MLK 2016

Today, the truth of Dr. King's words ring as true as they did when he first spoke them. Take some time to read and reflect on his Letter From A Birmingham Jail.

Meaningful excerpts:

"One may well ask, 'How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?" The answer is found in the fact that there are two types of laws: there are just laws, and there are unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that "An unjust law is no law at all.'"

 ...

"I MUST make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizens Councillor or the Ku Klux Klanner but the white moderate who is more devoted to order than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says, "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically feels that he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by the myth of time; and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of
good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection."

...

 "I had also hoped that the white moderate would reject the myth of time. I received a letter this morning from a white brother in Texas which said, "All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but is it possible that you are in too great of a religious hurry? It has taken Christianity almost 2000 years to accomplish what it has. The teachings of Christ take time to come to earth." All that is said here grows out of a tragic misconception of time. It is the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time is neutral. It can be used either destructively or constructively. I am coming to feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the vitriolic words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. We must come to see that human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and persistent work of men willing to be coworkers with God, and without this hard work time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation."

...

"But as I continued to think about the matter, I gradually gained a bit of satisfaction from being considered an extremist. Was not Jesus an extremist in love? -- "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice? -- "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream." Was not Paul an extremist for the gospel of Jesus Christ? -- "I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." Was not Martin Luther an extremist? -- "Here I stand; I can do no other so help me God." Was not John Bunyan an extremist? -- "I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a mockery of my conscience." Was not Abraham Lincoln an extremist? -- "This nation cannot survive half slave and half free." Was not Thomas Jefferson an extremist? -- "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." So the question is not whether we will be extremist, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate, or will we be extremists for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice, or will we be extremists for the cause of justice?"

...

"It is true that they have been rather disciplined in their public handling of the demonstrators. In this sense they have been publicly "nonviolent." But for what purpose? To preserve the evil system of segregation. Over the last few years I have consistently preached that nonviolence demands that the means we use must be as pure as the ends we seek. So I have tried to make it clear that it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral ends. But now I must affirm that it is just as wrong, or even more, to use moral means to preserve immoral ends."

- Martin Luther King, Jr., Letter From a Birmingham Jail, 1963

Risk

The thing about fear is....

You know what?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Fear doesn't deserve a thing.

The day I let fear have a thing is the day I don't let love conquer all things.

Fear is rooted in lies. It's the residual scum that lays dormant after negative past experiences. It seeps into the present with messages like "You're not good enough", "You can't do it", "They won't like you", "You're damaged"...subtle enough to shift my beliefs without me even noticing. Fear loves to create a cozy little world of insecurity where even the most positive new opportunities in my life can die as they do battle with a monster named COMPARISON. Fear is the blanket hiding all of my flaws and imperfections; magnifying them instead of letting the power of vulnerability slowly change them into the beauty of being human.

So why does fear exist?

That's easy.

Fear exists to make me better.

And if there is something I have learned about conquering fear, it's that better doesn't always mean safer.

Five Years Later

You’re probably sitting in your electromagnetic fields class wondering what you’re doing there. I remember it was around this time that things were beginning to change for you. You feel like school is draining and you’re over the superficiality of college culture. The frivolity of constant partying feels empty. I know that you’re questioning if you should’ve stayed in Orlando, where you have your family and friends to support you. You’re stressed out wondering what you’re going to do this summer and how you’re going to make money to support yourself in the fall semester. You haven’t heard back from any of the internship opportunities that you’ve applied to, have you? I know you feel like everyone else in that room is smarter than you, and that’s probably because you’re reading this instead of paying attention to the damn lecture!

At nineteen years old, you’re going through quite the crisis! I know it’s hard living on your own, finding yourself, taking tough classes, and living off of ramen noodles. You’re perplexed by how you can have so much, yet feel like everything is just outside your grasp. There’s always one more step. Are you cut out for this? Is independence right now all it’s cracked up to be? Can you compete with everyone else racing towards the same destination? Will you succeed? Do these questions have answers?

Sure they do. It's your job to generate those answers.

Two years from now, you’re going to go to Nicaragua on a mission trip. You’re going to meet people your age who don’t have families, or an apartment with two kick ass roommates, or food in the fridge, or a college program to attend. One of the people you meet, his name is Aaron, is going to tell you that he’s actually working on his Bachelor’s degree, but it’s hard for him because he has to keep his brothers off the streets and find a way to work enough to feed mom and the boys. He won’t know what to do after he graduates because a degree over there doesn’t give him access to a career. He’s in school simply because he loves to learn and values education. In addition to that, he finds time to lead a club for Young Life because “God comes first, and God is all about family.” The obvious first lesson you’ll take away from meeting him is what anyone with half a heart would realize; you have it made. You’re #Blessed #FirstWorldProblems #OMGFinalsSuck #ICantBelieveHeOrSheDidThisOrThat #WhyDoesFreeFoodRequireHourLongMeetings #ThisWorldClassGymIsSoPacked #ThisFreePublicTransportationIsAlwaysLate #WoeIsMe #Fml #Sighhhh.

