So This Is What Gratitude Feels Like

Today (technically yesterday), I commemorated for the upteenth time the day I was born into this world. And all day long, as friends left me messages on Facebook or texted me or emailed or called to sing to me (thanks, Brett!), I was filled to the brim with gratitude as I thought of friendships old and new and how in each chapter of my life thus far, I have always had the people I needed to love and support me and to speak truth to me.

Looking back on the past year, quite frankly, it's been really, really hard. I've had to face choices and changes that are some of the most painful I've had to deal with (and I've been through some tough shit in my life). And yet, there is this inexplicable joy and peace in my heart and an overwhelming sense of gratitude as I write this.

I am reminded of the Kahlil Gibran quote my brother D texted me one particularly difficult night: "Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain." I've thought of that quote often since then, and I feel like this pain of the "breaking of the shell" is something I will experience again and again, as the layers around my heart are peeled away. And so for now, I walk between joy and sorrow, often with one foot in each side, celebrating the contradictions and complexities of being human, seeking hope and humility in my unfinishedness, feeling deep gratitude for the gift of loving and being loved.

Solitude and Community

Sometimes I forget that I need solitude, the way I need air or water or food. I can get caught up in so many events--be they the struggling kind or the dancing kind; swept up in the flurry, loving the community, embracing the energy--and the voice inside me that says to find a quiet place and rest gets drowned out amidst the noise.

And sometimes I forget that stepping into solitude can be more frightening and uncomfortable than jumping into a crowd. Being alone with myself, my thoughts, I can very easily take the wrong turn down the path of negativity and self-doubt. And yet I plod on, honing my self-advocacy skills, because I need to spend time here, alone, to dance this dance with myself, learn what it means to be my own partner, my own voice, my own friend. Trust and love and courage come with time and presence and risk.

And what I have found to be true for me is that when I embrace and treasure the times of solitude is when I am most comfortable in my own skin and am most able to love and to be loved in a community of fellow journeyers and strugglers and lovers.  Finding the space to be in solitude freely in the midst of community is a gift that I find liberating and healing, a gift that I cherish.

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Thinking of those of you whose presence gives me the space to be in solitude without the loneliness.

Waking Dream

65th & Woodlawn Community Garden in Chicago

I believe that there is magic that transpires in the middle of the night, when most of the world is asleep, when the volume knob is turned down, when you begin to dream even while you are still awake. You walk through this place full of dirt and growth, marveling at the concentrated spring bursting forth in one small place. You tune out the cadences of the city at night, and your senses tune into your immediate surroundings--your eyes adjust to the dimness, your ears perk up to the whispers, your skin tingles as you breathe in deeply the smell of earth that feeds. This is no garden of eden, but who wants perfection when you can have the beautifully imperfect, lovingly cared for and brought to life by the community?

10 short minutes...Really? That was it? And it could have all been just a dream, save for these fotos you are left with, postcard souvenirs from your late-night urban meanderings.

Open Door

I love the teal door. Don't have much else to say...

An Open Letter to Cadence

Dear Cadence,

I've been wanting to write you a letter for a long time now, but quite frankly, I don't even know where to begin. Excuse me if I'm a bit incoherent, but remember how mama hurt her neck and had to take some medicine? Yeah, that medicine makes me kinda loopy...

When you were in my womb 7 years ago, I dreamed of a little girl with long brown hair who danced with me in circles, clutching my hands. I'm pretty sure that little girl was giggling in my dream, and I'm pretty darn sure that little girl is you. Ever since that dream, I knew you would be no ordinary child, and oh, how you have proven that to be true.

There are the obvious things that I love about you, like how you love listening to music while doing your homework, or how you say that dancing is good for the revolution, or that you love my corn empanadas, or the way you make up stories with your little friends as you act out elaborate scenarios that verge on being DADA, or how you can entertain grownups with your stand-up routine of nonsensical knock-knock jokes, or how you try to convince people like Mr. Mayoral Tutorial to hulahoop, or how you have the foresight to bring along a puke bucket when mama is sick and being stubbornly stupid by insisting on driving empanada ingredients to Francie's.

Then there are the not-so-obvious reasons I love you. Like the way you demand to be treated with dignity and respect in all situations, so that I can't just resort to the usual mainstream methods of punitive discipline. You've taught me to see children as my fellow human beings, worthy of respect not only when they behave "well" but at all times, just because they BE. Or like the way you've taught me that when you are acting your most cantankerous is when you most need me to show you love and affection, to demonstrate that my love is not dependent on your behavior but is freely given at all times. Or how your (surprise) coming into my life forced me to rethink everything--about the kind of world I want you to live in, about justice and equality and community and peace and compassion and hope and joy and love. No single person has instigated more change in me than you have.

I know there are things that we don't agree on. Princesses for example. You know how I feel about monarchy, but you just love the beautiful dresses princesses get to wear. How do I argue with that? Or how about Chuck E. Cheese which scares the bejeezus out of me but which you seem to thoroughly enjoy? And then there is your love of all things glitter and sparkle which I can only tolerate in the form of toenail polish. And who could forget your penchant for sweet while I prefer the savory? We're never gonna agree on everything, and I wouldn't want to. I hope you continue to form your own opinions about the world around you and who you are.

You are growing up so fast; I see your personality emerging more and more, and I keep pinching myself wondering how I got so lucky as to get to mother such a kick-ass kid like you. I simply don't have the words to express how much I appreciate you, mi corazon, mi Cadencia. I love you soooooo much...

Paz + amor,

Mama  

Shutter Sisters Cross-post: Shooting For Transformation

Photo from March 10, 2011 Immigration Rights March in Chicago

(A version of this post appears on Shutter Sisters.)

You thought you were going to change the world with your photography, didn't you? You stepped into that struggle, camera in hand, thinking you would "help" these people by telling their stories through your lens. You meant well, you truly wanted to help, but guess what? It wasn't about YOU. It still isn't about YOU. It's about US. It's about SOLIDARITY. It's about the intersectionality of all the struggles of all who are oppressed. It's about how there can't be justice for one until there is justice for all. It's about letting people tell their own stories, even if you are the one behind the camera, framing the image and clicking the shutter, because we all know that we as photographers can control the story we tell by what we choose to capture and share.

And if you can get over yourself and open your eyes and your ears and your heart, YOU are the one who will be transformed, the one who will be humbled by the stories of The People, the one who will no longer show up as the aloof photojournalist but as a brother or sister in solidarity, the one who is there because you recognize that your liberation is tied to the liberation of all who struggle, the one who will never be the same.

"If you have come to help me you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together... " ~ Aboriginal Activist

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And when I use the term "you" above, I am talking about myself. This is the story of my own personal experience documenting social justice movements in Chicago for the past six months. I write about this after having experienced May Day, which is celebrated around the world on May 1st as International Worker's Day and here in Chicago as a day to also highlight immigrant rights, which are also worker's rights, which are also human rights.

I really thought my photography was going to change the world, I really did. What I learned instead, was that I was the one in need of transformation.