technique, there's a marching band going by outside - Drums, symbols, trumpets, bottle rockets...the whole deal! I was giggling to myself when I heard it. The first day of meditation, I had been frustrated by hearing cars and trucks pass by on the road outside and having all these distractions, but then I realized that I'm probably not gonna ever have a sound-proof meditation room to meditate in, so I'd better learn to ignore all the extra-curricular activity. And by the end of the course, I was barely even thinking about that stuff.
So from the fourth day on, we practiced the actual Vipassana technique. The three times a day when we had group meditations, we had Aditthana, sittings of strong determination. The idea was to not move your legs or hands or open your eyes for the full hour. I made it through most of them, but there were a number of times when I was apparently not determined enough. Back pain.
You might ask, what's the point of all this sitting and being aware. Well Vipassana meditation incorporates two main themes - the law of impermanence and equanimity. Anicha is a Pali word that must have been used hundreds of times between the meditation instructions, the discourses and the chantings. It means change or impermanence. Goenka would remind us time and again that any sensation we were experiencing had the same characteristic as the next sensation - that of arising and passing away. Nothing lasts forever. For that reason, we are to be equanimous toward these sensations, never becoming too attached to those sensations that we deem pleasurable or creating too much aversion to those sensations that we deem as not pleasurable.
The theory, then, is that by controlling our reactions to these physical sensations, we can then control our emotional reactions to circumstances in everyday life. All emotions have a physiological basis and we attach positive and negative labels to the circumstances in our life. In doing so, we essentially are living in misery all the time. It sounds like kind of a downer attitude, but only if you don't want to work out of your misery. See, for most people, we struggle to live positively in the present moment. We are either experiencing something we dislike and creating or multiplying an aversion to it, or we are longing for...craving for something we do like. Or maybe both at the same time. The Vipassana technique helps to liberate us from these cravings and aversions. Looking at all situations objectively and understanding their impermanence, we can avoid becoming too attached to or too spiteful toward any situation.
This, in turn, helps us to live in better relationships with other people. We begin to feel less entitlement to things or feelings or ways of living. We begin to appreciate the way in which people are different from us and understand why they do what they do. We begin to want all beings to experience the same sort of happiness and contentness with whatever we have in front of us at the time. And so we live more compassionately and more lovingly toward one another and toward our environment. This is called Dana, selfless love or selfless giving.
The final goal, so to speak, is Panna, wisdom or insight that purifies the mind. Actually, there are three levels of Panna. 1) suta-maya panna - wisdom gained by listening to others. 2) cinta-maya panna - intellectual or analytical understanding. 3) bhavana-maya panna - wisdom based on direct, personal experience. I experienced the first when I was told about the meditation course, the second when I read about Vipassana and received instructions for meditating, and I am now in the process of developing the third by experiencing the meditation itself. Purifying the mind through bhavana-maya panna can lead to full enlightenment for those who fully invest in the technique.
Eventually, the idea is that one becomes aware of all physiological sensations on the surface level and the interior of the body, looking at these sensations objectively and with an understanding that they all arise and pass away. If one can do this with their own body, it sharpens the mind to apply the same concept to their life, and thus one can live free from cravings and aversions, peacefully experiencing each moment as it arises. But you can't crave for the sensation - then you would just be creating a new misery for yourself!
By the end of the course, we had all become good friends without really talking with one another. I could barely talk when we first broke the silence, and other people had the same problem, too. One of the first topics of conversation was the tremor that we experienced on the ninth day. A few people made the comment that our meditation was getting to be a little too powerful if it was going to shake the ground underneath us.
It's a pretty amazing thing that these Vipassana courses can sustain themselves. New students are not required to pay anything and only at the end of the 10-day course can they make a donation that would be used for the next course in that country. All other expenses come from donations to the bigger Vipassana organization and, in greater part, from returning students. It's that Dana, the selfless giving, that allows the technique to continue to be passed around the world. Hopefully I'll be able to experience that giving back next year.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Holy Semana Santa!
So it's almost been a month since the start of Holy Week, but I figure I should at least capture the week's events, because it was a week fully of activity. Unfortunately I have no pictures, because the one time I was carrying my camera, the batteries died out pretty quick.
The party side of Holy Week takes place down at La Bocana (the estuary - where a river flows into an ocean). A few weeks before Holy Week, they started paving the road that leads down to the Bocana, much to my chagrin since the dirt/gravel was softer on my knees when I go running down that way. Now, I had heard that the Bocana was the place to be during Holy Week, but I just thought there would be a half dozen or so tents and a couple performances on this stage that just sits there the rest of the year. I had anticipated that all of the activity would take place at the turn-about at the end of the road.
