Spread the Word and Sundance

I was tabling in Red Square a few Marches back as a student at Georgetown. Red Square was a safe place for students to converge and share their heartfelt views via flyers, sidewalk chalk, and demonstrations. It was conveniently located in the almost-center of campus, trafficked by droves of undergraduate and graduate students day in and out. A ripe place to spread the word.

Alongside other Best Buddies  participants, I was tabling to spread the word to end the derogatory use of the word "retard", a word that has become all too common, used to implying someone or something is less or flawed in our society. Joining other advocates of the Spread the Word to End the Word movement nationwide, we had a petition to be signed by passer-bys.

"I pledge and support the elimination of the derogatory use of the r-word from everyday speech and promote the acceptance and inclusion of people with intellectual disabilities."

While we were received rather positively overall and gathered many signatures, there is one encounter in particular that stands out in my memory. A man started to question us about his First Amendment Constitutional right to freedom of speech. He was outraged by this entreaty to end hateful language. I was a little younger then and likely more docile from what I can recall, but with the arrival of the R-Word's annual day of awareness (March 5, 2014), I am moved to offer my take on the matter yet again. 

To the abrasive man from Red Square, I say...

We must not misconstrue a right for an obligation. We are indeed protected by the Constitution of the United States to speak as we wish, and to use whatever language we have the opportunity to use. After all, words are nothing but letters strung together in sequence. What is conveyed and implied by these words, however, affects other people. Rights are sacred, but need not be abused. 

I have the rights to behave combatively,  to spew hurtful speech, berate, and break down others if I want to. I have the ability to behave like an imbecile, to lie, steal, and cheat. A perversion of our Constitution can protect these behaviors as well.  More important than rights is an obligation to  be a decent human being. The right to do something in no way requires that behavior. 

So yes, the man in Red Square can use the r-word if he lacks an alternative to use in it's place, but I would challenge him to consider the impact of his speech. To reflect on how the world will receive his words and challenge the ostracism of talented and vibrant individuals worldwide. I fell fervently that eliminating the use of the r-word will diminish the divide cast between populations of varying abilities. We will celebrate our differences rather than condemn them.

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A takeaway. This video speaks to the courage of a spirited young boy with Down Syndrome. Fueled by his family's love, acceptance, and encouragement, Beau made it all the way to the Sundance Film Festival for his role in LITTLE ACCIDENTS . I don't know of many people who have achieved the same; I see nothing but abilities here. Do you? 

Demoted to Dishes

My family was visiting our Navy Yard apartment in Washington DC. It was a little over a year ago that we sat down to a beautiful breakfast. James made a four course masterpiece, effortlessly. I started to cry at the table; just a quiet sob. My mom asked me what in the world was the matter. 

"James doesn't let me cook anymore".

My sister looked as if she wanted to leap over the poached eggs and smack me. Needless to say, she thought I was out of my mind. Mom and Nana just shook their heads. After twenty or so years of my typical reactions to stimuli (crying), they had seen it all. I realized I was being silly, and tucked in to another delightful meal. But I still felt a pang of unease. Along came this man, a whiz in the kitchen, and my position was threatened.

After two and a half years of sharing the load of meal preparation, oftentimes not cooking at all, I have grown quite accustomed to being fed. Assuming the role of sous chef. Being taught. Realizing how little I know about technique. While I'm still ever so fond of cooking, I'm equally fond of sitting in the passenger seat, admiring the driver as he hones his craft.

I have even learned to embrace dish duty. Pots and pans amount with an uncanny speed when the master is at work. Piles of plates and utensils are left for someone to wash. Being that we live in an older home, there is no dishwasher. When Mom eats over, she makes her way to the sink despite my repeated assurances that I will get to the dishes. All other times, it's me. Demoted to dishes.

Cooking is an act of love, of creating, of sharing. That is why I'll always find my way to the kitchen. The best memories of my childhood were had at the table. Rolling meatballs with my great grandmother or watching Nana prepare pizza piena at Easter. The smell of apple pies after a day of picking.

We continue to make memories at mealtimes, memories that amass regardless of who cooks. Laughs shared. Bread passed. The clang of glasses. While I am an average cook, I am an above average eater so my life has become richer having a chef around. I never dreamed a man would upstage me in the kitchen but I'm fine with doing the dishes. And there is always dessert.

