On turning 30

On turning 30.

I couldn’t resist crawling into a cocoon on my 30^th birthday. I taught all day long, met with a parent, went to a speech team meeting, and when I finally got off work, I went to a friend’s house, then a basketball game. It was a typical Monday. Very busy. It was a special day that I didn’t want to acknowledge, but I can’t deny that it lingered in the basement of my brain while I scurried around pretending to be normal. Thanks to my brother and my sister (in law), I found a couple hours to celebrate.

There I was. No longer in my fun twenties. Not willing to subscribe to the optimism of thirties are going to be even better! I just didn’t see it. I’ve always rooted myself in the playfulness, innocence and joy of youth. Is that still valid after living for three decades?

For the past few months, thoughts of claiming the traditions of adulthood have been pressing on my mind. If anything, I’m far from a traditional human being, and I’m okay with that. But certain things, such as owning a house and accomplishing something major in my life (publishing a book) are hanging over me, waiting to be grasped. Well, on my 30^th birthday, I decided I can wait no longer.

The downer was that I thought I’d have achieved these things by the time I turned 30. Instead, it took my milestone birthday to push me into a routine of daily writing, stringent saving, and abstinence from computer games. Well, near-abstinence.

I think that’s okay. I’ve changed my point of view in the last couple of days. Yes, life is passing by like a shooting star. My hair is falling out. My knees are making it hard for me to jump when I play basketball. My arms and fingers are taking forever to heal. I’m forgetful – though I don’t know if I can justifiably attribute that to old age. I’m getting more and more jaded as a teacher.

But if I scratch away the surface of these symptoms of grumpy aging, I find some real pearls. I’ve had 30 years to develop strong relationships with my family. I’ve sustained some positive friendships – I chose my friends wisely, I keep my circle tight, and we have a great time together. I’ve become close to my school community and a new church community. I’ve grown as a writer, a traveler, a musician, a teacher and a faithful follower of God.

Ten years ago, my writing was limited to the world of journalism, academic essays, slam poetry and rap. Now I write songs on the guitar, fiction, nonfiction and travel essays.

Ten years ago, I had just finished my first trip to Europe. Since then, I’ve navigated San Francisco, Washington D.C., Chicago, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Hiroshima, Auckland, Wellington, Sydney, Paris, Brussels, Brugge, Koln, Glan Munchweiler, Kaiserslautern, Trier, Rome, Ostia, Madrid and Avila. I’m also a pro at Newport, Oregon, and got a story published about it.

Ten years ago, I shuddered at the thought of singing in front of people. Now I get so much joy from it. I’m at ease with it. I’ve found a group I’m extraordinarily comfortable singing with. And in between these years, I’ve sung in a band, sang in front of Ricki Lee Jones, and sung at weddings and funerals. I could barely play the guitar ten years ago. Now I write songs that impressed a woman who works at a record label.

Ten years ago, I was not a teacher. I was a searcher. I was busy soaking up life to see what it had to offer. I made some major decisions. I concluded that journalism was not the route for me. I still wanted to help contribute to society, and I found a passion for education. I was fueled by the love I have for my own youth, and to help young people make the transition from adolescence to adulthood. So I became a teacher. Throughout my whole career, I’ve been dismantled and rebuilt several times. I’ve abandoned patience for anger, and had to learn to find peace over and over again. I’ve gained flexibility of character. I’ve fretted and struggled with my sense of self through my career as a teacher, but every time, I’ve resurfaced a refined person. I might be more jaded, but it’s only a nagging urge for me to leave port and search for new horizons. If there’s any experience that has helped me grow most significantly, it’s in my time spent as a teacher, and I have a magnificent school and staff to thank for that.

Ten years ago, my faith flourished in my ideals. Now I see my faith engrained in every aspect of my life. I developed a sort of God sense, which allows me to look at how each experience of my life fits in the grand scheme. Thus, I developed an acceptance of life’s outcomes, even if they are painful. In no way am I desensitized to that pain, but I recognize it as growth, and proceed with hope.

If I wanted to, I could accomplish anything. But I have a similar problem – one that’s plagued me my whole life. I have difficulty focusing. There was a brief period in college when I held four jobs on top of being a full time student. I’m still that guy who wants to do six million things, but has time for only one. It is a cursed blessing. I think I have many talents, and that’s a good thing. But I love doing so many things that I find it difficult to become really good at one thing and use that one thing to my advantage. Still, I see that being pretty good at many things is a gift in and of itself. I guess I am a humanities major.

Now that I’m 30, I see yet another crossroad before me. It’s similar to the one I faced in my early twenties. It’s the question of what do I want to do with my life. I know that I can teach. If I wanted to, I could remain at Guadalupe for my entire career and become a staple in that community. But I think I’ve always had a missionary mentality in that I can’t stay in one place forever. Even a place like OLG, which I love fiercely, I feel my focus drifting elsewhere. So here I am. Perhaps at the root of my ponderous state for the last three months.

