All Signs Point to Palestine

I can remember thinking to myself not too long ago that I would never want to work on anything having to do with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Mostly because I was flat out uneducated on the issue, but also because I thought “Aren't there enough people working on that issue? What’s the use in one more person getting involved in something that appears intractable?” I knew some basics about the conflict, but not enough to have an opinion. I was a Latin America girl – I spent high school and college learning Spanish and the history of ancient Latin American civilizations and conquistadors. I planned on spending my life lying in a hammock and taking inspiration from Gabriel Garcia Marquez or Che Guevara's diaries when I wasn’t busy managing education or economic development projects in rural Nicaragua or Bolivia.

But something happened along the way that changed my course. During my three month, solo backpacking trip through Europe, I jumped at an opportunity to step outside of my cultural comfort zone. Andalucia – southern Spain – and its Moorish architecture and mosques turned churches stunned me. Two civilizations blended, perhaps clashed, into a fascinating, eye-pleasing landscape. I knew the Spanish one. I wanted to know the other one. Flights to Casablanca, Morocco from Madrid were cheap, and I bought a round trip without the slightest hesitation. Morocco, as European as it may be, was a new civilization for me - a different language, history, and human story, about which I knew nothing. From that trip I recognized a need to learn about the world outside of the Western Hemisphere.

By the time I moved to D.C., I had mastered the Spanish language. I no longer had to think to speak Spanish. It was time to move on to language numero dos. Stuck between French and Arabic, I finally decided I should go for the tough one first, before I lose such ambition. Then, I needed a summer internship. Then, I started meeting people who knew people in Palestine. Then, I learned of large foreign aid disbursements in Palestine. Then, my other internship plan fell through. All signs pointed to Palestine.

So here I am. Immersing myself in modern history’s largest foreign affairs dilemma after claiming I wanted nothing to do with it. And quite honestly, I didn’t. I didn’t come here to become an activist, to throw myself in front of bulldozers, to go to Gaza (although it's tempting), to protest with the Palestinians, or to sympathize with one side more than the other. I came here to learn the human story behind all the headlines. Politics so infrequently reflects the realities of the common human being. 

Most foreigners that come here - nearly all of them that I’ve met - arrive with an opinion already etched in stone. Most foreigners are not totally foreign to this conflict; they usually have a stake of some sort. I had the advantage of arriving here as fairly impartial, and frankly, pretty politically and historically ignorant of all things Israeli/Palestinian conflict.

Three weeks, two historical books, and dozens of checkpoint turnstiles in, I am no longer impartial. I’m trying to stay balanced in opinion, but the combination of historical illegitimacy and hypocrisy and present day Israeli politics inevitably provokes shock, and a bit of disgust and outrage – even for the less opinionated like me. I had no idea what occupation really meant, and I still have much to learn, but with just my tip-of-the-iceberg experience, I can understand why Palestinians have resorted to violence to achieve the ends they have sought. I have yet to visit some of the more contentious areas in the West Bank, or see bullet-pocked and bulldozed Palestinian homes - and I’ll never live to experience an Israeli raid on my home in the middle of the night for no legitimate or expressed reason and a denial of my human rights – but I have a feeling the more I see, the more I’ll feel. At the suggestion of a friend, I’m planning to end my time here by spending a weekend on a Jewish kibbutz in order to round out my experience a little more.

I miss this experience. I miss riding triple on an old moto without helmets on rocky roads winding the mountains of northern Nicaragua, skidding around and thinking that we were certainly going to crash. The guy on the back of the moto in this photo, Leonardo, would always drive really fast just to scare me, treating potholes like ramps and getting some "air," while I screamed at him to slow down.

Their intent was always to freak out the foreign girl. There was a strip of our daily travel that was deep in the mountain forest, and we could always hear the howler monkeys as we passed. My coworkers were determined to convince me that the shrieks actually belonged to gorillas and there were incidents of them emerging from the forest to attack passing vehicles.

