Mexican Tales and a Springtime Serenade

I was strumming on my guitar as we sat around the bonfire when my youngest niece requested that I play “Mr. Lincoln.” Having never played the song before, I searched for the chords and began singing once I found them. The musical prose of the song accurately interprets its melancholy message and has significantly impacted my five-year-old niece. She informed me, “Aunt Leah, I might have tears in my eyes if you play that song. But it’s OK.”

Our Hispanic neighbors joined us for the weenie roast. They brought along homemade potato tacos to accompany our all-American hot dogs—a typical blend of cultural trends. Mario Sr. shared a few fables he learned as an impoverished child, growing up in Mexico. He spoke of the good and evil that his grandmother taught him about recounting the sacred lessons of how God works in “different” ways.

After everyone left, I listened to the sounds of spring and watched as the fire died out. Nearby coyotes howled against an orchestra of crickets and frogs that left an impression comparable to “Mr. Lincoln’s.” A wailing train blew its horn in the distance as if to publicize the array of concealed emotions I’ve experienced this week. I stared into the fire pit pondering the excruciating pain inflicted by burns and it reminded me of the old saying, “if you play with fire, you’re gonna get burned.” How quickly we learn that lesson as a child; as it applies to the physical realm. Yet even as adults, we continue to think we are exempt from the dangers of those less tangible.

After enjoying the company of family and friends, I sat alone at the fire. I became aware of my own solitude and the human necessity of its reciprocate: community. There is no greater remedy for one in need of mending. Community—communication—communion—each requires the sharing of something. To share, we rely on one another. We weren’t meant to face this journey alone.

One of Mario’s tales exemplified these lessons through the story of a young man who shared his food and water with others. Though he didn’t have any to spare, they needed it more than he did. Likewise, they saved his life when he was under attack by his own brothers. We are guaranteed trials in this life. We are not guaranteed a support system as we face them. Make yourself available to others by recognizing their needs. The day will come when the tables are turned. I visited a church last week whose pastor mentioned a quote worth passing along: “Adversity doesn’t build character; it only reveals it.”

Transparency: the real you

Officers of the Public Relations Student Society of America (PRSSA) chapter on campus held a PR Unplugged event today. Four prominent PR specialists spoke to an audience of students, professors and professionals about personal branding, social media, crisis communication and media relations.

Though a number of beneficial topics were covered, I took particular interest in their reiteration of establishing trust and transparency through communication with clients and in our brands. These concepts aligned with much of the content I produced for my article, Technology, Identity, Community that appeared in Pork Business Journal last summer. In a world where global communication has become commonplace, it’s tempting to conclude that we, as a society, have lost touch with these values—particularly when headlines daily reveal breeches of trust and lax transparency.

Debra Nalchajian-Cohen, founder of Cohen Communications, encouraged effective communication up front, stating that “facts rise to the top quickly.” Even when you think they can’t, people can see right through you.

Fresno State professor of PR, Betsy Hays, expressed the importance of congruency. When your words don’t match your actions, you lose credibility and destroy your brand with a bad reputation.

These notions pertain directly to PR, but are just as applicable to our daily interactions with each other. Relationships are commonly severed by distrust and a lack of effective communication. Becoming an open book to your counter-part is positively less harmful than putting up a front. You are more likely to incur desired results by making yourself vulnerable.

The times I have decided to step out in faith, into a world of unfamiliarity and discomfort, have been the times that I have taken my largest strides toward personal growth. Transparency may ignite feelings of discomfort at first. But overcoming those fears is liberating. What is there to hide? Let's see the real you.

The Happiest Place on Earth

I returned home late last night after spending an extended weekend vacation with my family at the “happiest place on earth.” At the entrance the kids stopped to gather around a street performance by Mickey Mouse, Mary Poppins, the Mad Hatter and a marching band when the writer in me stepped back to observe.

Singing children clapped their hands then paused, only to raise them in the air begging to participate in the dancing celebration. Parents looked on with proud smiles, capturing indefinite records of the precious moments on camera. Some reconnected with their inner child, shamelessly belting out sing-along lyrics. All were living in the moment.

As the performance dwindled, people dispersed down Main Street with swelling anticipation. Music blared overhead as children everywhere grabbed hold of a parent and lead the way with pointed fingers. Oversized lollipops, trinkets and souvenirs were displayed near storefronts. The buildings were embellished with countless lights and intricate detail and kids passed with wide-eyed looks of amazement.