Which road am I going to choose.

The last time I was here, I found excitement. I found exhilarating growth and personal development. I found a path that, in walking it, made me a better man than I was a decade ago.

Ten years from now, if I remain true to that innate compass, I have a feeling I’ll be able to say the same thing.

Winding down in Madrid

This segment of the trip has been a bit on the relaxed side. Thank 95-plus degree weather for the duration of our stay in Madrid, as well as the millions of World Youth Day participants and thousands of protesters. Here are some random thoughts and reflections about this vibrant city:

I'm utterly amazed by the efficiency and quality of work Madrid's waste department has executed. At midnight, the streets are scattered with trash - water bottles, papers, overturned ice cream cones, and countless other remnants of human indulgence. The next morning, it's as if no one went out the previous night. Well done, Madrid!

Our one splurge meal here in Madrid consisted of paella with various shellfish, bacalitos, bread and flan. It was 67 euros. The paella and bacalitos were the best I've ever had. For me, I think the most important part of the dish is the rice. This paella's rice was bursting with saffron flavor and was perfectly timed in the pot. Each grain of rice was its own grain of rice, in other words, it didn't mash together with everything around it. The seafood was as good as it could be, but the bacalitos were particularly fantastic. Lightly battered, pleasantly seasoned, and served with a sharp aioli. For about 90 bucks, no, it wasn't worth it. But I don't regret eating all that impeccable food.

World Youth Day has been quite an experience. I'm not an official participant, and for that, I say thank you Lord. They aren't lying when they say this day is for the youth. If waking up at 10, going out at noon and needing to come home at three for an afternoon siesta makes me an old geezer, then send me my discount card. It's hot here, and I'm sure at some point in my life I would have had the energy to gallavant around town with my friends belting cheers, waving flags and playing games. But like I said, it's HOT here, and when the day reached its peak temperatures at 100 degrees, that means it's time to find cover in an air conditioned luxary apartment.

This enormous gathering has made me appreciate the relative intimacy of LA's Religious Education Congress. The catechism is better and more diverse, as are the masses, and there you don't have to Marshawn Lynch your way though a crowd to get to a mass or major presentation.

I'm watching the final event of WYD on television right now. About 1.5 million youth and their holy, holy chaperones (God's got a special penthouse in Heaven for these people), are clumped in an old air base southwest of Madrid. The field is all dirt and people are wisely walking around with covers over their faces. But in 100 degree heat, that gets a little tedious.

The air is so dry here in the city, that after five minutes of being outside, I can't stop blinking. My eyes are afraid of drying out!

While I've enjoyed so much of this trip, I'm so ready to come home. In fact, I'm praying for rain when I touch down.

A different crowd

Right now, an enormous crowd is outside our apartment. They're not wearing red and yellow. They're not waving flags. Instead they're waving signs. “Papa go home” one read. “My taxes are not for your beliefs,” said another. It’s a little scary when an anti-Pope and anti-WYD protest is going on right outside your window. Especially when I’m part of the opposing group, and the uprising requires cops in riot gear and helicopters. I felt especially bad for a group of WYD volunteers who were walking down my street in their bright green official polos.

The news said that this protest was a conglomerate of anti-Pope groups, gay rights and pro-choice supporters, and a secular movement here in Spain that emphasizes the separation of church and state. Other groups and lines of beliefs were likely involved.

I don’t mind protests. I agree with the right to dissent. I think people should be allowed to voice their opinions even if they are against my own beliefs and life principles. I don’t, however, condone disrespect, fighting, mob intimidation, or vandalism.

There was a good amount of property damage last night just outside my window. This morning, I awoke to walls littered with graffiti.

I must admit, in terms of pride, these protesters certainly matched the levels of the youth marching around Madrid with their flags, singing songs and acknowledging their fellow comrades. The only difference is that one movement was rooted in good values that uplift, and the other had roots that sprouted destruction and degradation.

In the end, no I don’t agree with the protesters on several points – though some I may share some sympathies with, like their economic frustrations– but I will, like Voltaire and Evelyn Beatrice Hall, defend their right to say it… in a peaceful way.

Elbow to Elbow

Madrid truly is a beautiful city. It feels like Rome would be if it was clean, organized and less expensive. This evening, Joyce and I tried to attend the opening mass at Plaza Cibeles, which is only about six or seven blocks from our apartment. Within four blocks of the Plaza we were elbow to elbow with people. Chains of humans interlocked at the arm, some more than a dozen deep formed moving walls that made it nearly impossible to navigate. I broke a chain of Americans and the girl who let go was scolded and told to be more aggressive. I told her to just follow me and I’d follow her group because I wasn’t about to wait for her chain to pass.  I couldn’t even see the end of it! And then they decided to turn around!