I miss being squeezed between two of my male Nicaraguan colleagues in our beat up truck, as they competed for the other earbud to my Ipod and over who could give the best compliments. I miss afternoons spent trying to get our truck up muddy hillside roads, which requires a lot of initial speed and two hours of up . . . and slow slide back down. I miss having to submit to the circumstance around me, forced to accept that I had no control over the situation and may as well find a comfortable tree stump to sit on and wait.

I'm so bad at letting go of my false sense of control when I am living in the U.S. I have this mentality that it's my country, my territory, and so I should have greater control over my circumstance here. I am surrounded by all of this technology that ensures I get what I want, when I need it, and exactly how I like it. If I have a problem, there is a number I can call, a service I can solicit, a quick solution. If I am lonely, I can just pick up my phone, text someone, and create a sense of human interaction.

We have successfully made human existence less vulnerable to the whims of the universe, but I can't help but think we've lost a lot in the process.

Ironic how sometimes in life we are called to be strong by being vulnerable. We have this concept that strong means unflinching, impenetrable, stoic, and tough. But if we only offer that version of strong, we shut the door on so much of the human experience. We miss out on our shared humanity. I've found that out of vulnerability can emerge really great things - gems of wisdom, overwhelming happiness, relationships, and peace. Most importantly, I am a better friend when I expose exactly who I am - flaws, hang-ups, inner conflicts, all the usual junk floating just beneath the surface.

Because, who the hell wants to tell their stories and share their thoughts with someone unable to relate? Someone who seems to have all their crap together? C'mon, none of us are there and we never will be. That's why there is death. So let's take our common existence and build on it.

Maybe tough is overrated.

The Unease of Easy

I've always wondered what it's like to be weak, to not handle an unpleasant situation in the most upright, truthful, graceful way. I usually take the higher route, albeit with a few slips, but I've never decided "screw it, I want to take the easy path in dealing with this" and, well, not deal with it all. Until recently.

The story is this: something unpleasant happened to me. I could have dealt with it properly and honestly like I usually do, but I was tired of striving to be good at everything and be strong all the time. So I let myself be weak, and I avoided the truth and made up my own reality that better fit my image of how things should have happened or how things should be. Contrary to my weekly yoga practice, I resisted the unpleasantness of this passing moment in my life. I didn't use my breath. I fought. I relived moments long gone. I was that cartoon character, punching the air around me, so caught up in adrenaline and the culmination of anger that I didn't even notice the other person, my scapegoat, had left. I was fighting myself.

I learned there is nothing at all easy about the "easy" path. Rather, I just ended up with all this negative energy and a lot of shame. The easy path didn't excuse me from dealing with unpleasantness, it just prolonged it. And in prolonging that moment when I would have to accept a reality I didn't like, I made it harder on myself. The truth got heavier, and the shame of having taken the lower path made me smaller. I contracted. I was less than the full person I am quite capable of being. As a dear confidant told me, I had "lost the twinkle" in my eyes.

This was all very temporary - a period of a month or so. But it provided a lot of insight into how uneasy the easy path can make a person. Had I accepted unpleasantness from the moment it was pushed onto me, it would have hurt, but it would have been over and I would felt proud of the way I had handled the situation. Shame, I learned, is a very strong, corrosive emotion and much harder to carry on a daily basis than any uncomfortable truth.

In yoga, we hold poses long enough that it becomes uncomfortable. My body starts trembling and my mind looks for an escape. So many times in a pose, my mind is:

". . . how can I make this easier, how can I quit this pose without being alone (since everyone else is still holding the pose), what can I do instead of be in this moment, ugh I hate this pose, why am I here, this is stupid, why is this not easier . . ."

My mind seems to conspire against me in a tough moment, signaling that I should just quit and do something easier. My body responds by falling out of the pose, or moving a lot. My body, my life, cannot maintain stillness without the quiet of my mind. I look around and the people next to me are still holding their pose. Why is this so easy for them? Why aren't they struggling like me?