Well, it turns out that the festivities cover hundres of feet of beach and bluff, and there are actually about a hundred tents (maybe more), most of which are eateries/bars, as well as the same carnival set up they had in December, and they even put up a lifeguard tower to keep an eye on people swimming during the day. They also completed the stairway that previously just dropped off into the estuary so you could actually cross OVER the river instead of THROUGH it. High class! The vagos (bums) of Port find their way down to the Bocana and spend most of the week drinking; that's the only down side. But it's still a place to go hang out for the rest of the world.
I only made it down there a couple times, though, because I was occupied with choir activities most of the week. Lots of walking. It started on Palm Sunday. Normally, morning mass is at 8:00am, but this time, the service started at one of the capillas (chapels) with the blessing of the Palms. From there, we marched through the streets of Bilwi, Palms in hand, singing hymns all the way to the church. It was a good 45 minutes of processing and singing through the streets. We also sang at the evening mass that night.
Monday was just practice...for five hours. Uy! See, the problem is that we didn't really practice for Holy Week festivities until Holy Week started. For example, the first time we practiced anything for the Easter Vigil on Saturday night was on Saturday morning. We didn't exactly sing beautifully that night.
Monday I also found out we were going to take a trip to a nearby community, Kwakwil, on Tuesday. The plan was to go there and sing for the people and distribute some medications to the community. Well, the short story is that we had to find someone else to drive us after the first guy just didn't show up on Tuesday afternoon. Fortunately we found someone, but the truck was kind of small, so we were a little scrunched for space (i.e. my right leg hanging out the back of the pick-up), and the weight probably contributed to the flat on the way (wouldn't be a Nica road trip without at least one flat tire, right?). Nonetheless we made it to Kwakwil.
When we got there, they didn't have the speakers that we were told they would have, which kind of disappointed our pianist, because he loves to hear himself play. Additionally, we thought the people in the community knew we were coming, but that didn't seem to be the case. So after we got word out about our presence and got organized, we sang for the people and then called it a night. We had about 15 of us in a little three room house, about 20 ft x 20 ft. Wood floor, no mattresses, no pillows, just lay down and good luck. It was good enough for the night and then the next day we distributed the medications before heading back to Port.
Holy Thursday's evening mass was pretty ordinary by my standards. Last Supper, cover the cross after the service, nothing too exciting.
Friday morning we had the Viacrucis (Stations of the Cross). We started out by the Movistar antenna (which I know helps you locate yourself, I'm sure) and started making our way to the church around 7:30am. We'd walk for five or ten minutes, singing various depressing hymns before stopping along the way at the Stations. We in the choir were supposed to be together in the front, but we all got scattered throughout the procession and by the end, I was pretty much in the back. I guess I don't push my way through crowds as well as other people. Anyway, we got to the church around 10:15am or so and had a brief ceremony to close off the stations.
Friday afternoon, we had a "non-mass". I didn't realize this was a rule, but I guess you're not supposed to have the liturgy of the Eucharist on Good Friday. So we had the liturgy of the word, then used Eucharist blessed from the previous day in order to have communion, then had time for people to pass forward to kiss the cross. A mass, but, ya know, not really. And Bishop David made sure to point out that we didn't have mass, just in case anyone though we were being scandalous.
After the non-mass, we had the Santo Entierro (Holy Burial). Ok, so if you've ever gone to a big cathedral, especially in Latin America, in one of the "wings" of the cathedral, there's often what I call the Scary Jesus. This Jesus is dripping with blood from his side and looking like he's about to die, as though Jesus didn't die before he was laid in the tomb. Anywho, so although the church here in Port isn't a cathedral, it does have one of these Scary Jesuses in the back of the church. Santo Entierro consists of marching this ginormous thing around town and singing more depressing hymns. More walking - Cripes! Thankfully there were like 10 guys that were taking regular shifts on carrying this thing (it took about ten to carry it, and you definitely needed breaks). I took about a 15 minute shift and that was more than enough. It probably didn't help that I'm tall relative to most people here, so I either had to stand up straight and bear a majority of the weight or walk like a homo medio erectus (if a combination of Spanish and English is called Spanglish, does that mean a combination of Spanish and Latin is Spatin?) and hope I wouldn't trip.
Well, I was beat by the end of that trip, another couple hours marching around town, ready for bed.
