No Stops ‘Til Albuquerque

I am in New Mexico for a few days for a wedding of two dear friends of mine, one of whom I’ve known about 15 years, and another who I have known for only a few years, but love just as dearly. The ceremony was yesterday, and it was lovely and moving: my pocket square got a workout, and I don’t usually cry at weddings. But it got me thinking. Well, I guess I’ve been very contemplative in general lately, thinking about the tapestry that forms my life, and the people who are the fabric in it. In particular, this year has been a catalyst for change for me, and I wonder what my life will look like in a year. I know it will look very, very different than it looked a year ago…I know what I want it to look like, both professionally and personally, but am finally coming to terms that that neither might be in my control. It’s hard yielding control, but with so much at stake (in both aspects), I feel like if I work hard at both, the results will pay off. It’s hard to have faith, with so little to give me hope. But I guess that’s why they call it faith, and in the end, optimism will always defeat cynicism. It has to. Love always wins.

I am a storyteller, and I love hearing stories from others, especially my family and friends. Lately I’ve been finding more value in just listening to others, sitting at a crowded table and just taking it all in; enjoying the ebb and flow of conversation.

One story I enjoyed experiencing, and relish retelling (I did this weekend), is the story of my family’s Latino heritage. I am of Mexican descent on my mom’s side, and German on my dad’s. After I lived for a few months in Mexico many, many years ago, I remember asking my mom where our family, on her side, was from in Mexico. Northern? Central? “New Mexico” she replied, going back to whatever she was doing. Ok, so clearly she wasn’t listening.

I tried again, probably a few months later. “Mom, where in Mexico is our family from?” “I already told, you, New Mexico.” Ok, my mom can be pretty sarcastic sometimes, and I think I’m a good blend of her and my dad’s senses of humor. But that was milking a (not very funny) joke a little too far. I couldn’t let it go.

Finally, months later: “No, seriously mom, where the hell in Mexico are we from?” Her, just as exasperated: “New Mexico. Our family has always lived here. They made it a state around us.”

Oh.

The point: I find so much value in talking, in listening, in us telling each other stories. We are humans, and this is what we do, this is who we are. When we talk again, friend, let’s trade.