When we made it to the rides, I noticed that some children found ways to occupy their time while others waited impatiently in lines. Moms were reaching in handbags for snacks to appease their hungry kids while dads sought out their next destination on the map. Young couples took every opportunity to engage with one another but were frequently disrupted by the moving line. The screams and cries of tired and rejected kids competed with automated voices offering warnings and explanations of the rides. Loud laughter, cheerful music and clanking rides echoed all around. The smells of popcorn, cotton candy and churros combined to form the scent we all know as “Disneyland”.

This was my first time to the park with my nieces and nephews. While I was excited to share in the experience with them, there were definitely some things I was looking more forward to than others. I was surprised, though, by the renewed appreciation I had for the concepts relayed to the kids at the less-than-desirable attractions:

Despite the redundant melody and anti-climactic boat ride, “It’s a Small World” is a prominent representation of ethnic customs that exposes the kids to diversification. Despite the reality of racism the ride served as a small reminder of the strides we have taken toward harmony in this country. Evidence of this fact was displayed just outside the ride, by the multi-cultured spectators waiting in line.

In an address to the audience, Abraham Lincoln taught about the God-given right to liberty for each of those cultures represented, and the expense for which it’s been fought in this country. His presentation ended with a rendition of “His Truth is Marching On.” I was moved by the powerful message to never cease fighting for the protection of our liberty and to maintain the extreme value we place in it. I fought tears as I read the words “America, keep on dreaming,” displayed on the curtains at the show’s end.

Finally, as I soared above California at California Adventure, I was surprised at my stirred emotions at the recognition of the place I call home. Having grown up in the Golden State, I have often taken for granted the amazing things it has to offer. I realized that the places featured on the ride are in my backyard and that people all over the world dream of one day seeing them with their own eyes. How blessed I am to have experienced this lovely state—and so many others in this divine country.

Love is Everlasting

“Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illumines it.”
Martin Luther King, Jr.
(1929-1968); Minister, Civil Rights Activist

I am not one of those people that despise Cupid’s holiday. I support any and every excuse to confess and express love. However, I do detest the impact its commercialization has on participants and inactive observers alike. As a member of the latter category—and as a woman—I cannot help but believe the newspaper ads, TV and radio commercials, billboards and internet when their messages convey that I should have an enormous bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates awaiting me at my desk. I hardly care for chocolate and flowers—destined to wither—have never appealed to me. Yet at this time of year, I coincidentally find myself craving the robust flavors of melting candies and the aroma of a dozen red roses as I click away at my keyboard.

Do heart shaped boxes and vases of long-stemmed flowers satisfy the universal need for love? Compared to my daily experiences with proven unconditional love, the gesture seems quite empty and senseless.

A valentine is “what you call the boy/girl you’re temporarily ‘dating’ for Valentine's Day,” according to the increasingly popular urbandictionary.com. The Web site, best known for its comical content, provides a sadly accurate depiction of the word. For some reason, society leads us to believe that our worth is displayed through inanimate objects while the commercial world capitalizes on this notion. I don’t aspire for temporary meaningless interactions with others and if Valentine’s Day gifts are representations of that, I am better off without them. I don’t want to be temporarily pacified. Like the rest of mankind, I desire lasting devotion.
Values.com | Your Billboard Unconditional Love

Music, Love, Life and Loss

I took my place in mom's Buick, plugged my headset into my cell phone and began humming along to Norah Jones as we traveled south on Highway 99. My flickering eyes momentarily grasped a tree whizzing by, then briefly paused before fixing their gaze on another. Similarly, my unleashed thoughts darted between my music class, our trip south and the hundreds of memories I have created along that very highway.

Grandma was in the front seat practicing a “flipping the pancake” motion in the palm of her hands--a technique she couldn't master for her doctor who recently diagnosed her with mild-to-moderate dementia. With enthusiasm like a child and the memory loss of an elder, she quickly answered, “four,” when mom asked her how many quarters were in two dollars. She began to sing an old praise song, "I've got a river of life flowing out of me," struggling to recite the lyrics she once did with ease. The song resonated within me. Ironically, we were to attend her baby brother's memorial service the following day. As if to accompany her, the rain beat a shout chorus of death on the windshield. The wipers forced a retreat with a symphony of life, wiping away the raindrops, resembling tears. “Death—Life—Death—Life.”

Grandma helped raise Uncle Obie after her mother died, when she was six years old. She has recounted, many times, the story of when she took him into Oklahoma City while "Papa" was gone at work during the day. But when I went to visit her last Thanksgiving, she included some details about their “strolls through the city” that she never had before.