Saturday morning we had choir practice and then went home for lunch before coming early to the convent to practice again before the vigil. We practiced at the convent, because the Easter Vigil service actually started out at Colegio Niño Jesús (right by the convent) for the blessing of the fire. So guess what we're going to do next - March the Easter Candle around town singing less depressing coritos (hmmm...good translation for coritos...I guess "choruses", like, short refrains of songs that everyone knows or can pick up on relatively quickly). The Easter Vigil itself was pretty typical with all the readings and such. Oh, one thing that's a hit is the blessing of the water. Everyone brings buckets/gallons/bottles of water to be blessed. People from other faiths that never come to a Catholic service even bring their water to get blessed. I couldn't get a good answer on what happens to this water, except one person told me that if someone were to get sick, they might drink this Holy Water. Whatever floats your boat, I guess!
Then after the vigil people started talking about spending the night at the church. I guess a bunch of people stay up all night at the church until there's a service at 4am. Well, I wasn't feeling super by this time, so I declined. Plus, last time I stayed up all night and went to mass in the morning, I had to leave after the homily because I nearly fell over from falling asleep standing up.
I'm hoping there were a lot of people at that 4:00am service, because Easter Masses were kind of like Christmas Day and New Years Day masses. Everyone shows up the night before and barely anyone's there for what we in the States would consider the main event. There were maybe 100 people at the 8am mass and like 50 or so at the 6pm mass.
So that was Holy Week. By devoting so much time to the church, I built up enough good Karma to get an invite the next day to the Vipassana meditation course I was on the waiting list for. I'll try to write about that soon.
The party side of Holy Week takes place down at La Bocana (the estuary - where a river flows into an ocean). A few weeks before Holy Week, they started paving the road that leads down to the Bocana, much to my chagrin since the dirt/gravel was softer on my knees when I go running down that way. Now, I had heard that the Bocana was the place to be during Holy Week, but I just thought there would be a half dozen or so tents and a couple performances on this stage that just sits there the rest of the year. I had anticipated that all of the activity would take place at the turn-about at the end of the road.
Well, it turns out that the festivities cover hundres of feet of beach and bluff, and there are actually about a hundred tents (maybe more), most of which are eateries/bars, as well as the same carnival set up they had in December, and they even put up a lifeguard tower to keep an eye on people swimming during the day. They also completed the stairway that previously just dropped off into the estuary so you could actually cross OVER the river instead of THROUGH it. High class! The vagos (bums) of Port find their way down to the Bocana and spend most of the week drinking; that's the only down side. But it's still a place to go hang out for the rest of the world.
I only made it down there a couple times, though, because I was occupied with choir activities most of the week. Lots of walking. It started on Palm Sunday. Normally, morning mass is at 8:00am, but this time, the service started at one of the capillas (chapels) with the blessing of the Palms. From there, we marched through the streets of Bilwi, Palms in hand, singing hymns all the way to the church. It was a good 45 minutes of processing and singing through the streets. We also sang at the evening mass that night.
Monday was just practice...for five hours. Uy! See, the problem is that we didn't really practice for Holy Week festivities until Holy Week started. For example, the first time we practiced anything for the Easter Vigil on Saturday night was on Saturday morning. We didn't exactly sing beautifully that night.
Monday I also found out we were going to take a trip to a nearby community, Kwakwil, on Tuesday. The plan was to go there and sing for the people and distribute some medications to the community. Well, the short story is that we had to find someone else to drive us after the first guy just didn't show up on Tuesday afternoon. Fortunately we found someone, but the truck was kind of small, so we were a little scrunched for space (i.e. my right leg hanging out the back of the pick-up), and the weight probably contributed to the flat on the way (wouldn't be a Nica road trip without at least one flat tire, right?). Nonetheless we made it to Kwakwil.
When we got there, they didn't have the speakers that we were told they would have, which kind of disappointed our pianist, because he loves to hear himself play. Additionally, we thought the people in the community knew we were coming, but that didn't seem to be the case. So after we got word out about our presence and got organized, we sang for the people and then called it a night. We had about 15 of us in a little three room house, about 20 ft x 20 ft. Wood floor, no mattresses, no pillows, just lay down and good luck. It was good enough for the night and then the next day we distributed the medications before heading back to Port.
Holy Thursday's evening mass was pretty ordinary by my standards. Last Supper, cover the cross after the service, nothing too exciting.
Friday morning we had the Viacrucis (Stations of the Cross). We started out by the Movistar antenna (which I know helps you locate yourself, I'm sure) and started making our way to the church around 7:30am. We'd walk for five or ten minutes, singing various depressing hymns before stopping along the way at the Stations. We in the choir were supposed to be together in the front, but we all got scattered throughout the procession and by the end, I was pretty much in the back. I guess I don't push my way through crowds as well as other people. Anyway, we got to the church around 10:15am or so and had a brief ceremony to close off the stations.
Friday afternoon, we had a "non-mass". I didn't realize this was a rule, but I guess you're not supposed to have the liturgy of the Eucharist on Good Friday. So we had the liturgy of the word, then used Eucharist blessed from the previous day in order to have communion, then had time for people to pass forward to kiss the cross. A mass, but, ya know, not really. And Bishop David made sure to point out that we didn't have mass, just in case anyone though we were being scandalous.
