Racing West to remember why I came to Texas
***
Texas
kicks my ass. Daily. So why do I stay?
The
answer exists in a parking lot in Laredo, Texas.
I reach into
the memory to claim a reason recalled in words, but all I get is a repeat, a
flash, a reliving of momentary recklessness while I dangled on the border of
change.
In a
mall parking lot in Laredo, Texas, just a street or two from the border, we stretch
our legs out the car window and eat late-night finds from the food court.
As I
debated a caffeine kick from Starbucks or an indulgence from Wendy's, I notice
that for the first time in my life I am the minority, and that my
Spanish-speaking skills from senior year of high school are rusty.
I decide
on nothing to eat. My stomach churns in nerves or excitement, or a mixture of
two, because the body already senses that traveling through West Texas and the
border is changing me. The air combs through my cells and stirs a strange
craving that will linger long after I leave.
But we
are not there yet. I skip ahead. There are people meant to be listened to and
stories that need to be read.
We trace
our fingers along the map to our final stay, McAllen, which means passing along
the border for miles at night.
The
quiet is thick with silenced stories. I do not trust this silence; it's the
type of stillness that shivers my senses into high alert.
We are
reckless: Two girls lounging in a city we do not know, just minutes from the
border, the border at night, and still hours of road to travel and go.
Later, I
know just how much so after I sit riveted and attentive in a packed auditorium
in McAllen.
I listen
with my entire being to the stories from a former CIA agent who researched the
history of Central American gangs, of regular-day citizens who search the
border for bodies to report them dead to their questioning and praying
families, of journalists who dared along the migrant route to document the
stories of the fleeing.
Oscar
Martinez walks onto the stage to deliver his speech, and his magnetism
speaks. I press my ear into my translator set to catch every word of his talk,
and his energy communicates his outrage and urgency to target the injustices,
the atrocities and to shed a light on the dying, the silenced, the running, the
dead, the immigrant who against all brutal odds, makes it across the border.
His
devastating accounts of assassinations, rapes, tossed bodies, desperate treks
narrate the expanse of silence heard and glimpsed through the car window while traveling
from Laredo to McAllen.
After
the life-changing trek, I fly out from Houston to go home to Kentucky. After
the journey, I pour my life-energy into jobs and strive to establish a sense of
contentment in a city that raised me and in a city that I adored, but there’s a
pull, a call, a whisper that rivers through my motions and my doings.
There’s a
soul-call to go back to Texas, and I respond to the call, thinking that the job
that helps me land there aligns with the memory of Laredo.
Then there’s
a Friday in September when I meet a mother who protests getting her photo
taken, and I hate myself for standing there pressing a black camera toward her
face and her infant son. I loathe my weakness, for swallowing my discomfort
with this development assignment to take photos of mothers and their children
on their first day.
Yes, a
playful and sweet thought in theory, but in reality, the political climate toward
immigrants threatens and looms over these families, and I am a stranger to
these women, a bouncy blonde with a camera, and who knows who will see these photos
on that Facebook page.
Perhaps,
the real reason the mother didn’t want that photo was because of the fluorescent
lighting. I will never be sure, but I know that my own code of ethics has been
breached, and I answer to a supervisor who is doesn’t act on my concerns, and
in her presence, I have forgotten my own power and agency. I should have
claimed that assignment with total responsibility and in owning responsibility
created a safe and intentional space for mothers and their littles to take
first day photos.
But I’m
tossing around shoulds and blame now, and this is relapse into passive
aggressiveness, the power-play for the weak who fail to directly speak.
I decide
to leave because I am not of service to the world if I sit in dimming
confidence at a computer screen, no matter what the agency does or proclaims to
do, no matter if I have moments of shimmering alignment, of coworkers who are
friends, I am not serving them if I stay.
I leave.
And I always strive to leave like Oprah. I leave with my ratings still high,
with the primary components of my self-esteem still intact, with love and
admiration for my coworkers, and compassion for a supervisor. I see too my
tendency to be bullied by louder mouths, to be too eager to please, to not push
for my vision and too quickly concede.
I leave
to show respect for myself, for everyone involved.
"And
will you stay?"
Stay.
Stay in
the city that has been home for five months which is five lifetimes of lessons.
The
question proposed by new friends, coworkers, people who know my story, the
beginning of the story, the end of the woman I thought I would be here and the
rebirth of another woman I am today. And I am proud to be her. And she's
deciding that I stay.
She
acknowledges the grit it takes to stay. The grit to withstand loneliness, broken
heartedness, confusion, fear. The grit to choose gentleness, to choose to show
kindness, practice forgiveness, speak truth, to nurture my softness through
standing taller and stronger in myself every day.
I feel
time glide across my skin in Texas. I feel every moment pass, precious and
sacred, and mine to claim, and in this heightened awareness of time, I urgently
embrace the lessons Texas offers.
Texas
amplifies all aspects of me, and pushes me to face the suppressed desires, the
lurking demons, the questions I have distracted myself from answering through
people-pleasing and thinking I need to be a martyr for people to love me.
I am
learning here still. This is why I stay.
I
stopped learning at my job. That's why I left.
But
Austin is still teaching me.
I am
learning to trust my gut. My instinct, my intuition, and my feeling possess the
power to discern harmful and beneficial energy. I practice the pause to
breathe, to radically feel sensation and let my body inform me on how to
proceed.
I am
finally learning and completely comprehending that I love people. I thrive in
fast-paced environments where I am connecting with people. And direct-service,
public speaking are innate gifts that can help me ensure the financial security
I need to live well and thrive.
I am
learning the true value of my worth. I am worthy of financial comfort and
making decisions that support and reflect the beauty and gift of my time.
I am
learning that I love teaching yoga, that I love writing, and that my daily
routine must include energy flowing into those passions, because I feel
complete when I teach. I feel soulfully satisfied when I write. I’ve placed these
passions on a back-burner, and now is the time to move them front and center.
I am
learning that pit bulls are beautifully tender-hearted, that Revlon Balm Stain
Color Crayon lasts all day, and if there’s a craving for a hamburger or a taco,
to fulfill the desire and eat the brussel sprouts later.
I am
relearning that every act of kindness matters. I know now the loneliness that
comes with being new in a place, and all the gestures of inclusion, of
sweetness that have been graciously shown to me inform my decision and
treatment of people who arrive to a new city, to a new state.
I am
befriending the gorgeousness that is grief released in the realization that I
still love him. And I allow myself to grieve. I am learning that love
transforms and transmutes and shifts to take different shapes, and that real
love stays regardless of time, age, place.
I am
learning that I do not have to exhaust myself in my doing, in my proving, in my
giving to be loved. I can just be. And in my being I am enough to receive.
I grant
myself the space to be still and harness the grit required to change course,
and practice gentleness so I proceed slowly, moving toward the clarity
communicated in a soul-yearning felt in Laredo.
I stay
to travel back and step forward in understanding, in growth, in expansion of
understanding. I stay to ground and rise in Texas light.
