The Test--Walking the Walk

Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted. --Albert Einstein



Back in July, I was down-sized. It was quite a surprise when I got the news. For the previous eight months I'd been working for a local French-American cafe/pastry shop with growth ambition. I've been working some aspect of pastry production, for restaurants mainly, since early 2000 and my path has followed a fairly standard path. Initially I set my goal on becoming a pastry chef because I always loved cooking and was more inclined to the more meticulous and measured approach of pastry vs. the savory side of cooking. For the first five years of my career I was completely energized by my work. I talked my way into my first job with absolutely no relevant experience but with enthusiasm that was hard to resist. More often than not, for the hours of my workday, I was in "flow"--a term that is used to describe a being completely involved in an activity for it's own sake to the point that the ego falls away, time flies and skills are used to their utmost. The act itself of making dessert is still an enjoyable act for me but I find that the necessity of doing this in a work environment has diminished some of what attracted me to this as a career. My gradual dissatisfaction with my chosen career has had as much to do with my desire to be challenged and stimulated in a more meaningful way as it has with my distaste for an industry notorious for low pay and unrealistic expectations about what people should be willing to commit for the privelege of working in "X" restaurant (especially rampant in fine-dining). I imagine that mindset is not specific to the restaurant industry by any means. I think it's part of a larger American workaholic syndrome that envisions everyone being amenable to long hours and a diminished quality of life.

Last summer I began to embrace the idea of opening my own business. That truly is the only way a pastry career pans out for the majority of us without inclinations for celebrity chef status. My parents have managed to keep a small business running for decades so I figured this would be a natural step for me. I figured I would learn on my own and then test my mettle the hard way--in an actual business (YIKES). I have a close friend who would harshly poo-poo the idea that there is any divine working to the universe and is deeply offended by the idea that things happen for a reason. The popularity of the "Law of Attraction" was a huge thorn in her side. I only mention it because I can't think of those ideas now without hearing her disapproval in my head. Nevermind that. My instinct tells me that something is going on. As luck would have it, I was in this same jobless position a year ago and for the same reasons--my employer's financial straits. I was half-hearted about the job search. The usual job opportunities were no longer invigorating. However, I came across one job listing, a production job close to home. This was appealing and I sent my resume. I felt then as I do now, that it was extremely uncanny how this opportunity ended up being exactly what my employer and I really needed at the time, despite the fact that we were each actively seeking something else. Rather than a production job, they offered me an opportunity to learn the business-end of the operation on their dime. The experience would allow me to learn and stretch, take on tasks that were outside of my comfort zone and see first-hand what was involved in this kind of enterprise from people who were very real, accesible, and open-minded. It was perfect! I felt renewed and thrilled to be using my whole brain again! I wasn't employed by this company for very long at all but it was an intense eight months. As with all my past jobs, I learned a tremendous amount about what would and would not work for me, my value system, my future business. To add to the uncanniess, right before I was let go, we were digging through old files and we came across my two previous resumes--one from before I'd moved to NY and attended culinary school, and one from 2003. I'd sent my resume to many, many places but I doubt that they saved it. It was odd to feel like the universe had been conspiring for our paths to cross for years. Something must've made my boss notice and save my resume. She didn't save everyone's. It also felt strange to suddenly see that glimpse into this frozen moment in my past and all the enthusiasm that came through in those cover letters. It was such a stark contrast with where I am now. No doubt, I am still enthusiastic but my focus is so much broader now. I've outgrown my narrow definitions. During my employment, I internalized the necessity for having a different business model, one that strives for equilibrium and investment in people, community, and resources rather than growth for the sake of growth. The latter has been the norm and has created great wealth for millions of people, but it's a relic of a dying age. But I realize as well, it's a tricky time to have a business and be aware of what will be necessary to thrive in the future. There is a question of how to transition at a time when your competition might not be. All of this was firmly in my mind on the day I was down-sized this last July. Once I got past the initial surprise of it, I embraced the opportunity that was being presented. I got really excited actually. Who knew what opportunities might open up now? I had a window to combine my work with these areas I am so focused on and if I could find a job that provided that balance for me, work wouldn't feel like work.