After the non-mass, we had the Santo Entierro (Holy Burial). Ok, so if you've ever gone to a big cathedral, especially in Latin America, in one of the "wings" of the cathedral, there's often what I call the Scary Jesus. This Jesus is dripping with blood from his side and looking like he's about to die, as though Jesus didn't die before he was laid in the tomb. Anywho, so although the church here in Port isn't a cathedral, it does have one of these Scary Jesuses in the back of the church. Santo Entierro consists of marching this ginormous thing around town and singing more depressing hymns. More walking - Cripes! Thankfully there were like 10 guys that were taking regular shifts on carrying this thing (it took about ten to carry it, and you definitely needed breaks). I took about a 15 minute shift and that was more than enough. It probably didn't help that I'm tall relative to most people here, so I either had to stand up straight and bear a majority of the weight or walk like a homo medio erectus (if a combination of Spanish and English is called Spanglish, does that mean a combination of Spanish and Latin is Spatin?) and hope I wouldn't trip.
Well, I was beat by the end of that trip, another couple hours marching around town, ready for bed.
Saturday morning we had choir practice and then went home for lunch before coming early to the convent to practice again before the vigil. We practiced at the convent, because the Easter Vigil service actually started out at Colegio Niño Jesús (right by the convent) for the blessing of the fire. So guess what we're going to do next - March the Easter Candle around town singing less depressing coritos (hmmm...good translation for coritos...I guess "choruses", like, short refrains of songs that everyone knows or can pick up on relatively quickly). The Easter Vigil itself was pretty typical with all the readings and such. Oh, one thing that's a hit is the blessing of the water. Everyone brings buckets/gallons/bottles of water to be blessed. People from other faiths that never come to a Catholic service even bring their water to get blessed. I couldn't get a good answer on what happens to this water, except one person told me that if someone were to get sick, they might drink this Holy Water. Whatever floats your boat, I guess!
Then after the vigil people started talking about spending the night at the church. I guess a bunch of people stay up all night at the church until there's a service at 4am. Well, I wasn't feeling super by this time, so I declined. Plus, last time I stayed up all night and went to mass in the morning, I had to leave after the homily because I nearly fell over from falling asleep standing up.
I'm hoping there were a lot of people at that 4:00am service, because Easter Masses were kind of like Christmas Day and New Years Day masses. Everyone shows up the night before and barely anyone's there for what we in the States would consider the main event. There were maybe 100 people at the 8am mass and like 50 or so at the 6pm mass.
So that was Holy Week. By devoting so much time to the church, I built up enough good Karma to get an invite the next day to the Vipassana meditation course I was on the waiting list for. I'll try to write about that soon.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Personality Puzzle
Lee is not a name that comes along very frequently in Nicaragua. I'm fairly confident that, at least in Puerto Cabezas, no one has ever been named Lee or anything similar. When I tell people my name, I often get confirmatory responses like ¿Luís? or ¿Jim? (Yeah, I'm not sure where Jim comes from either, but I'm just assuming Jim is a more common name and since the "i" is pronounced like an "e", they just go with what they've known). When they catch on, many people like to say, Ah, como Bruce Lee (Oh, like Bruce Lee.) or ¿Como la marca de jin? (Like the brand of jeans?), and I've actually taken to putting these examples out there immediately, rather than wait for someone to ask me if my name is Luís. But after six months here, I've been given various nicknames or called by various descriptors to the point where I feel like I might soon develop a personality complex. Here's a peak into how I'm known in Port.
Prof./Profe./Teach - Short for Profesor, Prof. and Profe. are among the most common addresses I receive. Being that we foreigners stick out like a sore thumb at the schools, most all the kids know our names, even though we may not know all of theirs. Sometimes kids are identifiable when they're wearing their school uniform with their insignia (at least for Colegio Niño Jesús), but I'm more likely to be seen by kids when they're not in uniform and their Hola, Prof. comes as a surprise since I don't recognize them. Kids that I've actually had for English class sometimes like to call me Teach instead. I don't have a problem with that, but on 9th grade's test last month, there was a question that said Can she teach? Everyone was totally confused because they apparently never learned that teach is actually a verb (and, by the way, it's really hard to explain that teach is a verb when they don't understand the concept of a verb) and that Teach as a way to address someone is the English equivalent of Prof.
Agua - Yes, some people like to call me Water. In the indigenous language Miskito, li (pronounced like my name) means water. I do get some Profesor Agua from some students sometimes. I'm still pretty amused by the people that like to point this translation out to me when I'm meeting them for the first time. Really? My name means water? No, no one's ever told me that.