During my visit to the City, I was well aware of the renovations and destruction of the buildings in Grandma’s memory. They have been replaced by buildings with newer styles and architectural trends than those of her day. One dilapidated building, though, stood at the edge of the city and displayed the words “Farmer's Market” across the top. I shot a picture, confident that Grandma would likely have recollections of this building above any other. I forgot to take the picture to her, but at the mere mention of it, her eyes lit up, “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed with a grin. She began to tell the story I've learned by heart:

“Papa would leave for work and I would take Obie by the hand, 'C'mon Obie, w'ere gonna go to town,'" the story always began. She explained that she would cross over the North and South Canadian Rivers that ran through downtown; though this time she struggled to recall their names. They frequented this farmers market where trains would unload fresh produce onto the dock. Grandma and Uncle Obie would dig fruit, unfit for merchandise, out of the trash can for their midday meal. For the first time in my life, I became aware of the destitute conditions they faced as kids. “We were poor, poor people. Nobody should have to live that way,” Grandma said with tears filling her eyes at the memory. “But we made it through.” She recalled workers at the dock dropping fruit on purpose “’cause they knew we was orphans—almost.”

I sat directly behind Grandma at the funeral, amazed at all she has endured: an unfortunate childhood, infidelity, failed marriages, domestic abuse, single-motherhood, and the deaths of two husbands, three sisters, many friends and now her little brother. I pondered the amount of tears she must have cried, and how she has sustained. I yearn for the determination she learned as a girl.

My determination thus far has landed me my first interview. Tomorrow, I will meet with members of the USDA regarding an assistantship program. I want to tell myself that I am nervous, but I refuse. When I begin to feel anxious, I remember the opportunity therein—all that I will take from the experience, regardless of its outcome—and my anxiety turns to excitement.

JoAnn sent me a timely letter of recommendation attached to an email with all of her latest and yet another opportunity. A firm in the Midwest has a job opening that she thinks would suit me well. I recently told myself that I will walk through every door that opens as I pursue my dreams. I see this as an open door and am fervently waiting to see what is on the other side.

I have kept myself busy and that makes the wait easy. I have picked up a side job shooting photography for a local performance horse ranch, attend weekly meetings for the California State FFA Conference Committee, and make a point to go to the gym twice a week. The work load for class is minimal. But the requirements are nothing short of enjoyment for me. I spend my mornings getting ready to the sounds of Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday, and Ella Fitzgerald. Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith are my motivation while I clean. Their music serves as a dual purpose. I receive therapy as I prepare for my exams.

Before we left town last Friday, I attended my music class. The instructor covered, in great detail, each of the aforementioned artists, sharing several pieces that tugged at my emotions. He ended our session by playing a Sinatra hit, “My Way.” Inspired, I kept my head down to hide the tears that filled my eyes as I packed my things to leave.

Billie Holiday also impacted me with her song, “Good Morning Heartache.” She captures the universal emotions that are all too often related to the loss of love. I remember something mom told me about my paternal Grandmother, from Missouri, after she died. The last thing Grandma Julie said to my mom on her death bed was, "You'ns love one another." The most important lesson we can learn from any circumstance in this life, is Love.

This concept has been a hard one for me to grasp, but I believe it is one I am learning. I wholeheartedly believe to love is to make a choice. True love is unconditional. It requires forgiveness. While I have been great at loving from a distance, I am in search for love that has no bounds.

Values

After being exposed to a continuous array of uplifting advertisements, I was lured to visit Values.com earlier this week. As I browsed the pages of The Foundation for a Better Life Web site, the evidence became overwhelming that my visit was predestined. The entire motive of the foundation is to encourage others to do good, through a select set of values. I’ve recently been considering ways in which I can serve my community. I felt compelled to implement their suggested values: persistence, opportunity, inspiration, peace, gratitude, live your dreams…etc. Each value, quote and billboard represents something I personally cherish and instantly became a supporter.

Shortly after visiting Values.com, my brother and I were discussing my financial situation. I informed him of a goal that I set for myself when I started college. I planned to put myself through school…and to do so without student loans. At the beginning of last semester, I had to begin relying on the support of my parents to help me finish. I failed to achieve my goal. As I shared with him how it was eating me up inside, he brought it to my attention that I was being prideful. “Think about how it makes mom and dad feel to be able to help you. Have you ever thought about that?” As a parent, he thought of the joy he will receive from providing an education for his children. He reminded me that I will graduate without any debt, and that I have much to be thankful for. The opportunity surfaced to seize the steadfast value of gratitude, but my pride crept in and smothered its invitation.