However, you’re going to learn another, more subtle lesson. It’s going to creep up on you as you watch Aaron act a fool in one of his improv comedy sketches. He has a joy that you don’t. It’s a joy that comes from the simplicity of life; the bare essence you uncover as you strip away the stressful veneer of deadlines, expectations, and that lab you don’t know how to do. He’s fulfilled by being alive. Breathing. Walking. Eating. Communicating. Singing. Dancing. Laughing. Loving. Living is enough for him. It doesn’t matter what other people think, he’s unapologetically himself. The worst stress comes from hiding who you really are – covering up the truth. Stress consumes us when we let fear reign supreme.

Despite the dangers of living in a third world country, and maintaining nobility in that lifestyle, Aaron is never scared. Hope is his default.

There’s elegance in simplicity, and the deepest joy is found in the core of what it means to simply be a part of divine artistry. Morph stress into a tool to answer those questions. The answers are a transient product of who you are and the clarity of what you believe. Push yourself beyond what you're capable of, that's the only reason limits exist.

I know you’re stressed now but there’s really nothing to worry about. The key is holding on to what really matters, your convictions and your purpose. I regret to inform you that you will not get an internship this summer. Actually, for the next two summers you’ll work two slightly above minimum wage jobs and you’ll frivolously spend what you should have been saving for the semester. Pops is going to have to bail you out a couple of times and you’ll have to humbly accept the torment of temporary dependence due to your own irresponsibility. Be ready for that, it's a tough lesson.

You won’t score your first internship until your very last summer in college. Better late than never. You’ll work at NASA’s KSC and it will make you question why in the world you decided to go into engineering. You’ll find the answer to that question by not settling for boredom and taking the initiative to work on a legitimate design. That experience will taste pretty sweet.

Your last semester will be the hardest, for many reasons, the biggest of which has nothing to do with academics. You’ll graduate by the skin of your teeth thanks to your procrastinating ways, but you’ll exude a peculiar confidence. It’s the kind of confidence that comes from overcoming obstacles and conquering adversity in your own unique way, by your own merit. It will be intriguing enough to land you a position at the biggest aerospace company in the world; you know which one I’m talking about. You’ll realize that it was all worth it. The unnecessary hassle of moving for college and being poor when you didn’t have to — that will build the character that makes your sorry GPA a risk worth taking. You’ll find that your ‘all or nothing’ nature and willingness to just ‘go for it’ will be your greatest professional asset. Building character is more valuable than learning from a textbook. You made it kid.

Meanwhile, you know that issue you have with girls? You know, the whole ‘I don’t have one’ problem? First of all, you're nineteen dude. Chill out. It should be of no surprise to you that you’ll get your heart broken three times by the same person. Yes, you guessed it; it’s that vicious cycle that you stubbornly can’t seem to walk away from. It’s going to suck. You’re going to feel worthless in a very awkward sense because viewing yourself that way is unnatural to you. It’ll feel like your heart beats only due to muscle memory and everything you’re passionate about, the world you’ve created around you, will collapse and leave you in an empty meaningless space with no sense of direction. You’ll recover and then relapse, kind of like an addiction – exactly like an addiction. Here’s the thing, she does love you, she just does it when you’re not around because it’s easier. It’s hard when you’re present because there’s a lot of slack to pick up. You have to love yourself first kid. I suggest you start working on that. You’ll recover and come into your own. It'll be really dark for a while, and then you'll start to experience the beauty of life and new opportunities again. You'll learn a lot. You’re pretty great, and it’s important for you to see that and believe it.

You know how you hate writing? Well, you’ll be writing this letter, on a blog, along with other stuff. You’ll even write to Aaron through Facebook and maintain a close friendship. He graduates college by the way, and now he can take care of his family with a little help. Change kid. You change quite a bit. You’re still changing. Embrace it! Change is powerful when it results in growth and self-awareness. Just remember this simple fact of life: There’s always one more step.

P.S.

Remember how you joined the Sabor Latino dance team freshman year, but you had to quit because it was too overwhelming with school? Meet me in SoCal five years from now. I have a surprise for you.

Yea, that’s right, the city of angels.

- Me

 

Motorcycle Diaries - Cook's Corner

I was on the 22 freeway heading east towards Topanga Canyon. The cool wind was creeping through the open vents on my helmet and I could taste the sense of freedom that comes from riding without having somewhere to be. There’s a rush that comes from having your life so tangibly in your hands, where safety and harm meet and dance with the clutch and throttle.

