Chile's 9/11

The following entry is taken from the blog I kept during my study abroad experience in Chile.  As I observe the ninth anniversary of our own September 11th tragedy I am stunned by how "normal" and safe this day feels.  Other than a brief mention of the anniversary on the radio in between Top 40 songs, today seems to be a day like any other.  

I feel lucky to live in a country where bombs are not a normal part of daily life.  But why should I be so lucky when so many young people my age are not afforded the liberties and freedoms I too often take for granted?  As I forge my own path in this world I hope to bring many along with me.  I was appalled by the prejudice and hypocrisy that provoked a Florida pastor to plan a burning of the Q'uran in protest of Islam.  I hold dearly the freedoms of expression and belief (whether religious, political, or otherwise) afforded us in the United States but I am too often underwhelmed by the response of my fellow citizens in the face of ignorance.  

The problems of violence that plague much of the world are a direct result of economic disparity.  The Middle East, for example, is a region made up largely of young males with few economic opportunities, making them easy recruits for militant organizations like Al Qaeda.  Until the economic conditions of warring nations improves, our advancements against violence and terrorism will not be long lasting.

But before I take up this post talking about the economics of peace (save it for another day), here are my reflections on Chile's own 9/11:

On September 11, 1973 Chile's Presidential Palace was bombed and overtaken by the right-wing Junta government of Pinochet which would rule until 1980. In the days after the coup, Allende supporters and leftist activists were taken to the Estadio Nacional (national soccer stadium) which was temporarily converted into a detention and torture center. Men and women were tortured, raped and killed in the same stadium where, last night, the Chilean soccer team defeated Colombia 4-0 in a world cup qualifying match. Abandoning political and religious divisions Chilean soccer fans poured into the bleachers en masse and filled the stadium with chants of nationalist fervor and pride. During the game, Chileans were everything but divided. But Chile's history is a complicated one, as are its present day manifestations.

The meaning of September 11 and the memory of the coup is different for every Chilean. For some, it is a day of mourning and remembrance of the leftist popular movement and those disappeared, tortured and murdered during the Pinochet dictatorship. Many Chileans believe the coup "put right" the Chile which had been torn apart by the socialist economic policies of Allende's government and saved the country from civil war. Still others feel that everyone should get over what happened during those years--that every war, every movement, has its share of torture, death, and the oppression of innocent people. That happened thirty-five years ago, let's stop the fuss.

I have no grasp of what today feels like for the average Chilean. It's odd for me to be outside of my country as we mark the seventh anniversary of our own September 11. It is hard for me to draw comparisons between the two dates. Chile's 9/11 was an attack of the Chilean military against the Chilean government: Chileans vs. Chileans. On September 11, 2001 and outside force attacked the United States. The strongest comparison can be made in the fallout of each day. Both dates left their countries shaken, scarred, and polarized. Chile is still deeply divided politically.

Today raises many powerful questions. Who owns the memory of September 11? What does that day mean for our nation or to you and I as individual citizens? These questions hold true for both Chileans and U.S. citizens alike.

The Definition of Success

"The plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind. It needs people who live well in their places. It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane. And these qualities have little to do with success as we have defined it." 

— David Orr, Ecological Literacy 

I thank my friend Tiffany for sharing this quote with me today via Facebook.  This week I am writing from a resort on the western shore of Leech Lake in northern Minnesota.  This summer I have been blessed with the opportunity to engage deeply with two groups of leaders around discussions of intercultural communication and strengths-based leadership.  Last night I began the second retreat in a train-the-trainer program around intercultural effectiveness led by my friend and colleague Okokon Udo.  Our group spent two and a half days together in July and gather again now to continue an ongoing dialogue around the complex cultural realities that both enrich our human experience and challenge our navigation skills.  On Wednesday evening I will reunite with my leadership flock as we begin the second part of our journey together in LeaderImpact, another deep-learning program put on by the Northwest Minnesota Foundation.

Next week I will turn twenty two and I find myself at an exciting crossroads with the privilege to pick my own adventure, to boldly take the next step and open a new page in this chapter of my life each day.  I am joyfully relishing the opportunity to have this week of reflection in the lead up to my birthday. It is an opportunity to evaluate the direction I have set my sails and celebrate the experiences I have lived up until now.

This quote is particularly impactful for me because I have at times subscribed to a definition of success as determined by academic achievement, positional power, and financial stability.  Yet when I ask my inner guru what is the root of deep happiness, the seed of joy and peace in one’s life and the world, the answer is not financial stability or recognition of one’s achievements.  Such a narrow definition of success sets one down a path toward burn out and an early death (of one’s spirit or even one’s physical body). 

I believe we are here to find joy in bringing joy to others. 