Mister Lee - You can't prounounce this like any old Mister Lee. This is Mee-stare ehLee. I get this from a few different people, including one of the watchguards at the convent, Juan (the vice-principal at Niño Jesús) and one of the ladies that has a snack booth outside the gate to Niño Jesús. Kathryn recently told me that this lady's name is Jessica. I kind of felt bad not knowing her name, but as I walk through the gate she is often trying to tell me how lonely she is and how she needs someone to keep her warm at night. It's pretty much extremely awkward, so I try to keep interaction with her to a minimum.
Jesucristo - Only one person - Loy, the carpentry workshop teacher at Escuela Maureen - actually calls me Jesus Christ, which is probably a good thing since I don't want to be a widespread source of blasphemy, but the Jesus references have come on pretty strong whenever I let the beard grow out. In Kathryn's religion class with the 11th Graders at Niño Jesús the other day, she asked What does Jesus look like? One of the students responded Like Lee! I'm both amused that people think I look like Jesus simply because I have a beard and long hair and somewhat distressed that the image of White Jesus has been pounded into their brains to this extent. Loy's been telling me recently that we all have to come to school on Good Friday, even though there's no class, so I can get crucified. Something to look forward to, I guess.
Chele/Gringo - These two I put together despite their distinct meanings because they often come from the same source - people I don't know. Chele is a reference to a light skin color (much in the same way someone with dark skin would be called moreno), whereas Gringo is a reference to a foreigner, typically the light-skinned ones (although there are those who will tell you Gringo applies specifically to Americans). Going for a run in the morning, passing through the market or even just walking down the street, friendly people like to throw out a "Oye, Chele" (which, now that I think about it, doesn't translate well into English, other than Hey, light-skinned guy). Chele (or Chela, for females) is also used to refer to other Nicaraguans who are of light-skin, so this is by no means particular to me.
Licenciado - Literally this would be "Licensured", but I'm pretty sure that's not a word in English. In any case, to be a licenciado one has to have completed university studies in a chosen profession. Since going to and graduating from college is not as prevalent here as it is in the U.S., completing the U.S. equivalent of a bachelor degree is more notable than it might be back home. Some people are surprised when I tell them how much more common a university degree is now than it was 20 or 30 years ago. Anyway, I mainly get this name from one of the guys at choir. He also likes to play word games and call me Silenciado (silenced) from time to time.
Lee Valentín - It occurred to me recently that, in the States, I get the occasional Mr. Valentyn, but rarely get addressed by my full name. Here, there seems to be some entertainment value to it. The Valentyn in English becomes Valentín in Spanish, which is actually more commonly a first name. As I mentioned before, most people know the name Lee from Bruce Lee, and obviously that's a last name. So some people seem amused that my first name is a last name and my last name is a first name. Plus it carries the same vowel sound so it kind of rhymes.
So that's my story. I guess I can add these to the shorter list of "nicknames" I have in the States - Unclee and Bruddah. I'm kind of getting used to the Agua thing though, so don't hesitate to keep that one going.
Prof./Profe./Teach - Short for Profesor, Prof. and Profe. are among the most common addresses I receive. Being that we foreigners stick out like a sore thumb at the schools, most all the kids know our names, even though we may not know all of theirs. Sometimes kids are identifiable when they're wearing their school uniform with their insignia (at least for Colegio Niño Jesús), but I'm more likely to be seen by kids when they're not in uniform and their Hola, Prof. comes as a surprise since I don't recognize them. Kids that I've actually had for English class sometimes like to call me Teach instead. I don't have a problem with that, but on 9th grade's test last month, there was a question that said Can she teach? Everyone was totally confused because they apparently never learned that teach is actually a verb (and, by the way, it's really hard to explain that teach is a verb when they don't understand the concept of a verb) and that Teach as a way to address someone is the English equivalent of Prof.
Agua - Yes, some people like to call me Water. In the indigenous language Miskito, li (pronounced like my name) means water. I do get some Profesor Agua from some students sometimes. I'm still pretty amused by the people that like to point this translation out to me when I'm meeting them for the first time. Really? My name means water? No, no one's ever told me that.
Mister Lee - You can't prounounce this like any old Mister Lee. This is Mee-stare ehLee. I get this from a few different people, including one of the watchguards at the convent, Juan (the vice-principal at Niño Jesús) and one of the ladies that has a snack booth outside the gate to Niño Jesús. Kathryn recently told me that this lady's name is Jessica. I kind of felt bad not knowing her name, but as I walk through the gate she is often trying to tell me how lonely she is and how she needs someone to keep her warm at night. It's pretty much extremely awkward, so I try to keep interaction with her to a minimum.