Carpool lane. Clutch in. Shift up. Accelerate. Faster. Curve up ahead. Press right. Lean right. Nice, that felt good. There’s the mountain I’ll be riding up ahead, man it looks awesome. Oh shit! Traffic! Alright Alberto, downshift. Slow down. Stand-still up ahead. Split the lane. Friction zone. Watch for turn signals. Watch for assholes who don’t use their turn signals. Alright, contingency plan – What will you do if a car doesn’t see you and cuts in front of you to switch lanes? Hmmm…I’ll ram my bike into him, do a front flip onto the hood of his car, punch through the windshield and slap him for being an idiot! Does that work? Eh, probably not…Oh hey look! Traffic is letting up. Is this my exit? Chapman. Yea that’s it. Here we go!

After exiting the freeway, I was on the path leading up to Santiago Canyon Road. It was my first time doing this ride so I planned on soaking it all in. Before entering the canyon, I encountered a small crew of bikers – there were three of them. All three were wearing sports gear with GoPro cameras on their helmets and riding crotch rockets. Their high-rev engines sounded both awesome and intimidating. I rolled up next to one of them at a red light. The guy next to me pulled his visor up and asked me if I was going to the canyon. I said yes, and then he introduced himself and we talked – yelled for a bit over the roaring engines. Through his helmet I could see wrinkles on his face; this guy was in his forties at the youngest! All three of them were older. The light turned green and he looked at me and said, “Keep the rubber on the ground.” Then, while I blinked, he was gone. I looked forward to see him popping a wheelie through the intersection. I’m not going to lie, I was impressed. The kid inside of me thought, “Man, I want to pop a wheelie one day!” But the mature adult side of me thought, “Hopefully you’re not popping wheelies on a crotch rocket at age forty.”

I continued into the canyon and it was exhilarating. The sun was high enough to light the way but low enough to be behind me. It was the perfect amount of danger for my first ride on a canyon road. I got to practice cornering with large sweeping turns and was rewarded with a spectacular view at the end.

I stopped at a small biker bar on the corner of a random intersection. Harleys were parked out front and I parked my small Suzie in between two large ones. I walked into Cook’s Corner. It was a small dive bar, pretty empty, with peanut shells all across the floor. I went over to the bar and sat next to this guy that must have weighed close to 400 pounds. He was huge! He had a double shot of Jack in one hand, and a beer in the other. I asked the bartender about food and he pointed to the kitchen where I had to go place an order. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with avocado, because here in California, we put avocado on everything. I returned to the bar and ordered a Stone IPA from the bartender. He had few words as he served it to me foaming over the brim.

I ate my burger (delicious!) and conversed with the individual next to me. He used to be in the army, and now he works at a hospital in LA – we were far from LA. He rides a 1500 CC Harley built for a big man. He asked me how long I had been riding. I told him that I just started in January. He then proceeded to tell me stories of him and his buddies going out for rides and the crashes he’s seen. He pulled out his phone and showed my pictures of a crash from his buddy who took a turn too fast and spilled on the low side. He ended up about thirty feet down the mountain with some broken ribs and a messed up bike. Apparently the crash happened two weeks ago, and his buddy is back on a bike riding again. Can’t get rid of the bug.

Another guy walked over because he overheard our conversation. He was skinny with gritty teeth and an incredibly long beard. His beard was probably bigger than my torso. He joined in, swapping horror stories and ragging on what his buddies did wrong to crash. The bartender stood there, with his hair covered by a bandana, wiping a glass clean. He shared some stories too. Is this customary at biker bars, to sit and talk about horror stories of your buddies crashing? If so, I need to find me a biker gang with people willing to spill on the road and give me juicy “he’s lucky he’s not dead” stories.

I’m halfway through my burger and I start to get to know the guy next to me. He looked hard, but he really wasn’t. I asked him what he was doing out there randomly on a Monday evening. The joint was empty. He stared at his empty double shot Jack Daniels glass and said, “I just got off of work and I didn’t want to go home. You?” I responded, “Mondays suck if you go home right after work.” He cracked a smile and it was this obvious recognition of a deep sadness that we were both there to try and stop thinking about. It was an unspoken solidarity. I bought him a beer, and at that precise moment, we weren’t alone. Being alone is best experienced on the open road.

The guy left after returning the favor and buying me a beer. I was sitting there finishing my burger and I realized…my life is totally like a movie right now! This scene is so classic! I chuckled at the thought of films actually being drawn from real life, although, it does make sense. Clearly I’m not the only one who’s ever randomly gone on a motorcycle ride for the sake of freedom and stopped at a dive bar for the sake of beer. I thought to myself, “If I were directing this film, how would this scene end?” A smile came across my face as I got to dictate what happened next.

