Where I've Been for the Last 5 Months

It's been a long time since I've posted here, but not without good reason. I finally had my first full-time job since living in Mexico. For those of you who don't know that was seven years ago.  I was lucky enough to make it on savings for the first couple years here. But since then, it's been a long string of short-term part-time jobs, mostly teaching English, writing and editing, and the occasional environmental workshops and consulting gigs.

But this most recent professional experience was something else. It was the kind of job I've been wanting to have for years, a unique position that combined my background as a non-formal environmental education expert with a solid, successful, long-term, U.S. government program to provide American volunteers for environmental projects across Mexico. I'm talking about the Peace Corps Mexico Environment Program.

I can't say enough good things about this program. I got to work with volunteers who dedicate 2 years of their lives to advancing positive social change, who contribute their backgrounds in the environmental sciences, their other related skills, cultural curiosity and general goodwill, in a foreign nation that embraces their arrival and seeks to learn and collaborate. As if that weren't enough, the program also boasts a talented staff of trainers and administrative support, many of whom are experts in their fields, who are dedicated to the program's growth and development over the years. This fall, I was able to call these fabulous folks my coworkers. 

I was lucky enough to become a part of this stellar team 5 years after I first learned of the program in 2008, through friends. I'll never forget that night—I was invited to the election night celebration when Obama gave his victory speech, which was at the home of a former volunteer. I met the director at the time, and then during the summer of 2009, I volunteered in their library. From there I made the acquaintance of the Environment program manager, who learned of my professional background as an environmental educator in the U.S. and Mexico. In the years that followed, in my daughter's infant years, I returned to give workshops during their pre-service and mid-service trainings. I made more contacts with volunteers and learned more about what their service entails. This past summer, right around the time we were delivering Amor and Exile to Congress, I learned of a one-of-a-kind opportunity to serve as the interim Environmental Education Training Specialist from July to December of this year. Unlike the permanent position, this position did not require travel, as it would essentially be limited to 2 trainings in Queretaro. It didn't take me long to make up my mind. I applied, and I got the job. Like any new job, it had its special learning curve—and in this particular one with the U.S. government, I had a new acronym-based language and the "Peace Corps Approach" to learn. But beyond that, I was in my element. 

I could go on and on about how great a fit this position was with my skills, passion, and background. I was able to draw on many elements of my experience with sustainable development and as a curriculum developer, and my time as a teacher. I was finally able to take everything that I'd learned during my whole Mexico culture-shock experience and apply it as something helpful toward new arrivals' adjustment to the Mexican culture process. I could draw on my experience as a non-formal educator in order to prepare a team of non-formal educators. And best of all, even though I am bilingual, I got to polish my Spanish thanks to my coworkers. 

Running an environmental education training was A LOT of work but also a lot of FUN. We took field trips to local natural areas, botanical gardens, and sustainable learning centers. We met with local teachers, schools, and students, and the trainees devised environmental education activities and an EcoFair in Mexico state. We reached over 200 schoolkids in our 3 visits to schools. We laughed, we danced, we built a wood-efficient stove, a garden, a compost, a solar dehydrator, a solar oven, and a greywater filter. The volunteers I worked with were experienced, positive, and motivated. Everyone shared, learned, and grew. I could go on and on.

With PCM volunteers and staff at the top of Parque Nacional el Cimatario

But sadly, this incredible experience had to come to an end, this past week. It was to be expected, in fact, it was planned—to coincide with the week after the last training of 2013. As I mentioned before, the reason I could pursue this position was that it was based almost entirely in Querétaro. Almost as soon as I entered, a hiring process was underway to select a permanent training specialist, which I was invited to apply for, but the downside is that it requires a significant amount of travel (estimated at nearly 40%)—in order to visit volunteers at sites and develop new sites.

At first glance, this seems ideal—see dozens of natural areas in Mexico as part of your job. And the truth is, if I didn't have a child, it would be. In fact, I did apply for the position once before, in the Fall of 2012. But when I found out about the travel requirement, and that policy does not allow minor family members to accompany staff during travel, I had to pull out of the running. I simply couldn't make the commitment to being away from home for that amount of time with such a small child. 

So while the interim, Querétaro-based position was near-perfect, the permanent, travel-required position was not a realistic possibility for me and my family. I chose not to apply this summer, since the policies had not changed, and made up my mind to give these 5 months my all while I had the chance. I am happy to say that it was worth it. I feel a strong pull to be as present as possible in my daughter's life, and we all feel happy to be together more. As for the job, beyond all the wonderful environmental education and resource conservation work that volunteers do, the best thing about Peace Corps Mexico (PCM) are the people themselves. The relationships I formed with both staff and volunteers, and the experiences we shared are irreplaceable. 