While I have it, I need to take the opportunity to publicly thank mom and dad for their unconditional support. Their monetary investment has been the least of their contributions. I have encountered extreme highs and lows throughout the years (“violent mood swings” as an old friend used to refer to them). Along the way, I have doubted many things; But never the loyalty of my parents who were there for me every step of the way. They have exemplified the values of devotion, sacrifice, dedication and encouragement.

During one of my breaks at school this week, I was thumbing through a magazine entitled The Writer, when 10 Habits of a Successful Writer caught my attention. I was immediately drawn to the article and after reading it, came to the realization that I possess many of the habits introduced therein. Like author Donald M. Murray, I “delight in anecdote and parable that reveals a larger story,” and I “treasure metaphor.” I can identify with him in that “I am always in the world and out of it.” I am constantly aware of my surroundings, scribbling notes containing “an essential tension that will release a text when it’s developed,” as he so eloquently wrote.

I examined the list and questioned my own routines with intent to implement those gone unpracticed. The only resounding negative response was to the habit of completion—the toughest one to master. Murray considers a piece to be complete once it’s been submitted—for without submission, you can’t be published. I have been published, but I have not made a habit of submission. Therefore, I will practice the values of determination and perseverance, until I develop a routine of submitting my work.

Questioning myself regarding two other habits, I found myself sitting on the fence. They require a sense of change within the individual; the writer must be able to contradict their own writing, admit past misinformation and be willing to revise their own precious material. Considering my new outlook on change, I imagine the “fence” is a hurdle I am soaring above, in mid-jump between a “no” response, and an unmistakable “yes!” I spent nearly the same amount of time editing and revising my last entry as I did writing it. But without those changes, it wasn’t nearly as effective to the reader. Change is good, and I am embracing it, along with the value of overcoming my fear of it.

Please take the time to visit Values.com to view a complete list of the values. As the foundation doesn’t receive monetary donations, it’s completely dependent on people sharing them. When incorporated into our communities, these values have the potential to transform our world.

Rainbows and New Beginnings

This life promises a constant cycle of repetition. The title of today’s post reflects how that cycle has gone full circle since my first entitled, “Cornfields and New Beginnings.” Just as I did at the start of that journey, today I face a fork in the road.

Daily, we are summoned to continue along the beaten path spewed before us. The path is convincing, for it is safe, familiar and adequate. Or we can make the courageous decision to turn down one of the millions of branches of opportunity, along the way.

Such was the choice I made to spend last summer in Iowa. Choosing complete unfamiliarity, turned out to be one of the best decisions I have ever made. I have absolutely no regrets about that decision or the effects of it. However, risk-takers are not promised ease or safety along the way. They often face vicious storms much like what I faced upon my return. But there is always hope beyond the storm. We call this a rainbow.

While working on my portfolio yesterday, I looked outside my window to notice the most magnificent rainbow I have ever seen. It was so enormous its entirety couldn’t fit into the viewfinder of my camera. Each hue glowed as if the pot of gold were a lit match igniting it at the end. It felt like the rainbow was inviting me to come explore its colors—promising me a new beginning.

As I begin this, my final semester at CSUF, I feel anticipation similar to what I experienced prior to lunging into Iowa last June. Contentment, excitement and peace (finally) resonate within me. I am still uncertain of what awaits me after I graduate. But I am certain, completely confident, that something does await me. I am ecstatic about the final steps I will take before grasping my degree and finding out what that is.

Classes started yesterday. Not only do I have the best schedule for a senior in their final semester, I have a light load of extremely interesting classes. As an upper division requirement, I am taking a class on the history of rock and jazz. I have always held a huge appreciation for the arts. Today the professors blared Led Zeppelin, Duke Ellington and Chuck Berry through the speakers as they introduced the basics of the course. I swelled inside and lost myself to the music.

I sit here at my desk, inundated with “resumes-and-portfolios-for-dummies” material. I continuously slip red, white and pink M&M’s into my mouth, as I learn how to best expose my talents, abilities and skills to employers. Though I am secure in my talents, I have never been one to flaunt them, so I struggle with the process. I was told for the second time this week that I am too critical of myself. As I sort through this information, I am making necessary adjustments to my resume, portfolio and attitude. I’m enthusiastic about the opportunities these changes will invite. I’m thankful for my new beginning and the rainbow that has finally brought color back into my life.