I finished my burger, and my beer, and I tipped the bartender for both service and company. I grabbed my jacket in one hand and my helmet in the other. I slowly made my way to the front door of the bar, looking around to make sure I could remember the place. Then, with authority, I kicked the front door open with my head held high and hope in my eyes. There was a guy outside smoking a pipe through the small opening between his overpowering mustache and beard. He looked at me and asked, “Where you headed?”

I turned on my bike, put my jacket on, and right before putting on my helmet, I looked back at him with a new-found sense of determination and said, “I’m going home.”

Familiar Spaces

In twenty-four years of existence, three cities, college away from home, and an overwhelming push from the professional environment, I have never once lived on my own. I must confess that I have no idea what it’s like to have my own space and not have to share it. I grew up with a little brother five years younger than me in a family environment where privacy was not really an option. I had two roommates at any given point throughout my four years of college. Now I’m down to one roommate in an 860 sq ft 2 bed 2 bath apartment. Most people my age have either lived on their own at some point, or express a strong desire to do so after having some kind of annoyingly terrible experience. I know people who have lost best friends and they blame it on having the guts to live with them. Sharing personal space seems to invoke one common feeling: crowded.

Not including my immediate family, I’ve lived with a total of seven people to this day. Not only have I lived with seven people, but I’ve lived with seven entirely different people with entirely different styles of living. I started off my college academic adventures with two good friends from high school. Both guys. Both similar cultures. One was a psychology major, the other was a ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life’ major. I was studying engineering. During the summer, before we started school, the three of us worked together to fix up the condo. We were in the business of creating a home. I could write a book with the stories I have in my pocket from those days, but the most important thing I remember is the dynamic. We would cook for each other, clean for each other, and yell at each other for not cooking and cleaning enough for each other. It was just like growing up at home! We had parties and tried new things on campus together. We would invent crazy shenanigans to fill up a Saturday and we learned how to laugh at each other, and ourselves. We sang at the top of our lungs whether it was some gospel hymn or Tenacious D. We were our own fraternity starting our quest for self discovery and awareness; making mistakes and learning how to grow together. It was simple really, everything from schedules to what was in the fridge at any given moment was in flux, but the chemistry and identity of the house never wavered. We would eat dinner together at the dining room table.

After two years, one of them moved out to pursue what he really wanted to study in a different city. His room was filled with another good friend of mine from high school who had just recently come out as openly gay. That made only a positive difference as living with him taught me a lot about love, human sexuality, honesty, and acceptance. We hung out a lot, and the couch was pretty much his home already, so naturally, it made sense for him to upgrade to his own room. I knew that change was coming and nothing but excitement coursed through my veins. This transitional period was interesting because we were already in the flow of college life. It was no longer unfamiliar to us. The same rules applied and the same culture followed. We would eat dinner together at the dining room table.

Shortly after, the other original roommate moved out and a friend of the new one moved in. She was an artist studying music at the time. I knew the infusion of talent would create an entirely different atmosphere as it changed from two straight bros, to one gay bro and some artsy girl I didn’t even know. Home became an adventure in and of itself. A lot of things changed around the house. Her room now had a giant mural painted by one of her friends. Parties had more dancing, more hookups, and more people I didn’t know. Dinners changed from rice and beans to spinach salads, cheeses, and a bottle of red wine. Before, I’d come home to talk about girls, drink beer, and figure out how to build a stripper pole for parties (This actually happened #mylifeisbro). Now, I came home to listen to acoustic guitar playing and trippy electronica music while laughing hysterically at random improvisational acts meant to tease each other. Conversations geared towards women’s rights, Tina Fey, and boys. I was actually surprised at how much I had to say about boys, boys are jerks. Living with artists, emotions ran higher. Both anger and love were more passionate. Fights were louder and hugs were longer. I felt like I was in a Tarantino film right before shit hits the fan and everybody dies. My favorite days were when she would cook from a random recipe she found online, he would be writing some deep self reflection piece, and I would be studying calculus on our family room white board. Then, all three of us would stop what we were doing, and we would eat dinner together at the dining room table.

He was the first one to graduate and I still had a semester left. The new couch bum we had acquired moved in to replace him. I now lived with two girls. She was studying biology and was the polar opposite of the artist, now a theater major. She was a shy introvert who dared to share her space with two pretty crazy extroverts. She's bold. All of a sudden, the house was ugly. We needed a new rug with colors other than brown and we needed vibrant red pillows. We needed Christmas lights, Katy Perry, and girly smell radiating from the bathroom while they got ready to go out. This was new for me as I grew up with only a younger brother. Parties and get-togethers had more girls and pillow talk. I was the token server at said get-togethers. I would come home to deep three hour conversations about life, the universe, science, drama, and of course, boys. Sitting on the couch to watch a movie on Netflix suddenly seemed more intimate as we’d all share the same blanket. I came home to more tears that needed to turn into smiles. Wine was the elixir of truth, and I remember one time, we danced with pillows to Frank Sinatra. Why we danced with pillows is irrelevant; the important thing is that dancing with pillows now seemed to be perfectly encouraged and acceptable behavior. At school I was an engineer, but at home I was an artist, a therapist, a philosopher, a handy man, the football freak, and a humble servant for two beautiful queens. It was the first time in my life that I was so many things all at once. I felt valuable. My favorite part was talking about boys being jerks at the dining room table.

