TAKING CHANCES

Taking Chances

I make an effort to visit my family in CT at least one weekend a month, in order to be nice to my wallet and my car. However, one weekend a month never seems to be enough. On my 3 hour ride after work on Fridays, I find myself making a mental note of my itinerary for the weekend. The list includes, running errands with my mom, visiting aunts and uncles, visiting my pastor, making every effort to go to church, trying to connect with friends and the list goes on.  

But this past weekend, it was different. I was going home to see my uncle who had been in the hospital for the last week. After calling home every day this week to receive a progress report, I was finally going to see him.

In the hospital,  his room seemed to have an invisible revolving door. As two people would leave, immediately two other people would enter. You see, my family is a big family and once people heard the news they all came to visit him.  My uncles bed was located to the far right meaning we would have to pass his roommates bed before we reached his.  

I am not a fan of going to hospitals, but then again, who is? I find that every time I go to the hospital, I am somewhat zoned out. I keep to myself, really don’t engage with others and remain quiet. I find myself constantly praying. I pray for the person I am visiting but I also pray for everyone who finds themselves in the hospital.  In the midst of my prayers I saw my uncles roommate.

As much as I tell our students  to take a chance and spark a conversation with someone you don’t know, I still have to push myself to do the same.

Throughout the day I realized that no one came to visit him. His phone remained there, unanswered because no one called. I tried to think of what he was feeling as he saw a train of people storming in his room. I stepped aside knowing that my uncle had more than enough people to talk to and began to talk to this man. His name was Ben. I was nervous, unsure of what to ask.  So I started with the obvious question, why was he in the hospital. Our conversation soon extended to talking about family, interests, and life dreams. He was a very pleasant man to talk to and through our conversation we found that we both shared a strong faith in God.  He was very happy to be able to share stories of how God had blessed him and manifested Himself in his life. I was grateful to see his faith in action. He inspired me.

As we exchanged our goodbyes he thanked me repeatedly for taking the time to talk to him. He shared that his wife was working two jobs and could not visit him, and that this was the first time someone had taken the time to have a conversation with him since he was in hospital. As we ended our conversation with a small prayer, I stepped out  of the room.  As I reflected on the amazing conversation we had I could not help but think about how many people we walk by each day and never stop to talk to. In the midst of our daily itineraries, we never make the time to smile at someone, say a simple hello, or engage in a conversation.

In our office we talk about the importance of creating personal connections. Of putting the person before the issue, and learning from each other through dialogue. I see how much I have learned from students, staff and faculty  through personal conversations. I become a better listener from these conversations. I become aware of different experiences that impact us all as individuals. I become self aware of areas I need to learn more about.  All because I take a chance and spark a conversation.  

That day Ben thanked me, but I should have been the one thanking him. He may never know what impact he had on me and what he taught me that day. He taught me that it is important to stop and enjoy the simple things in life. He taught me the value in taking a chance. 

--Jacqueline

HOW TO LIVE

Cross posted from Marathon B4 Mastectomy 

"It's not about how to achieve your dreams, it's about how to lead your life." -- Randy Pausch's Last Lecture


I believe in listening to what's being said inside of you. Working at a Quaker school taught me that. In Meeting for Worship, the practice is to enter into a simple gathering, sit silently, and open your heart and mind wide so that the message of God can be heard. When you feel God's love and it moves you to speak, you stand up and share the message with others. No altar. No fancy chalice. No kneeling up and down. Just you, God, and silence.

For the lifelong Catholic in me, this was tough. In the early years of attending Meeting for Worship, I felt completely uncomfortable. I didn't understand how a religious service  -- a religious experience -- was possible if there wasn't someone of authority to interpret the message for me.

Every few Sundays, my husband and I would drive out to Queens to visit his family. His father is a Pastor of a charismatic Christian church. Live, upbeat music, clapping, "Amens" and "Yes Jesus!" filled the room during the songs, during the sermon, and long after the 2 1/2 hour service was done. People danced in the aisles, spoke in tongues, and turned to their neighbors to tell them "God loves you, and God is good all the time!" There was nothing this Catholic girl wanted more than for a little silence and a whole lot of structure. I didn't understand how it was possible that a religious service -- a religious experience --  was possible of everyone in the seats was involved in the service.

Though both places of worship seem so different, they share this foundation of God's message:

Listen. Feel. Believe. Be present.

Though some of you might find this hard to believe, for most of my life, I beat up my body and mind. Not thin enough. Thighs too fat. Butt to big. Arms too wide. Skin too brown. Hair too straight. Hair too curly. Hair too black. Eyes too small. Stomach too jiggly. From my early teens until my mid-twenties, I battled troublesome eating issues.  A few years in there, those eating issues became best friends with alcohol dependency. More years of self-loathing. More years of never feeling good enough. More years of trying to be better, live better, treat myself better.

I have finally begun to come to terms with the truth that years of believing I was worthless, ugly, not good enough, not smart enough, and not pretty enough are not going to be solved with a few sessions with a nutritionist and a few weeks in a gym. They won't even be solved with a few half marathons. Though my life events have helped me to leave most of that negativity behind, I still carry a small knapsack of it with me.
For the past 18 months, I have been focusing on my body in a very different way. Rather than obsessing about how thin I wasn't getting from working out, I had to focus on how strong I was growing. In order to heal properly, I had to concentrate on how my muscles were changing. Just days after surgery, I remember sitting up in bed giving thanks for having built strong abdominal muscles that helped pull me out of bed.