After about 20 minutes, we had enough. Enduring a lot of weight shifting and dodging of proud patriots from around the world, Joyce and I finally emerged at a quiet side street. We decided I’d cook dinner and we’d watch the mass on TV. We hit up the grocery store, I made some kind of snapper-like fish with garlic, olive oil, salt and cherry tomatoes, and we sorta half watched the mass as it ended.

I must say, I’ve never experienced anything like this before. LA’s Religious Education Congress is amazing with some 40,000 Catholics gathering in Anaheim. But World Youth Day makes that gathering look like a small prayer group. No lie. Everywhere are the red or yellow t-shirts of the event. During the mass, though there were hundreds of thousands of people gravitating toward that square, it was relatively silent. That tells me in part how strong the faith and reverence is here. Already, I’m astounded by the magnitude of this event. Thanks JP2!

If World Youth Day came to Seattle

Disclaimer: Before I finish this statement, understand that I just got to Madrid and have no concept of what WYD is like with a broadened perspective. This blog entry is a first impression, and will likely change. Without further delay…

… I would go online and book a vacation beginning three days before and ending three days after the event. There is an incomprehensible amount people outside our window. Waves of people. I feel like I’m in Shanghai or Hong Kong. They’re flooding the streets. They’re crowding the trains. They’re chanting, singing and clapping. Every 10 minutes or less I hear the Italian national anthem outside my window. They’re dancing in public fountains. They’re piling up excess garbage. You want to go to a party? Come to Madrid right now, close your eyes, put your finger on a Metro stop and go to that station. Join in the dance.

If my beloved Seattle decided to host this epic event, our mayor should be fired. Talk about biting off more than we can chew. Seattle can barely accommodate its current population with its lackluster public transportation system. And if you’re a Joe Metro patron, I get it, you like the buses in Seatown, but trust me, you have no idea. Imagine going to work (just because a few million people are on vacation in your city doesn’t mean you’re on vacation) with four times as many people moving about the city. Maybe even more.

In a sense I feel bad for Madrid locals who have to put up with so many pilgrims for a week. I also feel grateful to them for allowing us to use their city, which by the way, has the best Metro system I’ve seen since Tokyo – though WYD won’t be happening there anytime soon.

Sorry to start off on what seems like a negative note. If anything, it’s more of a note of excitement. I can’t wait to go out and wade in the crowds and find out why so many people have decided to congregate in this one city to celebrate our faith and global unity.

Feast of the Assumption

I was slightly distraught since I wasn’t able to locate JP2’s tomb for my dad, but in all that let down, and in regard to my notions that St. Peter’s seems more like a tourist attraction than a church sometimes, God brought me front and center and showed me what St. Peter’s is truly about. A mass was about to begin right in front of St. Peter’s chair – the absolute coolest place to experience mass, in my book. I put my camera away, looked at the official and said, “Messe?” He nodded and let us in.

The blessings continued. We were directed to sit down right next to the choir, four rows from the very front. The music was absolutely beautiful, and if you know me, my connection to the liturgy is very strongly music-oriented. It was fun singing in Latin/Italian (I think it was a combination).

This experience showed me what this Basilica should be like. The order of the mass cast over the voices of tourists and clicks of shutters. The tones of the choir and congregation reverberated throughout the basilica. I was in such awe, the goosebumps I gave myself cooled me from the heat of the day. Easily, this was my favorite experience in Roma. And no, I didn’t take any video or pictures. But I sure wanted to!

Ryan Air Pt. 2: It's a small price to pay for a small price to pay

One of the most thankful moments I’ve had on this trip came as Joyce and I stood in long, winding line to check in for our flight to Madrid at Ciampino Airport. I know what you’re thinking. You’ve seen long lines at airports before, and if I’m a seasoned traveler enough to blog about my journeys, I should expect such snake like lines.

If this line was a snake, it’d be an enormous anaconda. There was one attendant for about eight flights. I estimated at least 100 people in front of us at one point. Just as I was spiting everything from Ryan Air to Ciampino to myself for not pushing us out the door earlier, God came in and said, this is how things work in Rome. Translated into action, an attendant walked by us asking for people checking in for Madrid.

“Yes! Yes!” She directed us to go to booth 25, where one party of four was checking in. I bolted toward the line telling Joyce to keep up since I expected half the anaconda to swing its body to where I was going. Joyce, being the more calm traveler, trailed me by a few steps, but my haste was all for naught. No one was behind us, and no one was ahead of us.

As I thought about it, the idea makes sense. Employ one person to check in everyone for all the flights. To take care of tardy travelers, they open a side booth temporarily. This way, Ryan Air only pays one person to check in all the early people and one person to rescue those who are hanging by a thread. I imagine the savior person roams to another job once all the stragglers are taken care of.

I must say, thank you God for helping us successfully board our last Ryan Air flight. It’s a tad bit of a head spinner, but like I said, that’s a small price to pay.