After graduating college, I moved to the complete opposite side of the country to start my career. Now residing in southern California, I didn’t know anyone when I originally got here. However, I didn’t really fear not knowing anyone as much as I did living by myself. The cost of living here is also crazy expensive so I did what any young professional twenty-something would do…I went straight to craigslist! I found someone looking for a roommate for a three month period of time before the lease ended. We met chatting with my parents over bowls of spaghetti and two days later, I was moved in. It was actually a pretty smooth transition. We made getting to know each other a priority and established that open communication would be the law of the land. He was my first friend in southern California, and the patron of initial exploration of my new home. I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction. He liked to work out and knew a lot about nutrition, so I would cook based on his suggestions and we would eat dinner together at the dining room table.

I knowingly set up my situation such that I had three months to acclimate to my new work environment and hopefully meet people and make some friends. It was a leap of faith really, but within those three months, I met the Godsend that is my current roommate. We actually met about a month before my lease was ending and there was a type of mystical comfort I felt the first few times we talked – a hidden familiarity. I would say we were probably around our tenth conversation, ever, when this happened:

- So where do you live?

- Oh I live in HB over by Bella Terra.

- Word. I live close to work over by the mall.

- You like it?

- It’s okay. I’m thinking of moving out.

- Yea me too. When’s your lease up?

- July 3^rd. Yours?

- July 2^nd.

  (Moment of simultaneous epiphany)

- Roomies?

- Roomies.

Two weeks later we moved into our new place. We furnished it with a couch we swiped up (getting it up the stairs took a third, superhero friend that we have), and a coffee table we found on craigslist. Our living room is so small that those two things, along with our TV, make it look full. I will forever designate the occurrence of this living situation as a miraculous act of God. Timing was on point and we laugh almost every day. It’s coming on two years now, and the server ladies at the Chinese restaurant on the corner think that we’re brothers. Sharing is easy because, at twenty-four years old, we both know how to do it. If he listens to music while he’s studying he doesn’t have to use headphones because we share the same taste in music. If I’m watching a movie or TV, he’ll sit on the couch and watch it with me if he’s not busy. I come home to relax and converse about anything ranging from Lil Wayne to Isaac Newton. The other day he was sick and he asked me to get a thermometer and some soup. On my way back from the Chinese restaurant, I realized that the server ladies are right – we are brothers. That’s fortune cookie wisdom right there.

The invisible amalgamating force behind all of my space sharing experiences has been one simplistic, powerful idea:

Family.

Throughout the course of my life thus far, family has been an extremely influential factor in regards to who I am, where I am, and what I’ve become. Reminiscing on all the people I’ve lived with, we created a family. That condo in Gainesville, Florida was a home and it had a culture and an identity. It was a living, breathing, and changing entity. Family is what makes sharing your space meaningful, impactful, and worth it.

Some people say that you can’t pick your family but you can pick your friends. I beg to differ. Family isn’t some default assignment of blood relatives. That’s nature; procreation and genetics. Family is an idea – a shared idea. Family is consciously created and developed. It is the mechanism by which we unite and give each other the power of influence to fuse different personalities. The crowded nature of family is supposed to destroy our self-centered need for control and ownership, and transform it into the act of sharing for the sake of life changing communion. Family is unraveled using the tools of open communication, honesty, respect, compassion, forgiveness, and love. Family is chiseled by confrontation, sacrifice, frustration and relief. Family is fortified by loyalty, commitment, and dedication. You can choose your family; you do it with the people you share your space with, whether it is at work, school, or personal space. At this age, we should be choosing our family by giving intentional and careful consideration to who we date; bearing in mind that they should be someone we can love and marry in the near future. To this day, I’m still close friends with every single person I’ve ever lived with. They’re a part of me, and a part of my family. I honestly hope to never have to live alone. Perhaps that’s due to my extremely extroverted personality, but also because I cherish my family. There are no bad experiences with true family, just challenging learning opportunities and the domain of growth.

Tonight, we’ll come home from work, talk about our days and crack some jokes. We’ll complain about the neighbors and plot creative ways to destroy them. We’ll then cue the language of art with some tunes or an engaging story on the TV. We’ll crack open a book or study for grad school. And then, we’ll eat dinner together at the dining room table.

