Connecting the dots

I’ve passed the stoplight at customs roughly more than 20 times. The first was probably before I could walk. A trip to Rio is a family tradition, whenever one is not realized the peculiarity as to why we didn’t make the trip is always remembered with a certain scratch of the head. A year without a little Brazilian heat on the skin leaves us always feeling slightly incomplete. I’ve tried to fight it, but this year I’ve realized there is no point. It is a pilgrimage that is written in bold ink in our familial bible.

Over the past few vacations I have had a growing itch to drive here; each time met with a strong dosage of precaution… or flat out no. Obviously never spelled out that way, but done the Brazilian way – through a veiled anecdote that segues into a change of subject. I have traveled the world, but Brazil always carries an extra twenty becarefuls from family and friends. You would think it would be the opposite.

That said, I finally grabbed the horns, or should I say the wheel, and did what I had longed to do. These last few days there has been something exceptionally freeing about connecting a lifelong list of visual cues, fragmented by my unassuming eyes. Never before had I truly paid attention to the signage. In truth, after all these years I only halfheartedly created a map of my surroundings. I had relied on my parents, my family and my friends to be my guides. With the arrival of my brother-in-law and sister-in-law this week, I finally became that guide. Hustling back-and-forth, soaking in the city's air and fumes, I have gained a new found appreciation for the Cidade Maravilhosa. A true beauty that transcends time and which proudly has shaped the Carvalhos that preceded me and those that will undoubtedly succeed me.

There is a traveler's axiom that you never really know a city unless you travel through it like a local. Truth can never be combated.

Eterna contradição humana

A eterna contradição humana (conto de Machado de Assis)

Eu achei muito legal como Machado de Assis capturou este conceito através da ironia.

O ser humano parece ter um conflito constante dentro de si. Pessoalmente, eu acredito que quando nós nascemos uma lei é escrita em nós que nos puxa a fazer o bem. Que se vira uma evidencia de Deus. Mas também como nós nascemos no mundo que haja mal que e conseqüência dos nossos pecados, cada um de nós temos uma batalha do bem contra o mal.

Esta batalha tem tido vários nomes. Platão falou que era o apetite contra o espírito. Freud falou que era o Id contra o Super Ego. Judeus e Cristãos falam que é nosso espírito contra a nossa carne. Muitos dizem que é somente nossa consciência. Verdade é verdade apesar do nome que nós colocamos, realmente existe esta guerra interna.

Por causa disso o ser humano não é perfeito apesar dos loucos que se acham perfeito. Então nós sempre vamos errar de uma forma ou outra. Esta é a razão que muitos digam ser crente ou católico ou que se for, mas não sempre fazem o que eles pregam a ser. Não poupando eles de nada, mas eles são humanos que também tem este conflito. E isto também explica porque uma pessoa que parece ser tão cruel ainda é capaz de fazer um ato de bondade.

A ripple that set off a wave

Today I heard a story about a woman whose decisions impacted my very existence. Up to this day her presence was nothing more than a mere triviality – the sort you only think about during an elementary school assignment. In truth she wasn’t even an afterthought, as my mind knew absolutely nothing about her. This lady, who no longer had a youthful bounce in her step, decided to leave home for the unknown. She left a house that was nestled on a beautiful island with God knows how many centuries of roots firmly entrenched in the soil. The decision to leave would unleash a wave that would replace every familiar face with that of a cold stare of another. She crossed the tumultuous Atlantic, passed through Ellis Island and settled in Massachusetts. She wasn’t looking for a new chapter, but in fact was determined to write a new book altogether. She confronted this journey not once, but numerous times. By sea and by air.

Once she had the conviction she had found what she was looking for, she called her son and daughter-in-law to join her. A difficult task because they had eight rug rats of their own that ranged from the ages of 14 to 1. In what is an unthinkable decision today, they decided to go and leave the youngest seven with a trusted neighbor as they tested the waters. A year later, they called for the remaining children to join them.

Now imagine these mischievous seven – three boys, four girls – making the journey alone. They not only had the difficulty of being youthfully innocent, but also had grown up on an island that isolated them from the outside world altogether. A world that had yet to be touched by satellites, Internet and cell phones that have considerably flattened the globe today.