Jesucristo - Only one person - Loy, the carpentry workshop teacher at Escuela Maureen - actually calls me Jesus Christ, which is probably a good thing since I don't want to be a widespread source of blasphemy, but the Jesus references have come on pretty strong whenever I let the beard grow out. In Kathryn's religion class with the 11th Graders at Niño Jesús the other day, she asked What does Jesus look like? One of the students responded Like Lee! I'm both amused that people think I look like Jesus simply because I have a beard and long hair and somewhat distressed that the image of White Jesus has been pounded into their brains to this extent. Loy's been telling me recently that we all have to come to school on Good Friday, even though there's no class, so I can get crucified. Something to look forward to, I guess.
Chele/Gringo - These two I put together despite their distinct meanings because they often come from the same source - people I don't know. Chele is a reference to a light skin color (much in the same way someone with dark skin would be called moreno), whereas Gringo is a reference to a foreigner, typically the light-skinned ones (although there are those who will tell you Gringo applies specifically to Americans). Going for a run in the morning, passing through the market or even just walking down the street, friendly people like to throw out a "Oye, Chele" (which, now that I think about it, doesn't translate well into English, other than Hey, light-skinned guy). Chele (or Chela, for females) is also used to refer to other Nicaraguans who are of light-skin, so this is by no means particular to me.
Licenciado - Literally this would be "Licensured", but I'm pretty sure that's not a word in English. In any case, to be a licenciado one has to have completed university studies in a chosen profession. Since going to and graduating from college is not as prevalent here as it is in the U.S., completing the U.S. equivalent of a bachelor degree is more notable than it might be back home. Some people are surprised when I tell them how much more common a university degree is now than it was 20 or 30 years ago. Anyway, I mainly get this name from one of the guys at choir. He also likes to play word games and call me Silenciado (silenced) from time to time.
Lee Valentín - It occurred to me recently that, in the States, I get the occasional Mr. Valentyn, but rarely get addressed by my full name. Here, there seems to be some entertainment value to it. The Valentyn in English becomes Valentín in Spanish, which is actually more commonly a first name. As I mentioned before, most people know the name Lee from Bruce Lee, and obviously that's a last name. So some people seem amused that my first name is a last name and my last name is a first name. Plus it carries the same vowel sound so it kind of rhymes.
So that's my story. I guess I can add these to the shorter list of "nicknames" I have in the States - Unclee and Bruddah. I'm kind of getting used to the Agua thing though, so don't hesitate to keep that one going.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Sights and Sounds of Bilwi
It's quite a process, one I don't know I would manage very well. The first person sits on the bike frame and holds on to the middle of the handle bars. The second person puts their hands on the handles of the handlebars and begins pushing. The second person then jumps onto the seat of the bike and tries to begin pedalling while the person sitting on the bike frame helps steer the bike straight down the road. Once the bike gets going, you better hope you have a clear path, because any loss of momentum puts you at risk of toppling over and having to start the process all over again.
It's tandem biking (on a single person bike), and it's just one of many things that have rooted themselves in my conscious mind as normal, despite how abnormal they would appear to me in the States. Of course there are rules for tandem biking: It is often a chauffeur service for young ladies. Young men will bring their counterparts to their destination, but apart from helping getting the bike going, the females do not steer. Same-sex tandem biking is also common, but then one person steers and brakes while the other person pedals in the back, balancing him or herself by putting hands on the steerers shoulders.
Physical contact between friends is also much more common. Hand-holding among women and walking with an arm draped around a friend's neck and shoulder among men are visible on a daily basis. When someone's knee falls into yours as you sit side-by-side, there's no uncomfortable shift to avoid the contact - you just sit there "connected at the knee", so to speak. I am not shocked to see opposite-sex friends rubbing each other's backs or sitting on each other's laps as though they are dating. At first, I thought one of my friends from choir had about five girlfriends, until it stuck that the physical contact is just that much more common.
Palm trees have mostly assimilated themselves into what I would consider a normal everyday sight. There are some real tall ones that still catch my eye and remind me that all these trees around me are not ones I would see much of in Wisconsin, but the palm tree has become just another piece of nature. Actually, I should probably appreciate them more while I'm here!
School uniforms. Man, you should see the parade of kids around the noon hour when primary school classes have just gotten out and secondary school classes are about to begin. The streets are just filled with kids in white tops and navy blue slacks and skirts. Well, except the nursing school, who has their students wear green skirts (nope, no male nurses here yet, that I know of). There were a couple shops in the market that went almost exclusively into School Uniform mode a few weeks ago. Must be a good business since all the kids have to have them. I'm not sure how long they keep them. I wonder how often those unis get washed...
