The Uglies … and, no, we’re not talking politics

Moving to a new country allows you to discover new things in the environment around you … and, as they say here in Mexico, desafortunadamente (I love the eight rolling syllables of that word), it also reveals things about ourselves that sometimes we’d rather not see. I call them the uglies.

I’ve been visited by two uglies in the past couple of weeks. The first was more of a blemish, but apparently I didn’t pay enough attention, so it came back in a much uglier form. As a relatively well-educated woman from a wealthy country, I have had decades to build up my prejudices and biases.

(And, just in case you believe you are prejudice-free, you might want to take the assessment at www.understandingprejudice.org/iat/. I first took it years ago and it surprised, and disappointed, me to find that I was moderately biased toward white people. It did open my eyes though, and made me more aware of my own bias and stereotyping.)

I believe strongly in tolerance and equality, and thought I had made progress in moving past bias. Apparently not so much. In a conversation with a Mexican man, I was surprised to find out that he had been a University professor in the US. I think I made it through that conversation without appearing completely arrogant, but, on reflection, realized that I carried into that conversation the stereotype of “less educated Mexican.” It made me uncomfortable to see that piece of myself.

However, there was more in store. At breakfast a couple of days ago with friends who have recently arrived to start their life here in Ajijic, we sat at a table next to an older, dark-skinned Mexican man missing several teeth. I actually felt myself write him off as a borracho (drunkard).

My friends are moving into their new place and were admiring the chairs in the restaurant, wondering if they could find some just like them, when the man at the next table, in near-perfect English, started telling us about where they came from and how they were made. And, then, without pausing, about his life here and in the US and how he learned to speak English by following tourists around the town when he was a boy. Once his words started, they didn’t stop.

My mind began a chaotic spin … attracted to his language skill, repulsed by his appearance (truly an Ugly reaction), amazed by the way he had learned the language when I am working so hard and seeing such slow results, irritated by his needy demand to be part of our conversation, startled by my own reaction that someone “like him” could be so fluent in a second language, impatient with his endless flow of words, wanting to be on with our own conversation and my own life.

It wasn’t until later that it all swirled into a truly ugly discovery about myself. I just finished a book (Forty Rules of Love (see more here) about Rumi and Shams of Tabriz. Shams is a wandering dervish who talks to drunkards, prostitutes and people of low status. Not only talks with them but learns from them, helps them. The book reminded me of my own commitment to “being love,” being kind and grateful for everything that comes my way. I don’t believe I have to go wandering through the world like Shams, but I do believe I need to be kind to everyone who comes my way.

The encounter at breakfast was like the Universe said, “Here’s an opportunity to be what you say you want to be.” And, I blew it. I knew it the minute I got up from that table and walked away from a man, a human being, who needed kindness. I fretted about it all day and went back the next morning, hoping to find him at that table, hoping to have another chance to be who I want to be. I thought at least I could buy him breakfast, listen to his words, be kind.

Of course, he wasn’t there. Chances are, I may never see him again. Perhaps, he was just an angel sent to give me a chance to express my better nature.

So, I’m left writing this, accepting and kindly embracing my inner uglies, hoping to make peace with them, hoping to do better next time. Inspite of the title of this piece, there is a political message here. I have been struggling with many of the policies of the current administration, wondering how our leaders could be so heartless and insensitive to the needs of our people. Now I realize that my behavior toward that man in the restaurant was just an example of how we wind up focused on our own wants and needs even when it’s at the expense of the person next to us.

If I can think my time is too important to be kind to an old man in a restaurant, why should I expect our leaders to choose kindness over their own interests?

More thoughts on kindness:

"There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy.  Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; my philosophy is kindness."  -- The Dalai Lama

"The magic in this world seems to work in whispers and small kindnesses." -- Charles de Lint

"One kind word can warm three winter months."   -- Japanese proverb

"Doing a kindness produces the single most reliable momentary increase in well-being of any exercise we have tested.” -- Martin Seligman, Founder and Director of the Positive Psychology Center, University of Pennsylvania

Review: The Forty Rules of Love: A Novel of Rumi by Elif Shafak

"Into the Unknown"

Harika!*

Have you ever started a book, which, from the first word, you didn’t want it to end? A book that you wanted to read as slowly as possible, savoring every word? A book that you knew was more than just a story, more than just black words on a white page? This is one of those.

I have to admit the recommendation from my sister-from-another-mother clued me in to the possibilities of this book, but the first words enchanted me and offered me a reflecting pool on my own life. From the beginning I knew reading this book was going to be a journey.

Many long years ago as a sophomore in college, I read a short story. Although the title and author are lost in time, the insight it gave me changed my life. All I remember about the story is that some guys are sitting around a campfire and one of them explains that The Bible could be condensed to one word: Love. That story, that one insight, stripped away my need for religious dogma and political debate and gave me a one-word rudder for my life.

While my skill at wielding this rudder through the journey of my life has been less than expert, I always know what I’m trying to do. I even announced it at the end of a workshop decades ago. When asked to state our after-workshop intention, I stood, and with my introvert-heart pounding, announced that I wanted to “BE love."

But, time and life keep rolling along, picking up sand and pebbles and boulders until it’s a muddy, frothy flow and clarity is lost. Moving to Mexico was like jumping out of the river onto the bank of a small island away from distractions and expectations.

At first it felt wrong to just be sitting on the sideline as the river rushed on without me. How could I just do nothing when there were so many problems and issues, opportunities and possibilities swimming past me? Slowly I found myself breathing deeply, wrapping my arms around my knees and turning my face to the sun, just being alive and unencumbered.

And then, the book arrived. It’s an interesting story by a Turkish writer. An ordinary woman in a tired marriage is assigned a book to review as part of her editing job. The story takes her back centuries, to the time when a highly educated and revered Islamic scholar meets an itinerant dervish, a meeting that breaks open the scholar’s heart, freeing the poet within. It is the story of Rumi and Shams of Tabriz. It is a story of love, the power of love, the mystic power of relationship to break us open.

In my vertigo, in my dizziness, in my drunken haze,

whirling and dancing like a spinning wheel,

I saw myself as the source of existence,

I was there at the beginning and I was the spirit of love.

  -- Rumi

In January, 2011, I did a blog celebration of Rumi with 31 days of Rumi’s poetry as read by Coleman Barks with his incredible voice and deep connection with the spirit of Rumi. (For an index of that series click here: http://www.joycewycoff.com/p/blog-page.html)

Now, this book calls me back to Rumi and to my determination to “Be Love.” Here in this sheltered village on a peaceful lake, maybe I will be guided to discover what that truly means. As this journey opens up, the recent piece of art which I thought was about a young woman entering into the unknown world of adulthood takes on a new meaning. Deep within all of us there is a spirit who is always entering into the unknown, still somewhat hesitant, glancing back, wondering if the watching world will judge us, wondering if we are up to the trials ahead. Are we good enough? Strong enough? Beautiful enough? 

This book reminds me through the forty rules of love that all we truly need is to love enough.

• An amazon.com review of this book from reviewer EEE included this word, which means "wonderful." I have decided to adopt it.