I was watching a documentary on Tv the other day entitled "Iran: The World's Most Dangerous Country." Although the obviously subjective title put me off a bit, I watched it because I crave information on parts of the world that are usually closed off to most. I love watching stuff on North Korea, Iran, Cuba, etc...
An Iranian doctor was asked about the 1979 Islamic Revolution, a revolution in which the relatively secular government was overthrown and subsequently replaced by a council of religious leaders, and this was his reply:
"Before the Revolution, we used to pray at home and go out to drink. Now, we drink at home and go out to pray."
The implications are meant to be obvious. I'm willing to say that option No. 1 is more conducive to a healthier lifestyle. Take your pick.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
roles
Let me preface this by telling you a little bit about who I am:
1) I am 23 years old, soon to be 24.
2) I live, work and go to college in Miami, Florida.
3) I believe that Jesus was a historical figure who lived his life selflessly and was the ultimate example of how we ought to live our lives.
a) I also believe he died selflessly.
b) I also believe he rose from the dead with the interest of the whole world on his heart.
c) Consequently, I try to fashion my life after the words he spoke and the example he set.
4) I have traveled and have seen many things I never dreamt I would see that have helped shape me
5) I lived and worked in Spain for two years and, in turn, I am intimately familiarized with the words "immigrant" and "minority."
6) I now live in a region ofMiami, where 80% of the suburban population is of a Latino/Hispanic background, culturally and linguistically distinct from my own. See no. 5.
7) I hope to graduate, marry my gift from God, move back to Europe and start my own business within a certain, not-so-distant futre. Order of completion pending...
8) Apart from my native English, I speak fluent Spanish, adequate Portuguese, minimal French and a couple of catch phrases in Moroccan Arabic, a feat that I recognize as uncommon among my gender, cultural and racial peers.
9) I am in the process of selling the car that I used to drive, deferring instead to using a 35 mph scooter to transport me to and from most places that I need to be. I also recognize that as uncommon amongst said group.
I'm glad that you, the reader, whoever you may be and wherever you may come from, know me just a little bit better. That is not all of who I am or everything there is to know about me, but at least it is something, and it will serve to help understand the following thoughts.
Today I stopped at a McDonald's. This is not something I regularly do, but I wanted some fries from the Golden Arches. It was around 12am and I was on my way home from a little study time at a local coffee shop. (At this point I am reminded once again that I am a college student. Everything in this paragraph so far has not let me forget.) As it was mentioned above, you can infer that I was on my scooter in the drive-thru lane of the restaurant in the previously described neighborhood on a relatively chilly night... for Miami. (I'm pretty sure that sentence is not a run-on sentence, it just seems long because of all the prepositional phrases.) The woman in the car in front of me was greeted in English by the voice from the ordering speaker, and she promptly placed her order in Spanish. The voice replied, in Spanish, with the total. This is called code-switching, and it's no big deal because it happens all the time. My turn to order was inconsequential and there is no news to report on it.
My thoughts, and the inspiration for me writing this post tonight, began as I pulled up to the window to pay and collect my unhealthy food. I was greeted by the employee, who couldn't have been a day over 22, with a stare. It wasn't an angry stare, nor did she have any disinterest in her expression. It was just a look I very seldom have seen in my life, and I honestly pray that it is a look no one has ever received from me. (Nor will ever, for that matter.) I suppose the closest thing I can relate it to is maybe egotistical shock or arrogant unbelief. Maybe it is like that look that you give the drunk homeless guy who is talking to himself while peeing behind the dumpster in the alley, but the only thing is, he's not quite standing behind the dumpster. Everyone can see him. And in order to feel better about themselves, they are obligated to make some sort of comment that distinguishes them from him, one of which might be "Why does he have to do that there? I'm glad that I at least have the decency to use a proper facility..." A comment like this allows you to carry on with your day and improve your self esteem. Sounds like something I should try more often...
Now, I do not want to imply that this is what the girl in the drive-thru window was thinking when I pulled up. I can only comment on my end of the transaction. It was when I brought my scooter to a stop that I said hello. She kept this look on her face for awhile as she looked at me and my bike and simply said, after a longer-than-I-would-have-liked pause, "$4.49." I gave her $5.09, she took it over to her manager to be dealt with (they only were running one register at the time), said some things that I couldn't hear while she shook her head, and returned with 50 cents and handed me my bag. (I know I wrote 50 cents. That's what I wrote because that's what I got.) I said thank you and pulled away. I heard the drive-thru window close behind me. So, in case you have your scorecards out (because this is a golf reference), she wins for the least amount of words used as possible.
I left unsettled. I don't know why she stared at me like she did, nor do I know why it seemed like she was as condescending to me as she was. I thought about the possibilities...
-Was I a white guy in the wrong neighborhood?
-Was I riding a scooter on the streets of Miami, an obvious sign of inferiority?
-Did the headband I wore to hold my hair back look too feminine?
-Was I overly cheery in a generally if-I'm-not-your-friend-I-refuse-to-even-acknowledge-you sort of town?