Do you get it? Yoga is a metaphor for life. In my pose, in that moment when I feel uncomfortable and look for an escape, my teacher's voice in the background reminds me: use your breath. If you look at your neighbor to compare, you will lose focus and fall out of the pose. If you let your mind talk you out of this pose, your body will fail you. Then, you will feel frustrated and angry. If you let yourself fall apart, everything around you will fall apart.You are strong enough to power through this moment. Prove it to yourself.

This is just a moment and it too shall pass.

I had a conversation today that directly connects to the blog post below.

The maintenance man at my new apartment is a Cameroonian political asylee, meaning he was granted protection in the United States due to an actual experience of or fear of certain religious, political or racial persecution in his home country. He told a friend and me his story of political torture in Cameroon, how he got out, about his family still living there, how he hasn't kissed his wife or children since 2006 when he fled, how he used to be a seaman but is deathly afraid of planes, etc. He showed us his crooked finger, part of the bone still shattered, where they tortured him with pliers. His eyes were sincere, grateful, sad, full of his life story. We asked him if he likes living in the U.S. We wanted to know is he was happy, to which he replied: all I want is a long life with my family. I am grateful for every day of life in which I can live without fear of death.

Do you know where I am going with this? That's all he wanted. Life. Not a certain kind or a certain set-up or a certain number of years or a specific way or path or filled with certain things. He just wanted breath in his lungs, movement in his body, food to eat, a place to feel home, loved ones to endure it with.

My eyes got a little misty at his reply to happiness. It's so simple and grateful. Here I am, counting up all of my "points," calculating my good and bad, getting frustrated when a couple of things are "off" in my life, restlessly striving toward some aim of perfection that I (and my society) have created for myself, and complaining.

Wake. Up. Jessi.

The only hope I have is that I have chosen a career that will continually humble me and remind me of how shallow and petty I can be.

New Year Reflections

In between first year semesters of graduate school, I’ve been able to wind down a bit. The rush is coming again soon, and I’ve taken some time to read humbling books and do a little soul searching and reflection after many months away from a single profound thought on life. I’ve been licking wounds lately, contemplating a disappoint in an area of life that I can’t seem to get right, and probably won’t ever get right due to the career choice I have made.

I’ve been dwelling too much and letting it get me down, and it is time to turn my thoughts around. My favorite line in the movie “Vanilla Sky” is by the character Sofia: “every passing moment is another chance to turn it all around.” We can change our lives by changing the way we perceive our obstacles and our circumstances. It’s a profound decision in a brief moment that can change it all. A good friend recently reminded me that every time she has gone through this type of disappointment, she has been transformed and come out a better person than she was before. Absolutely true in my experience. My mom recently told me “nobody’s life is perfect. Ask around and I’ll bet you see there is one area in everyone’s life that they are not satisfied with.” I look at mine and absolutely everything, EVERYTHING, but one thing, is right. It’s better than right. It’s totally amazing!

So on that train of thought, I got to thinking about the last year in my life and I am blown away by the magic of it. Wouldn’t it be good for all of us to dedicate a chunk of time at the end of every year to reflect on the transformation within us in just a brief year of the many years that life is for most of us? A year is so brief, but so much can happen and change. Wouldn’t it be nice if someone kept track and reminded us, awakening us from our mental and spiritual slumber and lazy state of mind?

About this time one year ago, I was hiking on top of a glacier in southern Argentina with my friend Macala. I hiked a freakin’ glacier! Glorious! It wasn’t even on my list of things to do! I spent New Years in Mendoza, Argentina hiking around the Andes Mountains, contemplating a skydive, and toasting cheap champagne with my traveling buddy, wondering what the next year would teach me.

I applied to graduate school, unsure of the path I was on, starting to doubt whether what I wanted to do with my life was even a legit career. I was humbled, insecure, confused and worried. I saw graduate school as a way to confirm the path I was on. After four months spent analyzing every single line in every single essay, I sent everything off and tucked that dream away. Best not to hope too much.

Back to Missouri, where I stayed for a month while planning a move to DC. Even if I didn’t get grad school, I was going to get somewhere. To DC, where I stayed with a family who would take me in like one of their own, becoming a second family and place to retreat when the city life got to me.