What I learned in 2013

I don't really love New Year's. Involuntarily, I correlate it with the end of the Christmas season and it leaves me melancholy. While I understand it's a time to reflect on beginnings along with the potential of another year, it's also slightly sad. Likely not for everyone; maybe I'm just a little odd. Oh well, it takes all kinds of kinds. 

The few days before January 1, I start to contemplate all the things I will need to change. The resolutions start materializing in excess. Eat better, exercise more, worry less, save more. Be more comfortable in my skin, learn something new, abandon bad habits. The list goes on and on. Then I get a whiff of realism and acknowledge that while I can improve in many ways, the Francesca of 2013 wasn't so bad either. I learned quite a bit too, as I hope to do every year, as long as I live.

I learned that circumstances are never static, but rather always evolving. When too many decisions are lumped together, it can become overwhelming, even anxiety provoking. Tackle one issue at a time, when you come to it. 

Second guessing makes us human. Vulnerability too. According to researcher Brene Brown, vulnerability makes us more worthy of receiving love. 

On the topic of love. Cherish it. But also realize it is not always easy. It takes patience and compromise. 59 years of compromise looks something like this.

If an environment isn't bringing out the best in you, and you have the opportunity to change your circumstances, leave.  I'd rather be a happy wanderer, than left stagnant and withering in a toxic place. 

I cannot always be certain where I will be, with whom, and doing what... but the winding road makes for a more eventful journey.  And at the very least I can imagine how I'd like to live, who I'd like to be, and go in that direction.

Food tastes better when it is shared with good people. Scratch that. Steaks from Keens are phenomenal regardless, but doubly wonderful when eaten alongside good people, after a night of ice skating. And always order the bacon appetizer.

• Don't judge everything from a moral vantage point. I am entitled to feel a certain way or react negatively without myself or my opposition being wrong.
• Fatigue, discontent, impatience, and sadness happen. And then they pass.  
• I am not entrusted with ensuring anyone else’s ultimate happiness. I can only control my own.
• We must be content to experience things for ourselves. The world is ours for the living. We are not exactly alike any other human being on this planet. There is no need to feel like you have to completely align with anyone’s sentiments.
• There is almost always a gray area.
• I learned a 35 year old and an 85 year old can be the best of friends. Friendship doesn't conform to parameters or limiting conventions.
• Arguing is necessary and helps to forge stronger relationships; especially with people you care for.
• Sometimes you just have to change your tune, and move on.
• If you have two cats, you can handle a third.

I moved back home to New Jersey and have reconnected with family in a big way. Barbecues were abundant. I learned to play darts. I had a garden, leased a truck, and had my own Christmas tree. I reacquainted myself with slope intercept form as an Algebra tutor. I sang again, learned some HTML, and made ravioli from scratch. I found a new job where I learn daily, like school without the student loans.

I have always known the little things have a way of being the most special, but this has been especially evident of late. I will cling to this notion because I feel very strongly that when we value the smallest of blessings, contentment is truly ours.

Cheers to 2014, and the lessons learned this past year and every year prior.

On Certainty

One of my dear friends from college, who is currently attending law school at Georgetown, (yes, she is brilliant) had some time amidst her frenetic final schedule to connect on the phone. Yes, in the age of texting and snap chatting, we spoke to one another.  Although we don't get to talk as frequently as I would like, we are able to pack quite a lot into our catch-ups. She is as thoughtful and grounded, as she is intelligent which for a friend is a stellar combination. We share our candid feelings and help to develop one another's frame of mind. I am especially grateful for these affirming discussions. 

While we talked of both being busy, doing things, and hopefully doing the right things to shape a future we can be proud of, there was a general undertone of, well "I'm not really certain but..." Certain about professional goals, personal goals and well, goals in general.  It made me feel a bit better that someone I admire for being so "together" is uncertain too. I've come to the conclusion that I need a role model who isn't certain. Who doesn't know exactly what they want to be or maybe never did. But they are happy. Adaptable. And pleasantly accepting of the unknown.