Barking dogs have pretty much become an afterthought. When I'm Skyping with people, they're like "What's going on? Why are all those dogs barking?" And I don't even really notice that there are dogs barking! The dogs tend to bark for any reason, and the barking is contagious so all the dogs in the neighborhood break into a symphony of "ruffs", "woofs," and, for little guys like our neighbor's dog Pando, "squeeks." But it's such a regular occurance that it doesn't really do much to me anymore.
Taxi horns were also confusing and somewhat aggravating when we first got here. Taxi drivers are hard up for work and don't want to let any customer slip through their fingers, so they'll honk multiple times as they approach from behind and look at you as they drive past and honk one more time just in case you didn't know they were an in-service taxi. Honking in general is used for the same reasons as it is in the States - "Watch out, pedestrian thinking about crossing the street!", "Excuse me, car in front of me and stopped to drop of people, I would like to get through!", and "I'm here in front of your house waiting for you, customer that called me - Please come out!" It's just in such an abundance that I barely even think about it now because it blends in with the sounds of the day. Of course, when you actually get INTO a taxi, there's no getting used to the Grand Prix race you're in for, but you just have to trust that they know what they're doing.
It's tandem biking (on a single person bike), and it's just one of many things that have rooted themselves in my conscious mind as normal, despite how abnormal they would appear to me in the States. Of course there are rules for tandem biking: It is often a chauffeur service for young ladies. Young men will bring their counterparts to their destination, but apart from helping getting the bike going, the females do not steer. Same-sex tandem biking is also common, but then one person steers and brakes while the other person pedals in the back, balancing him or herself by putting hands on the steerers shoulders.
Physical contact between friends is also much more common. Hand-holding among women and walking with an arm draped around a friend's neck and shoulder among men are visible on a daily basis. When someone's knee falls into yours as you sit side-by-side, there's no uncomfortable shift to avoid the contact - you just sit there "connected at the knee", so to speak. I am not shocked to see opposite-sex friends rubbing each other's backs or sitting on each other's laps as though they are dating. At first, I thought one of my friends from choir had about five girlfriends, until it stuck that the physical contact is just that much more common.
Palm trees have mostly assimilated themselves into what I would consider a normal everyday sight. There are some real tall ones that still catch my eye and remind me that all these trees around me are not ones I would see much of in Wisconsin, but the palm tree has become just another piece of nature. Actually, I should probably appreciate them more while I'm here!
School uniforms. Man, you should see the parade of kids around the noon hour when primary school classes have just gotten out and secondary school classes are about to begin. The streets are just filled with kids in white tops and navy blue slacks and skirts. Well, except the nursing school, who has their students wear green skirts (nope, no male nurses here yet, that I know of). There were a couple shops in the market that went almost exclusively into School Uniform mode a few weeks ago. Must be a good business since all the kids have to have them. I'm not sure how long they keep them. I wonder how often those unis get washed...
Barking dogs have pretty much become an afterthought. When I'm Skyping with people, they're like "What's going on? Why are all those dogs barking?" And I don't even really notice that there are dogs barking! The dogs tend to bark for any reason, and the barking is contagious so all the dogs in the neighborhood break into a symphony of "ruffs", "woofs," and, for little guys like our neighbor's dog Pando, "squeeks." But it's such a regular occurance that it doesn't really do much to me anymore.
Taxi horns were also confusing and somewhat aggravating when we first got here. Taxi drivers are hard up for work and don't want to let any customer slip through their fingers, so they'll honk multiple times as they approach from behind and look at you as they drive past and honk one more time just in case you didn't know they were an in-service taxi. Honking in general is used for the same reasons as it is in the States - "Watch out, pedestrian thinking about crossing the street!", "Excuse me, car in front of me and stopped to drop of people, I would like to get through!", and "I'm here in front of your house waiting for you, customer that called me - Please come out!" It's just in such an abundance that I barely even think about it now because it blends in with the sounds of the day. Of course, when you actually get INTO a taxi, there's no getting used to the Grand Prix race you're in for, but you just have to trust that they know what they're doing.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Si Dios Quiere
There's a certain level of comfort that comes along with knowing what lies ahead. Knowing what to expect or what is expected of you allows for appropriate plans to be made and preparations to take place. But that's not how things work here.
Aside from what it says about the apparent religiosity of the people here, the phrase Si Dios quiere ("If God wants", or, in more familiar English terms "God willing...") carries a connotation about a perception of the future, specifically the lack of focus on the future, that people have here in Port. Trying to get information out of somebody for an event two months--even two weeks--down the line can be downright painful. Even simple conversation closers like, "Alright, I'll see you next Friday" can induce a Si Dios me presta la vida (If God allows me to live [until then]). Cripes, people! All I wanted to hear back was a Va, pues (Alright, then).