I feel very grateful to have had this professional opportunity where I both learned and contributed a great deal. I'm obviously looking forward to the possibility of going back someday. In the meantime, I will be rededicating myself to past projects, so hopefully you will be seeing more of me here, and hear about new developments as well. And if any volunteers or former coworkers happen to read this, good luck, and thanks for all you do. You're doing amazing things!

On our way to a local school with Environmental Education volunteers

Winds of Change | On the Current CIR Debate | Amor and Exile

**Note: This is probably more subject matter than should have gone in one blog post. Time is more precious than ever, and I've been more exhausted in the last 3 weeks than I can remember being since college over 15 years ago. There's so much to say, too little time, and some trains are fast departing from the stations of my life that I can't afford to miss. But I wanted to simultaneously speak to recent accomplishments with Amor and Exile and going to D.C., the perspective of many years having observed and been a victim of immigration politics, and also acknowledge that my intense involvement in this issue, to the exclusion of other, more earthy parts of my life, has taken a toll, and I'm in the process of achieving a new equilibrium.**

Cycles are being completed and new chapters are opening in my life, and for this I am grateful. But in many ways, some things are as they always were.

I recently traveled to Washington, D.C. to deliver a copy of the book I co-wrote with Nathaniel Hoffman, Amor and Exile: True Stories of Love Across America's Borders. The trip, which in essence launched the publication of our book, was many things to me at once: a dream come true to tell my story to our nation, a collaborative vision seen through to completion, an eye-opening experience about the way politics are done in my country, and a reminder that I must continue to find grounding in my daily life back home.

Nearly 12 years ago, I began dating my husband and discovered what we were up against in terms of immigration laws that effectively shut out a large number of North Americans from access to legal immigration to the United States, even when married to American citizens.

Almost 6 years ago, despite the successful protest of the passage of even harsher immigration laws (HR 4437), which would have made it a felony to merely be in association with my husband, we came to the conclusion that the only way for my husband to obtain legal status was to move abroad to his home country of Mexico. We packed our belongings and moved south, where we've been ever since.

A few years after we moved here, I began seriously contemplating the possibility of writing about my story. Everytime I told our story about why we'd moved here to someone, they'd respond, "But you're married!?" as if it was a no-brainer that my husband should have U.S. papers. It drove me crazy that nobody understood why things just weren't that simple. On one hand, part of me wanted to wash my hands of the issue entirely, just focus on my field (ecology) and pursue my dreams of a green business or non-profit in a country that sorely needs environmental conservation work. I did restore a good part of our land with greywater and organic vegetable production. I did publish a short collection of regional recipes using Mexican native food plants (The Bajio's Bounty). And I remained tangentially involved in the environmental movement here in Querétaro. But the pull of fate in the direction of writing a memoir and adding my voice to the millions of disenfranchised by U.S. immigration law was too strong. I kept adding to my many notebooks of visions I was having about "telling a story about migration."

In winter of 2011, only a few months after my daughter was born, I began writing my part for Amor and Exile. Ever since then, my life as been drawn inexorably deeper into the path of advocacy on behalf of families like mine. Starting with the story that is now part of Chapter 9 of Amor and Exile, entitled "Alienation," in which I tell of our passage south to Mexico, I began the laborious task of encapsulating my most painful struggles and my lofty ideals (of the ones that still remain) into prose, exposing them to my coauthor's critiquing and making them universally understandable, as opposed to making sense only to me. The first years were an internal struggle—overcoming the fears and anxieties with making our story. I first received great support from family, friends, my coauthor Nathaniel, and then from a therapist who helped me creatively work through my trauma and heal many hurt parts of having to leave my country to keep my family together, essentially against my will.

Our manuscript was finally done in December 2012. It represented two and a half years of writing and collaborative editing. In the first few months that we began "shopping around" our manuscript with our agent, was when all the Comprehensive Immigration Reform debate hit Congress. I'd written my story without any specific political language, mainly because it was telling a past story, also because it was anyone's guess as to when actual reform could happen. Moreover, as I tell in the book, part of my personal peacemaking has had to do with separating my political hopes from my own personal goals and motivations—in other words, I can't pin my personal happiness on political outcomes.

That being said, I'm well aware of what the current debate represents and I would be amiss to not be a part of it. It's been satisfying to be able to make contact with many individuals who are advocating on behalf of families like ours. Coming in contact with dozens of families like mine has renewed my resolve to continue speaking out on this subject—even though the "best" reforms available (waiver reform) really would only allow my family to apply for a waiver a couple years earlier. It's too little too late for us—but it could be a lot for some families.