The seven miraculously found their way onto the airplane without a coin in their pockets. During the journey one of the seven warned the others not to accept any food on the plane in fear they would be stuck with a large bill that would leave them with an old fashioned spanking from their father upon their arrival. Another tried to light a match in the bathroom and was punished by the stewardess. And the youngest cried all the way to their final destination because her siblings had no idea she was wearing far too many layers of clothing. “Who is watching these children?” was the question on everyone’s lips, to which the answer was always the same: one sibling pointing to the other.

What I outlined here is nothing more than a glimpse into an unbelievable tale that rings hauntingly true. The story today about this woman – my great-grandmother – and her ambition to leave São Miguel for Fall River and then ultimately having my mother, one of the seven, migrate to the United States is…simply…remarkable.

Over the last week I have been thinking a lot about the decisions in life we make that ripple not only through our lives, but also through our family trees. There was a time my parents seriously considered – bags packed, house purchased – to move us to Brazil. I was seven. I cannot even fathom the outcome.

To this I leave the following: think about these major decisions carefully because someday one of your offspring could be penning your legacy.

A Praia

A praia é um lugar incrível. É um lugar que muitos associa com um paraíso. Mas a beleza natural da praia não é o unico aspecto que se faz tão incrível. Este aspecto é o poder de relaxar apesar que você está no ambiente barulhento.

Quando você chega na praia tem varios distrações. Tem camelôs passando toda hora gritando, “…É o sanduiche natural…Olá Mate fresco, Olá Kibon…” Tem vinte conversas paralelas falando de mil assuntos. Tem cachorros latindo. Crianças correndo por perto. Tem o som da bolinha batendo na raquete no jogo de fiscoball. É um ambiente barulhento.

Mas, o momento que você deita na areia branca e fecha seus olhos, tudo passa. O unico som que você ouvi é o som das ondas quebrando. Incrível.

Solid Ground

The question we all anxiously want asked is "Who are you?" yet when it is posed, do we really know? Do we offer trite answers that are gross oversimplifications of the truth? Do we exaggerate? Possibly the reality that I am describing is solely one that I struggle with, but I have found placing them into words has been immensely useful to me.

The identity question looms large in my life. It could be solely the byproduct of my cultural makeup that compresses polar opposites into one person, or I could be simply a product of the age I live in. This struggle has only highlighted itself as I have taken up the pen over the past few months, but it is one that has - in truth - been lingering all my life because it is heavily intertwined with sense of purpose. I feel like life is a recurrent viewing of the scene of Jacob wrestling with God. Bless me already. Like most, I am not born into riches nor have I been bestowed with remarkable gifts that have set me on a meteoric path of tranquility. This firmly in mind, I continue to pour my energies into outlets that I hope will highlight what I can in fact offer. Yet this has proven frustrating as well. Especially when individuals scratch success with what appears a total lack of substance. Who has not thought of this in light of the recent teenage sensation singing about a day of the week? Seriously, what more can I do?

On the train ride this morning, Pandora hit me with a song that placed this into perspective. I was headed toward school where I read the theories of brilliant men and women who try to explain God. Some of them frustrate me while others create an immediate nod of recognition. This morning's read was the former. This theologian, titled the premiere thinker currently alive, was being interviewed and I felt like he was saying absolutely nothing relevant. I put the book away and turned on the music. The song that played I had only heard once before. It has been introduced to me two Sundays ago in a Church service. While it was beautiful, I had forgotten who sang it, the title and therefore it was an abstract memory buried in the past. When the song began it lifted me from all current thoughts of exhaustion. The song continued and as if I was struck in the head, I thought I need to stop living in a middle-of-the-road path where I care what others do, who I should be, and try to answer questions that no one is asking.

Tomorrow is Good Friday and with every fiber of my being I believe God intervened in history to save you and me. I am not speaking from religious sensationalism, emotional ecstasy, or in a last ditch effort to find self-worth. I believe in the Christ event.

Honestly, I struggle daily with mistakes I make. I am an individual who thoroughly enjoys activities that Christians have deemed secular. Where people try to tell me to rationalize my failures as part of God's plan, I cannot help but get angry with Him. And I guess therein lies the beauty. Transcendent yet immanent. The ultimate paradox.