Almost every person I have read or heard about, who has achieved something formidable by our society's standards, seemed to have a very clear mandate or inclination toward their goals. Whether divinely, personally or otherwise inspired, they just "knew" what they were meant to do. Since birth, they were singing, dancing, inventing, swimming, creating.  Others find their calling later in life, but there is still a level of certainty in what is right before them - the steps they should take to get to their desired destination. As for me, I've been breathing since birth. I learned to swim by diving into a lagoon when I was probably four or five. Been worrying about lots of stuff since I was about nine or ten. Ask my parents.  Hopefully been a good family member and friend for as long as I can remember. Besides that, I generally go in the direction of what satisfies my intellectual curiosity or warms my heart. More concrete than that though, I'm still trying to figure it all out.

There is abundant research about specific goals. Make SMART goals, they told us in college. Specific, measurable, umm. achievable, I think? Realistic and, time bound. These are great in theory. For me, the over thinker, it feels like a lot of pressure, though. Small goals, I'm fine with, but the bigger stuff, the life list kind of stuff is the real doozy. Where is the calm, uncertain guru in the storybooks?

Much of life just happens, and we never could have anticipated or adequately prepared for it. These detours are still a part of our story, nonetheless. Maybe they were the intended path all along unbeknownst to us.   There aren't enough of these sorts of success stories, about people who can do many things but weren't always sure what they were meant to do. Life still turned out quite special, filled with memories, a comfortable balance of ups and downs, and a general feeling of self-worth. Success stories don't have to be about certainty. They can be about the unknown, and the process. Embracing where we are as we discover where were going.  

I love this sentiment; it captures what I am trying to say in far fewer words. 

"The important thing is to strive towards a goal which is not immediately visible.  That goal is not the concern of the mind, but of the spirit."    ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Flight to Arras, 1942

Certainty. I want it and sometimes need it. But it's like a unicorn and exists only in the abstract. Besides, if my life depended on a unicorn sighting, well... sh*t. 

Thanks as always for the chat, Maria.

Pocket Full of Paradise

I think "conversations" are named as such because they allow your heart to converge with the heart of another person.  The best of them leave you feeling enriched, inspired and if you're really lucky, renewed. They sometimes move you to tears. So, you look away from your conversation partner or feign an itchy eye. (A propensity for shedding tears has made me quite adept at these maneuvers.) Great conversations are organic and need no catalyst. They just happen, and rattle your core for the better.    

You learn a lot about someone when you take the time to converse. Typically, you can tell what a person values. Their disposition too. Are they a pessimist or eternal optimist? Do they keep a firm exterior, but every so often grant you a glimpse of vulnerability? Do their eyes widen with pride when they talk about their children? Or do they cringe when they talk about an unsavory encounter, as they search for some reassurance that their life has not been ruined even if it feels as such.  If you listen hard enough to someone else, they just might teach you something about yourself too, and remind you of your pocket of paradise.

I find it funny that something special can stare us in the face day in and out and we never realize it until someone else points it out. There are times I feel as if I am in control of or have been able to do very little, until another person convinces me otherwise. Their stamp of approval and reassurance are just enough to override my internal doubt (for the time being). We want different things, things we don't have, until someone tells us that we are lucky to have what we have; for a moment in time we are contented that someone validated who we are, and where we are.  We stop seeking greener grass.    

Recently, I had such a conversation. We talked of snow mobiles, fishing, vacation homes too. Life with kids and how it compares to life before kids, and reservations about knowing when the right time is to have kids. Family dinners and gift giving. What makes a home versus a house? How to establish a comfortable balance of money and time, and determining personal and professional goals. Finding one's purpose, a desire for clarity, and the profound importance of patience and hard work.

I left the conversation feeling grateful for dinnertimes, my family who love me despite my imperfections, for a short commute, a warm home, and the understanding of others. For friends and colleagues, memories from summers at the bay even if we no longer have the house there, and a solid education even though I have loans that are not going away anytime soon. For sausage and peppers, crusty Italian bread, a fire, and the sacrifices of veterans and their families. Grateful for the unknown. Although I hunger certainty, it would be dreadfully dull to always know what was coming, I imagine. Most of all, I was grateful for that candid conversation and a pocket of paradise all my own.