This last week I thought I had stumbled once again on one of those fortuitous, opportunities. I'd sent in my resume for consideration at a new restaurant opening in October--Rouge Tomate. It's the New York branch of a Brussels restaurant with a visionary approach to restaurants. Their philosophy moves beyond the very trendy locally-harvested seasonal produce mantra and seeks to incorporate green practices such as composting, the most energy efficient equipment, designing their menu in accordance to a vigorous system of rules that give precedence to vegetables over fish, fish over poultry, poultry over red meat. The desserts would be fruit-focused and reliant upon natural sweeteners with refined-sugar taking a back seat. Their dining room is completely eco-designed. It certainly is not the first experiment in the green-restaurant field but it was the first time I'd had the opportunity to be a part of such an endeavor. I was completely on board with the idea of working here and could imagine all the great things I would learn. And then reality set in once the details of the job were explained. They had me until "50 hours a week...sometimes a little more" was put on the table. "ssssssssssss".....that's the sound of me deflating. No matter how I try to work it out, it's just not in my best interest to commit to something that will monopolize my life. The money would've been decent and amazingly, they were completely on board with laws about paying over time and holiday pay (a rarity in an industry that tries to get away with what it can). They offered a full range of benefits that I'd have to pay into but, benefits nonetheless! People might think I'm a fool to pass on this but I know too well what a wreck this tight of a schedule can play on my health, my well-being. I have a part-time job that I'm not leaving and truthfully is the only thing that makes normal full-time pastry jobs even feasible financially. I'm not giving that up. I also have a commitment to exercise daily, which for me comes in the form of a really long walk because I can use this time to think, make a phonecall, run some errands, or learn Spanish as I'm doing now. It's ME time where I'm not just doing something mindless like watching TV (though I need a little of that time too). I want to be able to go to a discussion group and meet with all kinds of people as the opportunities arise. Working 56 hours a week will amount to half my week being only about coming home to sleep before getting up to go to work again. I need time to read! I need time to daydream. I can do that on the train but it's a little nice to sit in a coffee bar and feel less rushed. I don't mind working weekends but I do mind that I'd have to turn down spontaneous invitations to socialize because I'd have to get up SO early on most days. I'm not a kid anymore. I need sleep too. I was ready to jump at this job offer. The money was comparable to what I was making before and that kind of security is very alluring. There was a learning curve and that stimulation is really important to me. But essentially it comes down to this: quality of life matters. Winning the lottery on this count would be to land in a job where you CAN live to work and it's a positive expression of your enthusiasm for being there, for your level of engagement. That is my litmus test. If a job offer is not going to encompass that level of engagement for me, then at the least it has to allow me a 40 hour week so that I can still find a balance with living. I would take a part-time job and make do with less money rather than sacrifice so much of what adds meaning to my life. It has been a tough call to make. I don't like the insecurity of not knowing where I will be working. I have a work-ethic that makes me feel uncomfortable with not snapping up the first reasonable job offer. In fact, I don't think I've ever turned down a job. In my own way of looking at things, I decided that this has been a test. No one can lay claim to values until they are in a situation where they are given a chance to adhere to them or not. If your actions do not fall in line with your values, then what you really value is what you chose, right? I looked into my motivation for accepting this job, and the root of it would have more to do with fear than love: fear of insecurity, fear of a better opportunity not coming along, fear of regret. I refuse to act out of fear...unless of course, a shark is bumping me underwater :), or something along those lines.

Stepping off the Treadmill

The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you're still a rat. --Lily Tomlin

You might say I'm a perfect child of the age. Growing up in South Texas, a geography ripe for a car culture if ever there was one, my opportunities were afforded to me by a decades-old automotive repair family business. My Mexican-American heritage extends back into an ambiguous, foggy history but my mother's father sold cars and my father and his dad fixed them. The most recent immigrant in my family's story is my paternal grandfather. His is the iconic American immigrant story of a young man arriving here from Mexico during the Great Depression, pulling himself up by his bootstraps, creating a new destiny for himself and his family. I could sit awhile and wonder what my life would be like had my grandfather or father chosen other paths but there would be no point. I feel blessed and I think my life is better for their choices. That is all that matters. But our destiny has been inextricably linked to the dominance and proliferation of the vast American car culture, and the emergent hyper-consumerism by default. Where would I be without it? The timing of my birth also determined that I would reach adulthood at the dawn of the computer age. Even when I was finishing college, computer use was still in it's early years and the Internet use pre-mainstream. I wouldn't catch up until my late 20s. Far from lamenting this catching up, I am grateful to have experienced a childhood "off the treadmill". Certainly hyper-consumerism was just beginning to gain momentum when I was little, running around sweaty in the front yard with the neighborhood kids, itchy from the chigger bites. I have great memories of all the non-techie stuff we did in the name of fun and entertainment. My career in the kitchen began here, making "soup" in a bucket with water, stones, Pyracanthas berries, and twigs, and then serving dinner to my friends. I loved observing bugs and would stand astounded and squeamish with my brother in our periodic discovery of a swarm of army worms. I still have affection for the multitudes of "chicharras" we'd catch. They'd screech and then crawl on our arms with their scratchy little legs. There were "marathon" bike rides to my grandmother's house and building tree houses, exploring the "wilderness" areas surrounding my neighborhood. What we had was a surplus of imagination and old-fashioned human socialization with our playmates. We didn't have a monopoly on these experiences. Kids still enjoy these things today, in between the vast amounts of time playing video games, surfing the Internet, watching TV. At least they skateboard, right? I know you don't miss what you never had but I can't help feeling sorry for today's kids if they have parents who aren't making a concerted effort to nurture the natural children's impulse to actively play out in the natural world. In a sense, it feels to me like they are born on this treadmill of hyper-consumerism. Our marketing today is so much more pervasive, and intrusive. So much more of what they are exposed to is dependent upon advertising. I find it sadder still that it's all been intentional as part of a long-standing effort to objectify humans and regard families as "consumer units". Having been reduced to this lowest common denominator, we are misperceived to be beneficial to this economic system only in direct proportion to how much s**t we buy. I didn't hop on the treadmill until later in my life.