I am a follower of Christ and I live in this world. Not in a bubble. There is no divide. As we move into this weekend, I would urge people to stop waiting for others to ask you who you are, and refrain from tying yourself in mental knots about what the answer would be. Direct the question to Him...who is He... and let the conversation unfold.

Here is the song.

What's in a name?

The room was dark; the only light was the faint glow from two small monitors above the medical table. The nurse focused her eyes on the screens as her right hand intently worked around Priscilla’s stomach. When we had Camille, we didn’t find out the sex until the moment she came out of the womb. That moment of discovery is one of the highlights of my life. This time my wife couldn’t wait. I fought the urge to know, but when the appointment is made and everyone else’s mind is made up, the anxiousness begins to set. I tried to go about life without focusing on that date, but I eagerly waited for the future to become the present.

I have always had the premonition I would only have girls. I don’t know why, but it’s a sentiment that has always been firmly entrenched in my gut. You grow up believing that the major verdicts in life – and I am referring to those that are completely out of your hands – are typically school, or job related. These are ginormous decisions that distinctly shape your entire future. I never thought differently, but this moment was in fact one of them.

I did the work, but the decision – healthy or not, boy or girl – is truly beyond my control. The nurse quietly continued her work and each minute felt longer. I screamed in my mind: Say something lady! I felt the room shrinking. A series of outcomes raced through my mind. If I leave here without knowing the sex, this lady will hear it. The imaginary movie played in my mind of me throwing a fit, but on the outside, I gave the impression of calmness.

The clock hand continued to make its way around and yet I still …had …nothing. All she pointed out were stills of a baby I could barely make out. The head. The feet. I nodded as if I saw it clear as day.

Finally the moment arrived.

“It’s a girl.” As if the nurse knew the words failed to immediately register in my mind, she spelt it out in the monitor with a clear arrow pointing to the evidence.

“G-I-R-L.”

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I was. The gravity of the situation took its time to sink in. How do I react? What will the future hold with 3 women? My shoulders dropped. I’m completely outnumbered.

An hour later we were at the coffee shop and I was still numb. Then Priscilla said, “What about Kayla?” This awoke me from my daze and I grabbed my phone and fought a ridiculously slow connection to discover the meaning of this name.

KAY-la: Who is like God?

And there it was. Reassurance. The outcomes continue to be out of my hand and the future remains unclear, but we are not God. This frustrates, angers and causes a life-long struggle between what I feel I want and what He knows I need.

Here’s to you Kayla, already teaching Dad lessons.

Age isn't so bad.

As children, adults constantly remind us that time moves fast and for us to enjoy the moment. At first the concept ‘fast’ feels completely foreign to us. You mean fast like when I ride on my huffy? Then we hit our teenage years and fast feels quite slow. I want to drive. I want to drink. We enjoy our small freedoms, but the grass truly feels greener on the other side.

Some of us may look at the adults around us and then stare blankly into the mirror and think, I wonder if I will know when I am older. You examine pictures of your parents in their youth and compare it to what they look like now. How can the skin stretch so? How can we turn into something so different? We consciously try to mature yet remain young…. but we fail.

Time moves and the birthdays add up. No longer does that date that was circled so heavily and waited upon so anxiously carry as much optimism. It turns on us and becomes a date we dread, fear and try to ignore.

In a week I turn 27 and I would like to change my own mentality. I have always felt that after 21, it is just another date. This year, I have decided to embrace it.

So in spirit of my birthday, a special thanks is in order.

Thank you Philipe age 2 for embracing brotherhood and welcoming Gaby into your world. The kingdom you ruled solo would have been boring without her.
Thank you Philipe age 7 for reminding me that $10 can feel like $1000.
Thank you Philipe age 14 for introducing me to Priscilla and beginning a life-long adventure.
Thank you Philipe age 16 for learning to drive and allowing me to begin my path to freedom and independence.
Thank you Philipe age 18 for traveling the world and bursting my bubble.
Thank you Philipe age 22 for getting an education.
Thank you Philipe age 24 for tackling fatherhood so you can realize those amazing first moments of joy in Camille.
Thank you Philipe age 27 for realizing that there is still a lot to life. Age can be good.

I remember my Dad saying to me, "I wouldn't trade my 36 for your 13". As he grew older, he would continue to say this and I always chuckled. This could not be true, but now I get it.