#CaribBoyz

Keep Moving

Sunrise to sunset is a long way to travel. I still remember the flight here. It was five hours of bubbling excitement in anticipation of my new adventure. To be sincere, I wasn’t really sad at all. I was filled with a free spirit; I’ll go where the wind takes me! I left Florida for three reasons:

1)      Start my career in a new place.
2)      Southern California weather.

3)      Move on from heartbreak.

Number 1

I grew up in central Florida, Orlando to be specific. I was actually born in Los Angeles but we moved when I was very young. I lived a safe suburban lifestyle in the flat lands of the Hispanic south. I remember it being a big day when my mom first let me ride my bike to school in fourth grade. I remember hating riding my bike to school in Middle School. I remember knowing everyone in my area and making friends so easily. I was zoned for a specific high school. The way it works in central Florida is that you go where they tell you to. Choice isn’t exactly the swing state’s strong suit. I, however, found a loophole. I joined a magnet program that would allow me to go to a different high school than the one I was zoned for. This was an opportunity full of new people, new experiences, and new environments. I could’ve gone to the high school I was zoned for with the same people I had gone to school with for 6 years, but something about that seemed boring to me. I like change.

My high school years were great. My best friendships to this day come from those years, which oddly enough, doesn’t seem to be that common of an occurrence. My high school also happened to be right across from the biggest university in central Florida. Obviously, most of my classmates were graduating high school to go to said university. It would be like high school part 2, only this time with keg parties and smelly apartments. I, again, chose to go to a different school. It was 2 hours north of Orlando and I didn’t know very many people who were going there but I knew enough to make me feel comfortable. It was a small college town that was very different from everything I grew up with. Change started to become a theme in my life.

I learned a lot in college. It was my first time living on my own. I moved out of my parents’ house at 17 years old. I had to budget, cook, study, work, and party…none of which I did particularly well, except for the partying. I started learning how to be independent in college. I learned that academia is only as valuable as the character that holds it. It was a whimsical time mixed with the pressure of setting yourself up for…well…the rest of your life. It probably is of no surprise that once I graduated college, I felt like I was done with Florida. I wanted to leave. It felt small. The only meaning that existed there was my family and friends, both of which had been with me for quite some time. I had always wanted to go back to southern California, given that I was born there. I never really got to experience it. I took the opportunity to start my career as an engineer in California. Change seems to be somewhat of a life companion. Now, Florida seems smaller than ever.

Number 2

The weather here is perfect. No humidity. Sunshine almost every day. Perfect temperature. Beaches. Mountains. Snow. Surf. Smog (air you can’t see is air you can’t trust!).

It’s all here. What a perfect place. What a great location for exploration. If you try to compete with southern California weather, trust me, you’ll fail. I always wondered why weather was so important when people were choosing where to live…now I know.

Number 3

My heart is still in Florida. I’ve been in California for close to two years now, and every time I go to Orlando for a visit, it all still smells familiar. I fell in love in Florida. I got my heart broken there too. It’s interesting how those two experiences can get tied so viscerally to a location. After graduating college, Florida was driving me crazy with memories. I felt like I had to escape. How many applications did I fill out for jobs in Florida? Zero. It wasn’t even an option.

It’s funny how the beauty of a location seems dependent on where your heart lies at the time. It’s almost like that pair of glasses with which we view our surroundings. I had to leave Florida because I needed a new prescription. My heart was in a sad place and I couldn’t walk around the city without bringing it with me. Perhaps I was being somewhat of a coward trying to run away, but I felt reason number 2 was enough justification. The funny thing is that when I left, I brought that heart with me. I brought her with me. Texts, phone calls, notes, confusion, highs and lows…California didn’t take them away, it just gave me better weather to experience them in. Change is not an escape.

Change

My dad told me something interesting today. He told me that I took a leap of faith by moving so far away without knowing anyone. The west coast was the first move I made where I didn’t know at least a small group of people. I was literally setting out to be alone, with my fragile heart, just hoping that I would find something worthy of discovery, maybe myself. My dad told me it was a bold move, he didn’t know if he would have had the guts to do it himself. For anyone who knows about my relationship with my pops, hearing that was a big deal for me.

Seventeen days from now will mark two years since I’ve been here. I would love to be typing a blog post about how moving to California was the best thing that ever happened to me, how I’ve moved on and generated a whole new set of friends and a whole new life. Unfortunately, that’s not the case just yet. Here’s the truth:

Moving to a place a sizable distance away where you don’t know a soul is an extremely difficult experience. If you’re an introvert, it might not be as hard but you’ll be forking over more rent money to live by yourself. The professional world is much different than academia. It’s a world fueled by money, run by old people, and not as conducive to those “hey, let’s sit around, eat ice cream, and watch Netflix” type friendships. In fact, I don’t even remember the last time someone came into my apartment unannounced, walked into my kitchen, opened my fridge, and ate my food. That used to be daily life and now it’s a distant memory…2,400 miles to be exact.