Being in D.C.—getting the community support to go there as a result of our Indiegogo campaign to "Send Amor and Exile to Washington"—was an incredibly uplifting experience. Going from totally disempowered, silenced for so many years due to my family's lack of legal recourse—to dialoguing with Capitol staffers and representatives themselves was to come full circle in terms of where I was and where I now am. We have no guarantee that our efforts will actually make any difference in the long run in terms of policy, but I am convinced that at least in terms of personal views, dozens of individuals have been affected as a result of our work. And I can only pray that it will continue to have an impact in the long term.

Because ultimately, as things are currently being played out in the Senate, it is truly a political game in which our lives hang in the balance. A game whose players have no problem sacrificing billions of taxpayer dollars for even higher and more electrified fences in the name of immigration reform—always with the risk that every compromise will never be enough to satisfy the most extreme negotiators. I'm personally more skeptical about the long-term positive impact of the most recent version of SB 744 (if the Corker-Hoeven amendment to spend $30 billion in additional "border security" is included) compared to the original version. It's the product of compromise that might get some of us home a little sooner, that might prevent some of us from having to go into exile, but my question is, how will it affect generations of migrants, citizens of both countries even, to come?

It's really easy to fall in the trap of thinking about only our own families' problems, I did this for many years as I pitied myself and couldn't imagine how I was going to make my life work in a foreign country. I saw myself as somewhat different than the rest, when in reality, we're all in the same boat. I am so thankful to my fellow friends in exile for opening my eyes about that. What I dread happening is that we, the exiled or separated, forget to think of those who will come after us, as we are thrown a bone, while draconian regulations continue to be passed.

What concerns me about the passage of an SB 744 with extreme border militarization clauses is because of the reasons these regulations are being written in. Does this version of immigration policy engender cross-cultural understanding and reduce the likelihood of attempted illegal immigration to the U.S? Probably not. Would using that money instead on international programs that improve the standard of living in foreign countries, create programs for individuals to more easily access legal immigration channels to the U.S. have more positive effect in the long run? Most likely. But those type of answers aren't as politically sexy as more choppers and barbed wire, when catering to the xenophobic crowd in the U.S.

Much of our populace is still stuck, lamentably, in a culturally insensitive rut that is costing us the ability to move forward as a nation, embrace our immigrant roots, our immigrant present, and our immigrant future. We welcome those who have the financial resources (or luck in the lotteries) to make it across the border "legitimately," but we reject many who are the salt of the earth. Those of us who have acknowledged the migratory and highly adaptable nature of our continent will keep working toward true change, at great personal sacrifice, sorrow, and even joy sometimes, no matter what the outcome on Capitol Hill.

I think we already have our Christmas tree

My family and friends know me as someone who isn't inclined to chop down a beautiful, carbon-storing live tree from a field just to haul it inside our living room for a few weeks. But I am drawn to the aesthetic side of Christmas trees...growing up I loved doing the decorations, the lights. And as an adult I love the extra beauty the whole shebang lends to the living space during the holidays. So for the past few years I've tried alternatives to the big chopped tree (which by the way, I've actually never had in my own home). Last year it was a potted tree. 

This year, I got the idea to maybe cut a branch from one of our trees outdoor and spray paint it gold. So I went outside and started scouting the yard for a good candidate. The mesquite needs trimming but doesn't quite have the uniform shape I like. The palo verde, the guava and the pomegranate are leafless right now, but I don't want to cut them too much, because they're of fruit-bearing age.

Then, as I was walking by the grapefruit tree, I noticed something uncanny.

 

I couldn't help but be struck by how much the grapefruits reminded me of Christmas ornaments. Suddenly, the idea of hanging sparkly spheres on a fake stand-in for a tree in our living room seemed a poor substitute for the real thing. Then it dawned on me, this image of a fecund fruit bearing tree quite possibly is one of the original inspirations for an adorned Christmas tree. I don't profess to know how today's commercial and materialistic-heavy traditions evolved from the ancient traditions of the celebration of the rebirth of the solar year. But I do know that in beholding our grapefruit tree, so beautiful and full of life, promise, and delicious fruits, I lost the desire to find a branch and decorate it with plastic balls. I can find another way to put some glitter in the house these holidays. But I think we have our Christmas tree already.

The Real Easter Basket

Two months have passed since I began working part-time at an English school. It's been nice to get out of the house, I enjoy the personal interactions, and I can now breathe a little easier on the economic side of things, but it's had its expected flip-side results as well. I'm quite tired every day, I worry I'm not giving enough undivided attention to my family (some correspondences are suffering), my hip pain has returned, and my amount of free time to dedicate to creative pursuits such as writing, art, and gardening has taken a hit.