Found a nice paying gig at a restaurant way above my level of sophistication. Not sure why they let me in. I tried to memorize wines, aperitifs, and . . . what the hell are sun chokes and dendi sauce? Still a Missouri girl in some ways.

Got accepted into every graduate school to which I applied; even one of the most highly selective programs, where I was one of 95 candidates. I can still feel that glory. It was the confirmation for which I had been yearning. I hadn’t been wasting my time all these years, traveling to other countries doing volunteer work! Then, I got a scholarship to one of the schools. OH MY GOD. Take my breath away, jump on the bed, cry for joy, kind of happiness. That phone call to my parents was one of the greatest moments in my life.

I reconnected with a friend from my past who was living in DC, who offered me a deal on rent I couldn’t refuse. The story is random, hilarious and what life is made of. We got along so well that a temporary arrangement has become long-term. Hadn’t seen or talked to him in seven years, and now he’s my roommate.

I fell in love. After many years without it, I remembered how amazing it feels to be adored and to adore someone. It was so, so, so good. And then I lost it.

I started graduate school and felt more overwhelmed than I ever have in life. Hello, stress. I made an incredible friend, Jenny, who is like me in so many ways it is frightening – right down to our damn initials. It’s third grade sort of girlie connection. Even our professors confuse us. I found a group of people that perceive the world in the same way that I do. I found camaraderie after many years of searching.

I trained for and ran my first marathon - 26.2!!! - in a time I am proud of: 4:30. I pushed my body through limits it has never crossed, and my body stayed strong during 5 months of wear and tear. I formed an incredible relationship with my body, and decided it deserved restoration for all of its hard work. Enter yoga. I discovered a yoga practice that fulfills me physically and mentally. I found an exercise that restores my inner and outer.

I began studying my third language, turning scribbles into sounds and letters, forming a new connection and respect between me and people from a different part of the world. I studied with cab drivers at 1:00 in the morning on my way home from work. Scribbles to phonetics, strangers to friends, unknown to respect.

I saw New York at Christmas, just like in the movies. I stayed in a high rise in New York with an equally blessed friend of mine from my days in Nicaragua. I reconnected with my Nicaraguan expat friends and strengthened my friendship with each of them.

I welcomed so many new, incredible people into my life. Each on his or her own determined, ambitious, inspirational path in life. Each doing his or her own part to chip away at the coldness and cruelness in the world; each cultivating a skill that will help him or her make the world a better place in a small way. They are soldiers, nurses, intelligence officers, international law students, policy wonks, development wanna-bes or practitioners, and story-tellers and writers.

I found a place to call home, a city that has everything I want right now. I found an apartment in my favorite part of that city, next to the family I love, the new friends in my life, the diversity I crave, and the coffee shops and dive bars I need.

Maybe I lost in love. Maybe the tally marks are beginning to take their toll. Maybe I am tired of pretending I care about how the wine pours into a glass or whether its Sancerre or Chablis or Blau & Blau just for a paycheck. But if those are the only problems I have in a year full of monumental, positive, glorious changes that have brought me a huge amount of happiness and joy . . . a hundred pluses and one minus = still a lot of pluses.

May this blog entry be a motivation for you to do the same for your own year. Take time to reflect on all the magic. Look at the negative too, and find the good that came from it. I bet you still have more pluses than minuses.

How can you make new year resolutions without reflecting on the power of a year in your life?

Just when I thought maybe I was losing the ability to feel strong emotions for anything, happiness or anger or sadness, someone served to show me that I can still be totally overwhelmed by my emotions. At the most inconvenient time. Not sure to take this as a positive reminder or a damning reality.

Ooh life, you are full of ups and downs and so many in-betweens. Always asking me to prove that I can. Always requiring that I push forward and find my inner strength. Sometimes I think it might be nice to give up every now and then, to be weak and let the whole world know it. Crawl to a safe place and stay there. But, that just never seems like a real option. So, here we go. May I amaze myself.