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| These dreams happened on different nights, but there is a recurring theme in both.
I was living in a house with friends and we were hanging out one night. There was a public announcement that squatters were in our area and that we should exercise caution. I laughed at first, then the cops came by and searched our house for squatters. This part didn't make sense to me, and in the dream I was very cavalier at that moment. The next day we left the house to do some activity, and as we were leaving I remembered that I forgot something in the house. So I went back with a friend and lo and behold the squatters got in! But they had locked themselves in our backyard, and I couldn't get back there. I had become infuriated and I called the cops to come and arrest the squatters. Then I tried to run into the door to bust it open, but I failed. Eventually, my friend got into the backyard. The squatters were making BBQ pulled-pork sandwiches and offered to share with us. I felt bad and hoped the cops wouldn't come after all. The next day there was a famine and no one had food, except the squatters, and they were sharing with everyone.
In last night's dream, I was meeting with some diet specialist. I was unhappy in my dream and my emotion was somehow related to my diet. Other people observed that I was unhappy, too, and I felt a little embarrassed that I was wearing my heart on my sleeve, because I would usually try to keep something like this secret. Then I laughed when the diet specialist said, "You need more brown in your diet." I had never thought about eating more brown foods, or that I could be happier if I did. Then I looked down and a chocolate brownie was sitting in front of me! I was a little happier then.
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| [Daybreak] [Beginning]
[Song]
During the meet and greet at church we were supposed to share one thing that we were grateful for this morning. I didn't get that far in the meet and greet because I got distracted with the familiar faces in the row behind me. But if I had shared, I would have said that I was grateful for the morning itself.
When I woke up this morning I recalled something from my childhood. It was the collection of times when my abuelita used to babysit my brother and me. She used to pray before breakfast time--I can't recall exactly how it went--something to do with the morning, the birds singing, and the food we would eat. It was nothing florid or romantic, just simple. While we ate, she would sing in her alto voice, "Oh what a beautiful morning. Oh what a beautiful day. I've got a beautiful feeling everything's going my way."
[Renewal]
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|  I saw this shirt and I almost bought it.
I kept reading the words that were on the shirt, "Live simply. Live simply." (The tire tracks transforming into footsteps--a plea to remove our fascination from the mechanical world and put it back into the natural world)
Soon enough, I decided not to buy it because
(moving away from the sartorial world)
...I already have enough.
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| Last night I took a bus to the open mic at Cafe MUSE. I had forgotten how much I like the Metro bus. There is perhaps no better microcosm to represent L.A.'s community than the bus. I brought my book and stood with one hand gripping a horizontal rail above the seats. Looking around, I noticed I was the tallest person standing. It was nice to feel tall. I could see (from the corner of my eye) a mother and son turning their heads to see the picture on the cover of my book. I knew exactly what they were looking at. My book, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, has a goofy picture of these bejeweled old ladies dressed in oversized coats. I turned so they could get a better look at the picture. I couldn't hold back a smile when they chuckled.
The hour ride on the bus went by quickly and I arrived at the open mic at Cafe MUSE. It's the best open mic I've been to. The talent was very professional and inspiring. People like Dylan, Nadia, and "Crazy" Sam represent the diverse talent that comes to that open mic. It was nice to see that people seemed to know each other, or that these folks were really friendly in general. Every performance was meaningful because it was honest. Each person was expressing himself with music in his own way--some quite eloquently and musically astounding, and others simply and off key. No matter how ridiculous their message was ("Crazy" Sam sang about hating pigeons), I enjoyed every moment. What was most refreshing was the diversity. I appreciated each one of them who got up and shared something personal in their own way.
I started to see a glimpse of each person's story in their song. Dylan sang about not worrying about tomorrow and just caring about right now. I resonated with that a lot because when I think too much about the future I can get anxious. But focusing on the present, and the only thing I have any control over (myself), brings me back to feeling balanced.
A woman played a solo piece on the piano. It was a Chopin noturne. You would know it, it's one of the most famous ones. I got excited when she began playing because I have always wanted to play Classical piano at an open mic, but have never felt welcome to do so. She followed it up with a stripped-down version of a Celine Dion hit from ???? Then there was the guy with the fedora. He wore a trendy shirt tucked into ill-fitting jeans and sang Frank Sinatra with more musical theater flamboyance than I could imagine. I'd say he was very snappy.
One person stood out the most. From the moment she walked in, carrying her guitar without a case and a beanie with the words "THE LORD'S CHILD" written in whiteout, I knew she would have something different to offer. I think she was Scandinavian, but I couldn't i.d. the accent. She sang wth a choked-up emotion in her voice about her baptism and afterwards feeling "dirty." It sounded like she may have been hurt by people in the church and may still feel unworthy around that community. Her music affected me. I almost got out of my chair to hug her mid song.
All this affirmed my love for music, especially live music. It's truly art, not just entertainment. It can express those things for which no words could do justice. It has some mysterious ability to get in us and make us feel, or makes our hearts understand things the mind won't. Is it obvious I was inspired? I was. This place is great! Meet me there sometime.
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| Saying "Goodbye" or "See you later" to someone is tough. But saying goodbye means that meeting up again is that much more special. I read this line and thought it a good way to express that idea:
"Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven." - Tyron Edwards
I remember going away for college (not that far away from home) and my mom sad to see me move but happy for the opportunities that awaited. My parents used to call me once a week or sometimes more often than that. Actually, several relatives wanted to check in with me. Even though I wasn't close to home, I still felt like I was connected to my family with their phone calls.
What I can look back and say is that I appreciate my family more and more when I'm not under the same roof as them (honestly... part of it is that these people aren't around to get on my nerves from overexposure, and I can more easily focus on the good memories... ya know?). We've all heard it said that you can never appreciate what you have until it's lost, and I think people are the greatest "what you have" that goes unappreciated when you have it. I am learning that letting go is inevitable, but coming back together feels so good.
Now, whenever I see my family, I am more ecstatic to see them than I was as a kid. Maybe it's me maturing and appreciating all the work that parenthood entails. And with friends, I am even more glad to see them during those infrequent get-togethers after a separation by time and distance. In both cases, it's a closer glimpse at heaven on Earth.
Here are a few of the people who come to mind (I saw them yesterday): Steph, Justin, Mahsa, Amanda, Win, Tim, Tara, Nan, Karen.
I love these folks. And if you're reading this, I love you, too. Wa-hoo!
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