This can be, for someone with my personality, quite a challenge. I like to be able to plan for the next step, to be able to make a schedule. My first reaction to the lack of setting plans for the future is What if... What if this happens? What if that happens? What if it's the day before classes and we don't have an English teacher (real life example!)? We need to have these things figured out!
But it also makes me consider my own propensity to overthink the future and not live in the here and now; and sometimes to the point that I start concerning myself with outcomes that haven't even occurred yet. Maybe you've had the same experience. If it's really bad, I almost get paralyzed by these concerns--I put off doing something because I don't want to experience one of the potential results I have in my head.
I've seen it in myself and other people--the tendency to create a new reality that is separate from the actual reality, and then worry about the new reality and live according to it. But that's not healthy. Nor is it productive. So I tell myself instead of forming new realities and living in the future, live in reality and allow the future to form itself.
Now, of course there are times when thinking about the future is appropriate...planning a celebration, working on a long-term project, putting money into a retirement account (of course, I could argue against this logic, using my timing of opening and dumping a bunch of money into a retirement account in August 2008 [If you don't get my drift, read here http://money.cnn.com/2008/09/29/markets/markets_newyork/index.htm]).
But getting wrapped up in the outcome and losing sleep over how well something will turn out is not worthwhile. It's funny - on my mp3 player I recently found a couple audio tracks from a hypnotist I saw in college. Maybe he's where I subconsciously started developing this idea from five or six years ago, seeing as though he talks about this very topic. Anyway, he suggests picking a future event, say something a week down the line. Then, everyday until that event, worry about it for an hour. It's kind of extreme, but that's essentially what people do--or at least I do--when I get wrapped up in something over which I don't have complete control. But it's really not worth it.
I'm sure I'll still have my moments when I got lost in thought about the outcome of something weeks or months or even years down the line. And I don't know that I'll ever fully adjust to this Si Dios quiere/Si Dios me presta la vida mentality that comes so naturally here. But simply catching myself when I start to create realities helps me to curb the anxiety, letting the future worry about itself.
Aside from what it says about the apparent religiosity of the people here, the phrase Si Dios quiere ("If God wants", or, in more familiar English terms "God willing...") carries a connotation about a perception of the future, specifically the lack of focus on the future, that people have here in Port. Trying to get information out of somebody for an event two months--even two weeks--down the line can be downright painful. Even simple conversation closers like, "Alright, I'll see you next Friday" can induce a Si Dios me presta la vida (If God allows me to live [until then]). Cripes, people! All I wanted to hear back was a Va, pues (Alright, then).
This can be, for someone with my personality, quite a challenge. I like to be able to plan for the next step, to be able to make a schedule. My first reaction to the lack of setting plans for the future is What if... What if this happens? What if that happens? What if it's the day before classes and we don't have an English teacher (real life example!)? We need to have these things figured out!
But it also makes me consider my own propensity to overthink the future and not live in the here and now; and sometimes to the point that I start concerning myself with outcomes that haven't even occurred yet. Maybe you've had the same experience. If it's really bad, I almost get paralyzed by these concerns--I put off doing something because I don't want to experience one of the potential results I have in my head.
I've seen it in myself and other people--the tendency to create a new reality that is separate from the actual reality, and then worry about the new reality and live according to it. But that's not healthy. Nor is it productive. So I tell myself instead of forming new realities and living in the future, live in reality and allow the future to form itself.
Now, of course there are times when thinking about the future is appropriate...planning a celebration, working on a long-term project, putting money into a retirement account (of course, I could argue against this logic, using my timing of opening and dumping a bunch of money into a retirement account in August 2008 [If you don't get my drift, read here http://money.cnn.com/2008/09/29/markets/markets_newyork/index.htm]).
But getting wrapped up in the outcome and losing sleep over how well something will turn out is not worthwhile. It's funny - on my mp3 player I recently found a couple audio tracks from a hypnotist I saw in college. Maybe he's where I subconsciously started developing this idea from five or six years ago, seeing as though he talks about this very topic. Anyway, he suggests picking a future event, say something a week down the line. Then, everyday until that event, worry about it for an hour. It's kind of extreme, but that's essentially what people do--or at least I do--when I get wrapped up in something over which I don't have complete control. But it's really not worth it.
I'm sure I'll still have my moments when I got lost in thought about the outcome of something weeks or months or even years down the line. And I don't know that I'll ever fully adjust to this Si Dios quiere/Si Dios me presta la vida mentality that comes so naturally here. But simply catching myself when I start to create realities helps me to curb the anxiety, letting the future worry about itself.
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