So thank you, Tiff.  I will reflect on where I am called to be a peacemaker, restorer, storyteller, and lover of humanity as I prepare for a new year in the Calendar of Anna.

Namasté,

Anna

I am a flexitarian.

What is a flexitarian?  As the name suggests it is a flexible title.  As a practice, it means something different to each person.  For me, being a flexitarian means that I am very picky about what I eat, in keeping with a set of principles about how I believe food should be produced and transported to my fork or my fingers.  This means that I do not eat meat on weekdays but for the rare exception like the free range “happy chicken” I enjoyed with Chelsea’s family on a Wednesday night a couple weeks ago. 

Last night was one such exception.  My family went out to Fogo de Chao to celebrate my mom’s new job.  By now my family is used to my weekday abstention from meat, but this was a special occasion and I wanted to fully partake in the dining experience with my parents and brother.  Fogo de Chao is a Brazilian steakhouse, a veritable homage to animal protein.  The cooks, decked out in heavy gaucho pants, boots, and red cravats, hasten purposefully around the elegant dining room, offering the finest cuts of juicy, pink, perfectly-seasoned meat to the expectant patrons.  I declined the chicken, pork, and lamb, but enjoyed filet mignon wrapped in bacon, bottom sirloin, and the house special picanha.  The beef was cooked to perfection, allowing the marbled succulence of the muscle speak for itself.  As a foodie, I appreciated the unadulterated taste of meat and the exciting dining experience from abundant salad bar to the creamy flan at the end.  I was disappointed, but not surprised, when I learned that Fogo de Chao gets its meat from the distributor U.S. Foods’ Stock Yards brand.  The meat is factory farmed, corn-fed, and was probably shipped a few hundred miles to get to my plate. 

I chose to reduce my meat consumption years ago because of the costs of factory farming.  Meat production in the U.S. consumes an exorbitant amount of grain and degrades precious farmland.  We do not eat happy meat.  The meat we eat in the United States is mostly corn.  Corn-fed cows produce the marbled, fatty cuts of beef that we love.  But cows are not supposed to eat corn – their stomachs are designed to feed on grass and silage.  A diet of cheap commodity corn makes them sick (think too many of those delicious FiberOne bars) which, paired with the close quarters of feed lots, makes for less than hygienic living conditions.  High doses of antibiotics are an effective solution for the unnatural conditions of feed lots.  The same method comes in handy for the chickens we produce, who are unable to move for most of their short lives because their breasts are too big to be supported by tiny chicken legs.

Now is not the time for me to discuss how I feel about corn subsidies as an economist and citizen – that is something for a later date – but I will say that the modern U.S. of American diet is a product of political decisions made in the 1950s supported by consumer demand for cheap food following the Second World War.  For those of you who are interested in learning more about what we eat, I suggest Food Inc, a film by Robert Kenner and Michael Pollan, or King Corn, which will further explain just how corny we’ve all become.  Do you know what you are eating?  Do you know what the meat you are eating ate?

TIME Magazine did a great article on weekday vegetarians and flexitarians in its most recent issue.  It references the Meatless Monday movement, a trend started in 2003 which has now been picked up by some of your neighbors as well as celebrities like Sir Paul McCartney and meat loving chefs like Mario Batali.  The movement’s website provides new meat-free recipes every week for the daring soul who wishes to consciously cut meat out of his or her diet one day a week. 

For the most part my body’s protein cravings are satisfied by PB, black beans, and yogurt but I’m a good German and find it hard to resist the occasional bratwurst at a summer barbeque (with kraut of course) or a Reuben sandwich (again, with copious amounts of kraut).  Not to mention if you put chicken tamales in front of me on any given day, chances are I will happily devour them con salsa picante, por favor.  And the recipe for the best Brussels sprouts I know how to make calls for bacon grease and we all know there is no substitute for that.  So you see the beauty of being a flexitarian is that a foodie like me can consciously and effectively reduce my consumption of meat, contributing to my own health and the health of the planet, without feeling terrible about giving into the occasional carnivorous tendency.  

Would you give up meat one or every day of the week?  What factors determine what you choose to eat?

Until next time,

Anna

Curiosity Finds CoCo

Two days after graduation I began working for the consulting firm that I interned with during junior and senior year of college. Our main office is four hours away so I set up shop from home as the Twin Cities satellite.

Those of you who have worked from home for any period of time are familiar with the awkward dance between guilt and comfort that comes with the knowledge that those on the other end of the conference line have no idea that you are still in your pajamas (until now). Luckily, I grew out of the “pajama professional” phase after a few weeks, but I never managed to settle into a comfortable work space in my house or at a nearby coffee shop. My laptop, chargers, and files amoebaed their way across the various surfaces of our house: kitchen counter, desk in bedroom, desk in basement, sunroom couch, etc, without finding a comfortable or productive home.