-Did the horizontal stripes on my sweater clash with my pinstripes on my jacket?
Whatever it was, I'm ok with. I rode the rest of the way home thinking about why I reacted like I did. Why did I look to myself to see what was possibly offensive about me? For all I know, the last customer, her boss, or someone else, could have said something that soured her for the rest of the night. It's not for me to know.
But the conclusion that I did come to was that I (and maybe we) play roles. As much as we'd like to think so, we are not constant beings. There is the Joel that works at Starbucks, the Joel that goes to Coral Park Church, the Joel that goes to Florida International University, the Joel that was born in Atlanta, the Joel that grew up in Cincinnati, the Joel that spent nine meaningful years in Palm Beach county, the Joel that was impacted by Tampa, the Joel that was forever changed by his life in Spain, the Joel that has different friends, family and acquaintences from all of those places that might not recognize him (for good and bad, I'm sure) if they were to meet up with him today, in this very moment. There is equally the Joel that people look up to as a source of inspiration just as much as there is the Joel that some people know that is no better than what your neighbor's dog left for you to step in this morning on your way to your car.
I have often entertained the idea of bringing together all the people who have ever known me in one way or another into one big conference room. (This sounds ridiculously conceited, my word.) An International Joel Eastlick Conference, if you will. I have wondered what it would be like, and unfortunately, I came to the conclusion that, even though many good things would be said, most people would go home confused. Classmates from Atlantic High School in Delray Beach would mingle with classmates from Gaither High School in Tampa. Sunday school teachers from Cincinnati would speak with people I met in Spain. Friends in Tampa would marvel at who I met in Morocco while friends from Miami would wonder about what is different about the people in Tampa. My dear residents of Spain, could you come to an agreement with my long lost uncle about who I am? Could you even pick me out of a crowd? I just don't think there would be a concensus about who I am. I have played many different roles at many different times in many different places in my relatively short life so far, and I'm not sold on the idea that it is a good thing. Is that proof a wavering soul, of one who can't decide who he really is, of one who lacks a grounded identity? Is this someone that goes to an extent of trying to be pleasing to everyone he comes in contact with, even detrimentally so?
Can you believe this McDonald's is only 3 miles from my front door?
My first reaction was to look at myself when the girl from the drive-thru stared at me. I wanted to put on a different mask to convince her that I was an alright person right there and then just so she would stop looking at me like that. How many times in my life have I done that in other situations? How many times have I wanted to be that "alright person?" Too many... And it puts me to shame. How many times have I read from the spiritual script? How many times have I read from the Red, White and Blue script? How many times have I read from the macho script? How many times have I read from the pseudo-hispanic script? Or the intellectual script? Or the superiority script? Or from the thickest one of them all, the "I have it all figured out" script?
Too many...
This is for myself, to remember to take off the mask, step down off the stage and throw away what I have written about myself. There are far greater things to write about. What you write about yourself doesn't really matter anyway.
1) I am 23 years old, soon to be 24.
2) I live, work and go to college in Miami, Florida.
3) I believe that Jesus was a historical figure who lived his life selflessly and was the ultimate example of how we ought to live our lives.
a) I also believe he died selflessly.
b) I also believe he rose from the dead with the interest of the whole world on his heart.
c) Consequently, I try to fashion my life after the words he spoke and the example he set.
4) I have traveled and have seen many things I never dreamt I would see that have helped shape me
5) I lived and worked in Spain for two years and, in turn, I am intimately familiarized with the words "immigrant" and "minority."
6) I now live in a region ofMiami, where 80% of the suburban population is of a Latino/Hispanic background, culturally and linguistically distinct from my own. See no. 5.
7) I hope to graduate, marry my gift from God, move back to Europe and start my own business within a certain, not-so-distant futre. Order of completion pending...
8) Apart from my native English, I speak fluent Spanish, adequate Portuguese, minimal French and a couple of catch phrases in Moroccan Arabic, a feat that I recognize as uncommon among my gender, cultural and racial peers.
9) I am in the process of selling the car that I used to drive, deferring instead to using a 35 mph scooter to transport me to and from most places that I need to be. I also recognize that as uncommon amongst said group.
I'm glad that you, the reader, whoever you may be and wherever you may come from, know me just a little bit better. That is not all of who I am or everything there is to know about me, but at least it is something, and it will serve to help understand the following thoughts.
Today I stopped at a McDonald's. This is not something I regularly do, but I wanted some fries from the Golden Arches. It was around 12am and I was on my way home from a little study time at a local coffee shop. (At this point I am reminded once again that I am a college student. Everything in this paragraph so far has not let me forget.) As it was mentioned above, you can infer that I was on my scooter in the drive-thru lane of the restaurant in the previously described neighborhood on a relatively chilly night... for Miami. (I'm pretty sure that sentence is not a run-on sentence, it just seems long because of all the prepositional phrases.) The woman in the car in front of me was greeted in English by the voice from the ordering speaker, and she promptly placed her order in Spanish. The voice replied, in Spanish, with the total. This is called code-switching, and it's no big deal because it happens all the time. My turn to order was inconsequential and there is no news to report on it.