At first, everything is new. There’s excitement in the air because no matter where you go or who you meet, it’s an adventure. It’s something completely different than what you’re used to. As time advances, the excitement starts to fade. After two years, I’ve made a few good friends, done a lot of really cool activities, bought some cool stuff, and still have my heart in the same place; all of which required significantly more initiative than they ever did before. The thing about change is that it’s somewhat fleeting, an instantaneous event that re-directs your life’s circumstances. However, I have learned that change doesn’t heal, and neither does time. Change distracts, while time conditions.

Don’t get me wrong, change is good, and so is time. Both are the tools we use with our power of choice to craft our lives. Healing, however, comes from within. It comes from confrontation with reality. It comes from admitting that two years later, southern California can be pretty lonely sometimes. It comes from realizing that forging meaningful relationships requires a lot more effort than it used to. It comes from understanding that old friends have their own things going on, and less time to catch up with you. It comes from writing blog posts about your thoughts and feelings, giving you the voice that used to talk on the phone for hours with that girl from Florida.

Perhaps there’s a much more important change that holds more weight than where we’re going to live and what we’re going to do. Maybe this confrontation of self can inspire a change in perspective. If we can change our perspective, every other change of circumstance or conditioning of time becomes powerless. There’s a plethora of things I can’t control, but perspective is not one of them. Right now, I live and work in southern California. I’m going to school and I do things that I enjoy. I have a few good friends that I love very much. I still have my family and friends from Florida (distance doesn’t put a dent in that). Things that used to be easy have become harder but not impossible, and the weather really is great. My heart is in recovery mode looking for perspective. Spring is in the air, and I need a new pair of sunglasses.

I think it’s time for a change.

Sonship

I had an interview last night at approximately 12:30 am. It took place through the medium of text messaging and was perhaps the most meaningful interview I've had in a while. No, it wasn't for a job, it was a friend. He was asking me some pretty important questions. What would I do with a substantial amount of money saved up? What skills do I possess? What have I mastered? What sets me apart from others? What's the next step in my career? In life? Lucky for him, these are all things that I regularly think about so I actually had some answers. However, I started contemplating what it takes to answer those questions. Being a goal oriented person, I often forgo understanding for the sake of efficiency. I tend to think critically, developing a process that makes sense and then executing it. In doing so, I realized something rather important about the process of becoming who you want to be. It involves relationship.

Before I go into this, I would highly recommend getting yourself one of these interviewing friends. They come in handy.

I've wondered why people (myself included) struggle so much achieving certain goals. In theory, it should be simple: make a plan, do it, the end. However, perhaps there's more to it than that. See, who we set out to be or what we set out to do has a very critical relationship with who or what is affected by it. I think that understanding this relationship is vital to our personal development.

Psychology points to these relationships quite frequently. As children, our parents tend to serve as the model for everything from love to what we decide for our careers. It's rather obvious, and most people would agree, that this is perhaps the most crucial relationship as we develop physically, mentally, and emotionally. There's an important element that relationships have that I feel is sometimes overlooked: they're two sided. Maybe, the best way to achieve proper growth is understanding the other side. I'll go as far as to say that it's the most important aspect of maturity.

I have a goal, one I'm quite passionate about. I want to be a good father one day. The next question becomes, how do I go about doing that? What can I do RIGHT NOW to contribute to this goal? I'm not a father, and I'm not married, but I am a son. Seeing as the most common way of learning is observing example, then perhaps the key to being a good father is being able to set the example of being a good son. That's something I can do right now! It makes sense, crawl before you can walk, walk before you can run. Do you want to be a good parent one day? First learn how to be a good son or daughter, then learn how to be a good wife or husband.

This idea can be applied to most of the broad goals that we want to achieve. Want to be a good teacher? First learn to be a student. Good communicator? First learn to listen. Good leader? First learn to follow. Good doctor? First learn to be a good patient. Good engineer? First learn to be a good technician. Good film maker? First learn how to watch film. Want to receive? Learn to give. Want honesty? Respect? Learn to give more. Want to love? Learn how to be loved. Want to be a disciple? Live SONSHIP.

I don't think it's coincidence that we can learn most of these things simultaneously through learning to be good sons and daughters. That's our very first job, and perhaps the most important.

We encounter different stages in life, but with this perspective, we know where the process starts. I don't know about you, but I have a lot of work to do.

"What skills would you say you've mastered?"

"I haven't mastered anything."

"I knew you'd say that."