About one month ago I put a request out to the Universe to find me an office – one with coworkers and windows. After posting Monday’s blog I indulged my curiosity – as instructed by my horoscope – and got in the car to visit CoCo, a coworking space I had heard about from a former colleague. As chance would have it, CoCo was also featured on the front page of the Business Insider section yesterday in the Star Tribune. My mom had highlighted the article for me and left it on the kitchen counter. I took this convergence as a sign and went to explore.

I parked my car near Mears Park and navigated the construction to the address that Google had texted me. I knew the minute I saw the bright red and yellow “Hello CoCo” sign on the outside of the building that my life was about to get more interesting. I rode the elevator to the fourth floor and when the doors open (queue birdsong) I was greeted by warm sunlight reflected off polished wood floors, the quiet cadence of XM radio, and the steady hum of minds at work. There was something else though, that grabbed my senses and made me feel oddly tranquil…is that falling water? I looked to my left and saw a fountain, or rather an art installment that involves water cascading from small copper tubes hanging from the ceiling into a clear tank filled with rocks and red plastic lobster. This place is magical.

From the elevator I meandered my way through the workspace –an entire wall of windows, score! I was quickly greeted by Don, one of CoCo’s coowners (everything is about collaboration here) who I recognized from the Star Trib article. He gave me the grand tour: conference rooms, quiet area, kitchen, printer and fax, etc. You can work for free the first time you visit CoCo so Don set me up with the Wifi password and I hung out for a couple hours at one of the library-style tables facing the windows. I introduced myself to one of my new coworkers, who kindly moved a few folders so that I could pull up a spot at his table. As I picked up my things to leave he said “see you tomorrow” and I realized what was missing from the domestic professional equation.

Today was my first day as coworking member at CoCo and I loved it. The adventure of working alone from home is over. Someday I will reflect on the lessons it taught me, sitting on one of our comfy couches, sipping the unlimited coffee, tea, or cocoa that comes with my CoCo membership. Until then I will enjoy the tea, the shared smiles that say “Can’t focus today? It’s okay, me too.”, and the plastic lobsters. We are social beings, we need one another.

See you tomorrow,

Anna

Namasté. Start My Day.

Until recently I thought I was a night owl. I was convinced that I was most productive and most creative after 10pm. I have never had a normal sleeping pattern. As a child I stayed up past my bed time and read under the covers, wrote lists, and invented little contraptions which I would hang out my bedroom window. In high school this insomnia produced more lists as well as lengthy written commentary on issues of social justice and the human condition. My nightly obsessing turned out really great homework during my junior year (Junior Anna) but at the cost of waking up late without time to shower before rushing out the door. In college I was rarely nervous about finishing my homework because if need be I could pull an all-nighter and set five alarms to wake myself for class the next day. My roommates will tell you that after a week of this late night mania I could easily sleep until 1 or 2pm, a gift I don’t really think I’m proud of.

Last March my family spent 9 days in Italy: Lake Como, Florence, and Rome. Every morning my dad would wake up quite early and go out for his cappuccino. Being the inquisitive social being that he is he befriended the local café owners and would return to our apartment every morning with a bag of pastries and the napkins where his friends had scrawled the sumptuous Italian words they taught him that morning. Ci vediamo dopo, amici –see you later, friends. I envied the authenticity of my dad’s morning wanderings and so on the second to last day of our trip I told him to wake me up when he went out. Luckily, he was kind enough to try waking me a few times, as is often necessary, and waited around until I did emerge from bed a bit before 9am.

My dad and I bought a cappuccino and espresso and some pastries at the café across the street. We sat outside the café and watched the city wake up. Now, I find the sleepy bustle of early morning enchanting in general but the beauty of this ritual in Rome is something to behold. My Dad asked me about my love of the Italian language and my dreams of perhaps joining the Foreign Service and what I wanted to study. After another cappuccino we bought a few slices of the delicious buttery pound cake on the counter for my mom and brother, and strolled through the market in Campo di Fiori. That morning was one of my favorite memories from our trip to Italy and a very special memory with my dad.

Despite the beauty of that day I still stay up too late and find it difficult to get out of bed in the morning as a result. Like the cultivation of patience, this is a spiritual exercise for me. This morning I woke up at 8:45am and decided not to press the snooze button. I came downstairs and turned on the burner under the teapot. Then I went and sat in the sunroom. “You will meditate until the water boils.” I am now enjoying a delicious cup of English breakfast tea in my San Francisco mug and writing this blog. I am a morning person.

My horoscope tells me that my curiosity is not of the cat-killing kind today. I am to explore. What I find will make my life more interesting. We shall see.

Until next time,

Anna