One of the best gifts my parents gave me was a no B.S. perception of reality. For whatever reason, my folks weren't wired to go down the typical parental path of endeavoring to give their kids all that they never had. They surely provided a lot of things but we were never spoiled. We never lacked for anything we needed. As far as what we wanted, that's another story. We knew early on that you had to work for what you got and what you got wasn't to be taken for granted. I would observe some friends and relatives who always got the coolest, latest toys. Being a kid, I felt envy. But my mom would tell me that we were poor, and though I never felt poor, those words significantly reduced my expectations for the amount of stuff I should be getting. I was old enough to comprehend how hard my parents worked and understood so that it didn't create anxiety in me. I knew early on that this was something to be grateful for because by the time I was a pre-teen, I knew well that all that glitters was not gold when I began to hear stories of some materialistic, money-flaunting relatives whose home was in foreclosure. How can someone place so much importance in exhibiting signs of wealth when their family's security was at stake? That never made sense to me. It still does not and for all my experiences in life, I have never cared one bit about showing others that I have any wealth. And yet, for all the great values instilled in me by my parents, as adult, I still hopped on that treadmill.

Throughout my 20s, I had my consumerism in check. It was an occasional indulgence I shared with my best friend. Shopping is a form of female-bonding after all. I'd entered the credit card life but it was never something I took lightly and I never had any difficulty keeping my balance low. Another childhood memory of mine was joining the Colombia House record club, responding to the 12 albums for 1 penny promotion (something like that). I joined twice, once under an assumed name in case they had CIA agents perusing the applications for people like me. Already having been conditioned to prefer instant gratification, I'd go to the record stores and I would never order the tapes required to complete my commitment. Then I'd start getting the letters about how my time had expired and I owed "x" dollars. I would just ignore them. Somehow my mom found the letter and scolded me about being a deadbeat. Lesson learned. I never wanted to be shamed like that again. I didn't move to New York until I was already 30. I'd determined a couple years earlier that I wanted to go to culinary school and if I was going to do this thing, I wanted to do it all the way in a place where I'd get the most beneficial experience. I'd never had jobs that paid very well but I'd always been comfortable. My pastry instructors would laugh and ask what on earth I could've been doing for a living that could make a pastry job seem like a step up. Money has never been my motivator. Enjoying my work is of utmost importance. Life in New York is expensive, as everyone knows. Being enrolled in school, paying tuition, and earning a low wage makes it that much harder to maintain balance here. Thus began my debt-accumulation phase. Still, I didn't hop on the treadmill until I began to internalize my reality as a 30 something woman with a finite amount of time to find a mate, settle down, and start a family. I never had an issue with turning 30. My anxiety emerged gradually, not regarding my age but my diminishing opportunities. Most people at some point confront this realization that "this isn't the life I imagined for myself". While I was figuring out why I didn't have the life I'd imagined in my youth and going about my efforts to correct that, I sank into a pit of insecurity that relied on shopping to bolster my feelings of inadequacy. Mind you, I have always been pretty moderate in my spending. It was not that I had marathon shopping sprees or bought things that were high-end. I have never had any compulsion to spend $800 on shoes or handbags, or even $200. But let's be honest, if I'd been living within my means, I'd have no debt right now. It has been mostly a quiet and steady accumulation of debt, impulsive and unnecessary purchases here and there. This makes me feel cute, skinny, and then the seasons change and I find my clothes from last season don't make me feel that way anymore. I want a fresh hit. It feels good to tell yourself "yes" when you perceive Life telling you "no". And let me tell you, the seasons change fast and when you think it's your appeal to the opposite sex that is creating this obstacle to getting on with your life in a city reputed to have 3 women for every man--you work what you got or don't got, if it comes down to money, and you charge it instead. And I am a confident person for the most part. We all have insecurities but I'm not the person you'd guess is battling with issues like this. I'm the one who's got it together, can take care of herself, perhaps even to the point where it might intimidate lesser men. As far as egos go, mine is mostly in check, at least enough so that I feel lucky that my experience with hyper-consumerism was a temporary fix and has been fairly benign in my life. It has not been benign to the planet or the people of developing countries where almost all of the things I've purchased have come from in our globalized economy. That weighs on me greatly. My emotional healing should not come at any one's expense. But I can look back on those errant relatives, flaunting their "wealth" and hiding their foreclosure and recognize a much more deep-rooted and hopeless effort to show the world "Look at me. I'm successful. I'm worthy. I have value." They are the wounded people who never discovered their true selves, having confused the stuff with who they are. And there I feel is the crux of our problem. As long as we as a society continue to trade authenticity for the store-bought facade of worthiness in an effort to fill that emotional hole left when community and meaning diminished from our lives, we are not likely to adopt a new paradigm that values more than economic growth. This is history for me. I woke up from that delusion. And what I've noticed in the last couple of years is that all the things I was anxious about--Will I find that person to settle down with? Will I have a family?--they weren't even things I really fundamentally wanted. I just wasn't comfortable with losing the opportunity. I have spent a lot of years on this treadmill, working two jobs at times in my effort to pay down my debt. I have no problem with my bills but I hate having the debt lurking over my head. When I realize how many of my worked hours go towards paying down this debt, I see how much free time I've lost.