But there're also some undeniably wonderful things happening at the same time—the growth of our daughter, the flourishing of our orchard and flock of chickens, even the growth of some friendships and personal strength. I tend to believe as is in nature, also is with people, and vice versa. Even when it seems like I have little extra time for anything, the above things are both a blessing and a natural result of small, diligent, patient efforts toward progress, combined with the wonderfully powerful and cyclic elements of nature.

I'm the kind of person who likes to answer every personal email I receive, but it hasn't always been possible with my new schedule. But one of the side effects of not always being the most responsive, or first to reach out, has been to find out which friendships have perservered despite my low levels of maintenance. It reveals a connection that can stand the test of time.

I never would have guessed that something as simple as, when we built our house, placing a window facing a mesquite tree, would bring so much enjoyment from the center of our home—seeing its vibrant, almost flourescent green leaved branches waving gently in the breeze and filled with songbirds coming to take a drink from a dish of water on the ground below it. It took years of gently inviting wildlife to our yard and runoff from our roof directed to the mesquite's roots for this whole scene to develop.

There's a weedy grass that got out of control in our yard while we were otherwise occupied with parenting duties, and when I finally decided to reclaim my garden and started letting my daughter come outside and explore while we worked, we'd get covered with its sticky seeds. Even the regular feeling of desperation of just walking outside for a few minutes to pick greens or feed the animals, only to spend almost half an hour just picking the spines out of our pantlegs (and weeks afterward trying to eradicate it), managed to turn into a unexpected moment of repose, albeit a month or two later. Just today, my daughter and I were standing in the kitchen after coming in from outside and I noticed she was prostrate on the floor behind me. At first, since she has a frustrating puppy-like characteristic of chewing shoes, I impatiently said, no touch! But when I looked down, I realized she was picking seeds off the bottom of my pantleg and couldn't help but smile. This is a 17-month old, who picks kale leaves and feeds them to our chickens—why had I assumed she was just getting into trouble instead of doing something constructive? I took a deep breath, stooped down, and hugged and thanked her, acknowledging to myself that I'd judged the moment too quickly.

The living things in our garden have been in a relative state of neglect, with the exception of our flock of chickens. They didn't lay a single egg for almost 4 months this past winter, and we were starting to wonder if our efforts to keep them fed and safe were in vain. Our older chickens almost got passed over for new chicks to replace them. But then miraculously, almost a month ago, they began laying again, and right now, not one but two of them are sitting on eggs in the nest, in the hopes that they will become first time moms to some fuzzy little chicks in less than a couple weeks. In checking up on them last night I observed that one of the 7 eggs they'd laid and were brooding was crushed and smeared over the others. I couldn't figure out if it was them or the other chickens coming in and stepping on them. So I decided to try and experiment with a swinging door so they could get out and eat and drink water once or twice a day but that would block the other two hens from coming in, who'd have to lay their eggs in a lower nest box. As I was snipping and collecting grass from around the yard, and placing it in the coop, rearranging the eggs carefully, I couldn't help but think of an Easter basket. Then I thought, duh, these *were* the original Easter egg hunts! Even though I probably won't have time or money to do up a fancy colorful gift basket like the kind we used to get as kids, we'll have the satisfaction of having the real thing.

Not to be trite, but cliches describe these situations well—finding the silver lining of every cloud, or asking yourself what you can learn from a situation. My own personal list goes on, but I hope I've made my point. In these particular moments, I made a mental note that sometimes even the most disdainful situations can have surprisingly sweet results—especially if you take the time to look for them.

Temporary Sacrifices

I have too much going on with my new schedule, that includes a new part-time job, to expect much spare time, much less for blog posts. But given the fact that I spent almost a year turning on the writer in me, it'd be too much to expect that I could just turn that part of me off. When I sit in the armchair in my daughter's room, as I do twice a day for half an hour while I put her down to nap or to bed, the day's events and the context they occur in, interactions I've had, and observations I've made seem to spiral in and out until they start to connect and maybe even make sense or seem like less of a blur. Fairly regularly, I get these things I call "inspirations." Things I'd like to write about, if only I had time. But lately I don't. The regular litany of crazy things that happen here in Mexico haven't stopped happening, I just haven't had enough time to write about them. I've complained about this to several people, and everyone recommends jotting things down or recording them. Maybe if I could get over not being able to let my ideas take me where they want, and realize that this is just a temporary sacrifice of time, I could accept the idea of trying out a new memory device. But I know myself better. I am worried that I'll never get that luxury of time to write in any significant amount back, and I know how many thousands of sheets of paper of interesting things I've simply filed away to be used at a later time. They're called file folders and bookshelves. No, I became addicted to pursuing creative energy, and I am going through withdrawal. But like any labor of love, i.e. I have gone through childbirth and am parenting as I type, I also know that temporary sacrifices are required in order to get to the next stage of things. I told this to a friend who just found out she's pregnant and is worried about how things will go, at every step of the way. I said that even though pregnancy may at times feel unbearably difficult, every trial is a preparation for something bigger that's up ahead as a parent. I was either lying through my teeth or I don't like to take my own advice, especially when it applies to the rest of my life. I suspect it's the latter. 