Nicaragua - Corazon de Dios

Written March 15, 2011

Quisiera estar en un lugar
Donde el aire que respiro
No tenga olor a mortedumbre
Donde la sobra
No sea la costumbre.

Quisiera estar en un lugar
Donde mis labios no te necesitan para cantar
Donde mi cancion de alegria, por medio de una botella,
No parece mentira.

Quisiera estar en un lugar
Donde la existencia de un padre
No esta cubierta por la ausencia de amor.
Necesito una mano sanadora
Que me alivia este dolor.

Quisiera estar en un lugar
Donde mi voz no cae sobre oidos sordos,
Porque mi hablar no tiene sonido si nadie lo escucha,
Donde mis pensamientos no son gritos del silencio…

…Silencio, silencio, silencio…

En medio del silencio
Encuentro este lugar.
Un aire refrescante
Donde el respiro me levanta.
Una cancion que alaba
Al unico que me da esperanza.
Estoy en un lugar donde mi padre me abraza
y dice,
“Hijo mio”

…y de repente se rompe el silencio…

Siento el frio del viento que lleva mi voz
Al corazon de un gran padre.

Lo sientes? Lo sientes? Lo sientes?
El viento habla…

Asi que prestame un oido
Para escuchar mi sonido.
Un hijo que fue dolorido
A nivel de martillo
Para perdonar a los pillos
Y liberar el cautivo.
No se si lo saben,
Pero su nombre es JesuCristo.

El nos lleva a este lugar
Lo siembra por dentro en lo profundo
Y ahora os digo que desde
Lo interior a lo exterior,
Dios nos ama, nos rescata, nos libera.

Este lugar esta aqui,
Este lugar es Esteli, Jinotega, Matagalpa, Leon, Managua,
Y se que me falta asi que es todo Nicaragua!
Este lugar esta dentro de ti.
Ya no estoy en aquel lugar,
porque ahora,
Estoy aqui.

Push Limits

Written June 8, 2013

Hope and fear seem to walk hand in hand.

We dream big but cower at the thought of an unknown future. Dreaming small makes us feel inadequate.

We are the sum of our experiences, multiplied by our passions, and divided by our burdens, all the while subtracting from the finite amount of time we have to solve the equation.

Life is confined.

In the darkness we find light. In the light, we see shadows - the magnification of our imperfections.

Barriers are created in the mind while the heart is imprisoned by our perception. Hope and fear converge at the recognizance of open eyes.

We see what we want to see.

Our eyes are fixed on discrete moments in time, moments that shape us, shake us, define us.

We find ourselves only when we are lost - one cannot find what is not lost.

In the darkness, shadows are hidden, exposed by glimpses of ilumination - we aspire to be stars.

As dreams grow, light and darkness intertwine to yield a path towards what could be, what should be, what may be, what will be.

As shadow creeps into light, it is painfully whitened. An etherial transformation by which our eyes become truly fixed...

- A Place Beyond Hope And Fear

Confession

Written May 30, 2013

I struggle. I heavily exaggerate the romance of the human experience. Knowing about me will show you that I think in excess. Knowing me will show you that I feel in excess. I'm intense. Too intense. I'm an idealist. I like to fix things, but sometimes I end up breaking them. I like to design things, but sometimes nobody asks for my schematic. I go into games without practicing. I confront time with eternity. I'm broken. My pieces gravitate in different directions. Sometimes I'm a contradiction. Sometimes I'm a hypocrite. I push, but don't let others pull. Instead of fleeing temptation, I tempt fate. Instead of accepting, I manipulate. The clutch of my heart is in the friction zone and I haven't quite figured out how to switch the gears. I see through a narrow lens framed by hubris. I should check my prescription while I'm at it. I speak logic but listen to art. I'm a brush looking for a canvas. I need more colors on my palette. Here we go.

I like control. A lot. Too much. My ego holds the reins as I steer only looking in one direction - not always forward.

I'm protective, which is extremely arrogant of me to think I can actually protect you.

I seek to be understood more than to understand. I don't comprehend different journeys than my own.

I'm stubborn. I have to make mistakes. Then I have to solve mistakes.

I travel with the intrinsic loneliness of being the only one in my vessel while the herd goes down a different path.

My name is Alberto, and I am a sinner.

I'm humbled by love. I'm transformed by grace. I stumble out of the boat and try to walk on water, all the while still looking at the boat, missing the hand that saves. But even if I don't grab, I'll never drown. I swim in an ocean of what I don't know, riding waves I can't explain.

I want to be more.

"Every time I speak to you, you inspire me to be better."

I want to be that.

Why Confess? Because it's hard. Why share? Because it's harder. Living in truth is painfully liberating.
I've realized I may not know much, but I'm getting to know me.

Teach me. Change me. Forgive me.

My name is Alberto, and I am redeemed.