I'm stepping off the treadmill now. My inner life doesn't have any use for all this stuff anymore. I'm in the best shape physically I have been in for a number of years and getting better. I don't feel inadequate. I feel inspired and passionate about becoming more engaged in the world and working to find small ways to contribute. I am excited about the opportunities disguised in a very ominous future. I discovered along the way that if I fill that hole with meaning, action, and a perspective that focuses outward on what I can offer the world rather than feeling like things are being done to me, I am happier and I don't reach for the false comfort of things, or unhealthy foods for that matter. I was born off the treadmill and I had an early life filled with authenticity. I count myself lucky that I am turning my life around now when I've only invested some of my life into this hyper-consumerist lifestyle. It is not lost on me that I owe so much of my family's success and my personal opportunities to this aberrant American lifestyle. I have thrived in it and I neither feel guilty for having done so nor do I blame the rest of society for having done the same. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But, that was then and this is now. I can not claim ignorance anymore. So I am moving towards real wealth, a sense of purpose, simplicity, and vitality that I have not experienced...ever. But it's baby steps. I am only just beginning so I don't want to hold myself up as a model of anything. I wouldn't want to do that even if I could because it assumes I have all the answers. I can always learn more. I have a whole unlearning of a lifestyle to do and I have to do it in a society that is still continuing business-as-usual. But I'm on my way.