My thoughts, and the inspiration for me writing this post tonight, began as I pulled up to the window to pay and collect my unhealthy food. I was greeted by the employee, who couldn't have been a day over 22, with a stare. It wasn't an angry stare, nor did she have any disinterest in her expression. It was just a look I very seldom have seen in my life, and I honestly pray that it is a look no one has ever received from me. (Nor will ever, for that matter.) I suppose the closest thing I can relate it to is maybe egotistical shock or arrogant unbelief. Maybe it is like that look that you give the drunk homeless guy who is talking to himself while peeing behind the dumpster in the alley, but the only thing is, he's not quite standing behind the dumpster. Everyone can see him. And in order to feel better about themselves, they are obligated to make some sort of comment that distinguishes them from him, one of which might be "Why does he have to do that there? I'm glad that I at least have the decency to use a proper facility..." A comment like this allows you to carry on with your day and improve your self esteem. Sounds like something I should try more often...
Now, I do not want to imply that this is what the girl in the drive-thru window was thinking when I pulled up. I can only comment on my end of the transaction. It was when I brought my scooter to a stop that I said hello. She kept this look on her face for awhile as she looked at me and my bike and simply said, after a longer-than-I-would-have-liked pause, "$4.49." I gave her $5.09, she took it over to her manager to be dealt with (they only were running one register at the time), said some things that I couldn't hear while she shook her head, and returned with 50 cents and handed me my bag. (I know I wrote 50 cents. That's what I wrote because that's what I got.) I said thank you and pulled away. I heard the drive-thru window close behind me. So, in case you have your scorecards out (because this is a golf reference), she wins for the least amount of words used as possible.
I left unsettled. I don't know why she stared at me like she did, nor do I know why it seemed like she was as condescending to me as she was. I thought about the possibilities...
-Was I a white guy in the wrong neighborhood?
-Was I riding a scooter on the streets of Miami, an obvious sign of inferiority?
-Did the headband I wore to hold my hair back look too feminine?
-Was I overly cheery in a generally if-I'm-not-your-friend-I-refuse-to-even-acknowledge-you sort of town?
-Did the horizontal stripes on my sweater clash with my pinstripes on my jacket?
Whatever it was, I'm ok with. I rode the rest of the way home thinking about why I reacted like I did. Why did I look to myself to see what was possibly offensive about me? For all I know, the last customer, her boss, or someone else, could have said something that soured her for the rest of the night. It's not for me to know.
But the conclusion that I did come to was that I (and maybe we) play roles. As much as we'd like to think so, we are not constant beings. There is the Joel that works at Starbucks, the Joel that goes to Coral Park Church, the Joel that goes to Florida International University, the Joel that was born in Atlanta, the Joel that grew up in Cincinnati, the Joel that spent nine meaningful years in Palm Beach county, the Joel that was impacted by Tampa, the Joel that was forever changed by his life in Spain, the Joel that has different friends, family and acquaintences from all of those places that might not recognize him (for good and bad, I'm sure) if they were to meet up with him today, in this very moment. There is equally the Joel that people look up to as a source of inspiration just as much as there is the Joel that some people know that is no better than what your neighbor's dog left for you to step in this morning on your way to your car.
I have often entertained the idea of bringing together all the people who have ever known me in one way or another into one big conference room. (This sounds ridiculously conceited, my word.) An International Joel Eastlick Conference, if you will. I have wondered what it would be like, and unfortunately, I came to the conclusion that, even though many good things would be said, most people would go home confused. Classmates from Atlantic High School in Delray Beach would mingle with classmates from Gaither High School in Tampa. Sunday school teachers from Cincinnati would speak with people I met in Spain. Friends in Tampa would marvel at who I met in Morocco while friends from Miami would wonder about what is different about the people in Tampa. My dear residents of Spain, could you come to an agreement with my long lost uncle about who I am? Could you even pick me out of a crowd? I just don't think there would be a concensus about who I am. I have played many different roles at many different times in many different places in my relatively short life so far, and I'm not sold on the idea that it is a good thing. Is that proof a wavering soul, of one who can't decide who he really is, of one who lacks a grounded identity? Is this someone that goes to an extent of trying to be pleasing to everyone he comes in contact with, even detrimentally so?
Can you believe this McDonald's is only 3 miles from my front door?
My first reaction was to look at myself when the girl from the drive-thru stared at me. I wanted to put on a different mask to convince her that I was an alright person right there and then just so she would stop looking at me like that. How many times in my life have I done that in other situations? How many times have I wanted to be that "alright person?" Too many... And it puts me to shame. How many times have I read from the spiritual script? How many times have I read from the Red, White and Blue script? How many times have I read from the macho script? How many times have I read from the pseudo-hispanic script? Or the intellectual script? Or the superiority script? Or from the thickest one of them all, the "I have it all figured out" script?
Too many...
This is for myself, to remember to take off the mask, step down off the stage and throw away what I have written about myself. There are far greater things to write about. What you write about yourself doesn't really matter anyway.
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