Fall and Change: The End of a Cycle

If I had to pick a favorite, it would probably be fall. I just remember so many delightful things about it growing up, like going into the orchard to pick apples, raking and jumping in piles of all the multi-colored leaves, the holidays that come with it—Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas right around the corner. As an adult, I look forward to harvest season, the nice weather, and more social and family get-togethers.

Today it dawned on me that there's something even more noble about fall: an undeniable beauty and peace at the end of a cycle. The seasons are a rhythm of increasing and decreasing sunlight and life on Earth. In the northern hemisphere, the winter solstice marks the moment renewal begins—the return of the light. Spring is a time of flourishing.  Summer is rich decadence, and Fall is of harvest and decay. It's a natural pattern, one that we can't resist, and why would we want to? We know this is the way things are meant to be.

Yet during day to day life we have a more ambivalent relationship with change (at least I do). Sometimes we say, "It's time for a change," or, "I needed a change." But sometimes we're not so psyched about the idea: "You mean you want me to change?" or, "I can't change the way I am..."  As for our attitude about change, it's almost as if it depends on our perspective: we resist change we take to be negative, but embrace change we deem to be positive. It's a very subjective perspective, that depends on many things—our culture, profession, gender, our experience, our age, even our moods.

Perhaps the changes that we feel more passionately about have to do with our own selves. However, since we often don't notice changes going on around us (or do, but choose to ignore them), it can be difficult to even notice a shift in ourselves. It's funny to me that our culture clings so insistently to an identity that defines us as individuals, when in fact we grow so much throughout the course of our lives. In fact, physically, comparatively few of the original cells we were born with are still with us as adults! In essence, we replace ourselves over and over as we age.

For me, it's frustrating that, despite knowing that change is a necessary and healthy part of life, that I overlook its role so often. It's satisfying when I can slow down, appreciate the moment, and not get too caught up in the past—i.e. what we could have done differently, or the future—the what ifs of a situation.

Observing my daughter is a prime example of how important it is for me to stay focused on the present. So much is happening with her today—her development is so rapid that if I look away even for a few hours, I might not catch the first time she says "duckie" or even her first steps by herself. That's not to beat myself up over the hours I have to spend working, but a reminder to fully appreciate the moments I have with her.

The growth of a human and the cycles of the seasons are expected changes, that we're fairly prepared for. But then there are unexpected changes that take a bit more attention to notice when they are first happening. Mood swings, for example. A good friend moving away. An ant infestation on a plant in your garden. An ill pet. It pays to stay aware so you can catch these changes as they occur, and that way you won't be so surprised when their results affect your life.

Completely unexpected events catch us completely by surprise—they can either delight us to no end, like a friend dropping by or calling out of the blue, or winning a contest. They can throw us off balance, or even do harm, like serious illnesses or acts of violence. But we also have the opportunity to see some seemingly random events as not so happenstance. For example, in the American culture of my birth, death is a very difficult subject, but in my host culture, Mexico, the end of the life cycle is embraced at this time of the year, in the Day of the Dead celebrations. Or on another topic, no one really predicted when the Occupy Wall Street movement would occur, but many people were starting to get fed up with the course of our country's evolution, and so it should come as no surprise that the day would come when people would demand a change.

By seeing occurrences as part as the natural cycle of cause and effect, maybe we can relax into the feeling that; either we did everything possible to positively affect the outcome of events, or that we did everything possible and it's out of our hands. That must be where the phrase, "God give me the courage to change the things I am able, and the serenity to accept that which I cannot" came from.

It would be an omission on my part were I not to acknowledge the role of reading Buddhist books, such as those authored by the Dalai Lama, in influencing my thoughts on the subject of impermanence. Reflecting on the momentary (and cyclic) nature of things helps me to appreciate the little things that I might otherwise overlook in my daily life. If that gives me just one more iota of peace, that's a change I can embrace.