At the Foot of the Mountain

When I was 23, I embarked on my first major traveling experience. It had only been one year prior that my best friend, Lisa, and I had become obsessed with the movie version of Piers Paul Read's book Alive, the harrowing account of the Uruguayan rugby team that crashed in the Andes and survived against all odds. Understandably, most people were morbidly fascinated by the survivors' necessity of eating their dead. For Lisa and myself, it was the spirit and will to survive that captivated us. The survivors, especially the idea of Nando Parrado and Roberto Canessa who literally walked out of the Andes, became mythic heroes and symbols for what was humanly possible. In a manner that was reminiscent of the girlhood fan worship that we'd not completely left behind despite our fast-approaching college graduation, we decided that we would travel to South America--Uruguay if we could manage it. I don't know what we thought we would do once we got there but we knew we were going. I scrimped and saved money for the better part of a year after having discovered that one of the school's professors was coordinating a trip to Brazil. I'd never traveled further than my family's annual coastal vacations or to visit another friend up in Dallas, but I was ready to take a detour from this group trip and head down to Montevideo with Lisa. When we were two months short of departure, Lisa's commitment to the journey fell through. My courage wavered enough for me to abandon any solo travel to Uruguay, but I felt safe enough traveling with the rest of the group through Brazil. What an amazing trip that was! It was a pivotal moment in my life when I'd had more adventure compressed into a two week period than I'd ever experienced in my life. We began in Manaus, 1000 miles inland on the Amazon, visiting tiny villages accessible only by boat. I swam foolishly in the coffee waters of the Rio Negro, ignorant to the threat of the nightmarish candiru fish, a parasitic catfish known to swim up the urethra of unwary swimmers and lock it's fins in place. I only knew about the snakes at the time, a huge one of which the villagers had just killed prior to our swim! We swam anyway. The focus of our trip was the church-based communities, liberation theology and social justice movements of Brazil. We met a priest up there in the Amazon whose name I forget but who made me my first caipirinha and gave each girl in the group a ride around town on the back of his motorcycle. He was young and handsome and obviously a hunk to the town's women. I don't know how that priesthood thing worked out. As only a 23 yr old can do, I met a Brazilian on the flight from Manaus to Sao Paulo who would change the course of my life. He spoke no English and I spoke no Portuguese but we each had Japanese speakers in our groups so we commenced with three-way translation for that hours long flight over the Amazon rain forest. I can still remember seeing the fires from the plane. I remember the enormity of the Amazon and inability to wrap my brain around the idea of something of this magnitude ever disappearing. Plenty more adventure followed, mostly of a personal nature. As fate would have it, I fell in love with this Brazilian man I could not talk to without a dictionary. The next two years of my life I spent learning his language and going back and forth to the tiny town in Sao Paulo state where he lived. During all my time in Brazil, I came to understand the reality of several things I'd never seen in the U.S.--what it means to be really poor, what it means to live simply, and what sacrifices must be made for economic necessity. I was prepared to see the differences in their culture but I did not experience culture shock until I returned and suddenly could see the stark contrast of American over-abundance and over-consumption. I had been working for an inventory service at the time and sitting in the middle of a grocery store or a big box store counting merchandise left me feeling terribly queasy. Our sheer number of choices felt stifling. What had been normal for me all my life now felt like a complete aberration. However, at the time, though I was aware of the very real differences between life here and life in Brazil, I chalked it up to being in love and missing "him". Saudade--a Portuguese word I learned quickly and which became a part of me. It means to have an intense longing for someone or thing as if you are watching your best friend leave and know that you will never see him again. I learned other words, though I suspect I never sounded like more than a 5 or 6 yr old to my Brazilian hosts. I fell in love with one particular word and that love out-lasted by many years this brief love affair of my youth. It is the name of this blog--"beija-flor". In Brazilian Portuguese you would pronounce this "bay zsha floor"and it means "flower kisser". It refers to the hummingbird. I was always so tickled by this apt description of the tiny nectar-drinking bird. It seems perfect to my ears and sensibilities. "Flower kisser". The years have taken me on one long serendipitous journey and I'd never seen any clear connection to Now with my Brazilian past. But I've enough life experience to know that eventually the connections emerge. I've suddenly found myself in the unexpected role of budding environmental activist. It is not something I set my sights on. I, like most people, have been asleep for most of my life when it came to my own contributions to this crisis. Generation X--I grew up beyond the stage of denial. In school, we were all made aware of Earth Day and the ozone depletion, global warming. It was never a question of "whether" as it might have been for older generations. Our collective guilt resides in a conditioned expectation that "someone" will come along just in time to solve our problem. Technology always prevails. Greatest Generation--pooey! Who needs to be a greatest generation when we have technology to save us? In the years in between Brazil and now, I've moved to New York City, become a pastry chef, ridden that wave until my enthusiasm for it morphed into curiosity about food production in general. Books like Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma kept me searching for more and more information and before I knew it, I was knee-deep in books and issues. Now I find myself going to Peak Oil meetings and venturing to urban gardening classes, reading about our impending water shortages and how I might become a community organizer. I'm not out of my depth but I do suffer from thoughts going in several directions at once and a confident knowledge that I don't really know how I'll do whatever I'm going to do, but I'm going to do it. I don't think there is anything shameful about ignorance if you strive to learn. I'm busy meeting people who can shed some light. I've become something of a doomsayer among my friends, who are really not ready for any of this. People have their personal mountains to climb. I don't feel down about anything. I'm optimistic about the tremendous opportunity that we have even if I know all the very grim projections about several converging disasters. I want to be prepared. I want to help my loved ones be prepared. I want to find a way to help my community be prepared. Those are my mountains to climb. And so I look all the way back to what felt like a silly girlhood fascination with a movie, and I suddenly see so clearly that the example of Nando Parrado and Roberto Canessa climbing out of the Andes is exactly what we are all facing. I'm joining a lot of other people already in the midst of that climb and there will be many more after me until we are a critical mass. And ultimately, if all goes a little right, we might one day call ourselves "Flower Kissers" as the perfect description of how we embrace the planet.