Today, I marvel at my range of motion. I smile at my ability to do 2 push ups without my chest muscles violently convulsing when, just a few months ago, I couldn't even bear weight on my forearms. I smile when I realize I can reach up to the top of the refrigerator, when I surprise myself as I zip up my dress, and when I finish running 6.2 miles with relatively no pain in my shoulders. I laugh when I choose to eat carrots instead of the Milano cookies in the white roll-top bag, when I look forward to that first refreshing bite of a really good salad, and the idea that a cool glass of water is more appealing than a bubbly glass of Diet Coke. My attitude towards food -- towards my body -- has changed. It's how I now live my life.

Though having the mastectomy quite possibly saved my life from cancer, it actually saved me from myself. After Joli got sick, I appreciated the value of life, love, and joy beyond material possessions. After my mastectomy, I appreciated ME. I began to love myself. I began to see myself as worthy of care, of compassion, and of beauty.

I am beginning to Listen to the positive messages and redefine the negative ones. I am beginning to Feel the change in my physical body and change in my emotions. I am beginning to Believe in myself. And, I am learning to Be present.

As I sat quietly at the dining room table tonight, I thought of a video that was circulated a few years ago that I never watched. It was of the Carnegie Mellon professor who delivered his "Last Lecture." I'm not sure what was prompting me to watch it, but I have learned to just go with what my heart is telling me to do.

I decided to just watch the 3 minute version (as opposed to the whole 76 minute lecture), and heard the line I was meant to hear:

If you lead your life the right way, the karma will take care of itself. Your dreams will come to you.

I never imagined taking away my breasts would actually give me my life back. My life was meant to do this, it was meant to move in this direction; and so far, my dreams of feeling more like the Me I was meant to be are beginning to take shape.

-- by Liza Talusan

THE BLACK ATHLETE

The Black Athlete

Growing up in a predominantly Black neighborhood, playing sports was an expected way of life for me. In fact, as a Black male your athletic prowess in any sport afforded you a sense of pride and superiority to those who did not possess the same ability. Conversely, to be Black and possess no athletic ability was frowned upon. Expressions such as “soft,” “chump,” or even “White boy” were often used to characterize “non-athletes” throughout every recreational park, gymnasium, and court I found myself in. Countless images in the media portray Black people as “physical specimens;” perpetuating the stereotype that athleticism is innate to and the standard for all members of that racial background. In watching any NBA game, it is never hard to notice the fact that the majority of the athletes are Black, while the coaches, owners, and spectators are White. Many young African-Americans have been socialized to idolize professional athletes rather than teachers, doctors, or business owners. Young African-American men are continuously lured into a culture that devalues education and overemphasizes the desire to live irresponsibly.

I acknowledge that a system which marginalizes the Black athlete and African-American culture is deeply embedded in our society. However, education is the key to disrupting it. A person can be an athlete and still be a responsible and meaningful contributor to society. As the saying goes, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” In recognizing their status as role-models, many athletes lead healthy lifestyles that can and should be acknowledged. Though the media often attempts to portray something otherwise, the overwhelming majority of athletes have minimal involvement in alcohol and drug use, minimal involvement in violent and criminal related incidents, have obtained some level of college level credit, maintain a healthy diet and exercise regimen, and are actively engaged in their respective communities. In addition, athletes possess and demonstrate great character building traits such as teamwork, persistence, passion, hard-work, determination, and discipline among others.

I believe that we as a society should not condemn our Black students who aspire to be the next Lebron James. Instead, we should continue to encourage and expose them to more holistic images of the Black athlete as well as other Black professionals, scholars, and academics. 

--By Randall Phyall

OUTSIDE OF MY COMFORT ZONE

Out of my comfort zone.

I am a Latina.

And, as I joined 9 Asian American Stonehill women at the Asian Sisters Participating in Reaching Excellence (ASPIRE) 7^th annual Asian American Women in Leadership Conference hosted at Simmons College, I really knew I was Latina. Just looking around the room, I am quite certain I was the only Latina at the Conference. Which, this makes sense, right? After all, it was a conference for Asian American Women.

I was born and raised in a Spanish speaking household, where Spanish was my first language. I grew up helping prepare our signature dishes, pupusas and tamales, in the kitchen while listening to my aunts and uncles share stories of how life was so different in El Salvador.  My family’s cultural values, faith, and determination were shared with me from a very young age. The schools I attended growing up in this country were racially and ethnically diverse. The members of my church represented the diversity of Latin America. Walking through my neighborhood, I knew I would pass people who looked like me and spoke my language. The city of Bridgeport, CT was my comfort zone. I knew I would see myself represented in my community.

But, so much of what I tell my students is to "live outside of your own comfort zone." Get out there. Get involved. Get engaged. Get comfortable with being uncomfortable. Though I am one of only a few women of color on this campus (and hence, already out of my own comfort zone), it was important to my growth and development to go to a conference -- as a Latina -- for Asian American women. 

This Asian American Women in Leadership Conference “aims to promote strategic dialogue on the importance of leadership for Asian American girls and women. Specifically, the conference is designed to explore the role of leaders and leadership in a context relevant to Asian American women, highlight the effectiveness of diverse leadership skills and styles, create cross-generational networks among attendees that will extend discussions and relationships beyond the scope of the conference, and raise awareness about ASPIRE, its mission and value to Asian American girls and women (http://girlsaspire.org/aawil/index.html).”

I must admit at first I was extremely nervous to attend the conference as a Latina. Attending this conference definitely pushed me out of my comfort zone because I knew I would be in a room of women who neither shared my language or looked like me.  

This opportunity to step out of my comfort zone was perhaps one of the best experiences of my life. By stepping out, I encountered a different world -- one in which I found a lot of similarities.  I was exposed to the experiences of individuals  as they gave voice to their stories of growing up, as college students, as professionals, and as leaders.  Though we looked quite different on the outside, the truth was that we shared many of the same struggles, stories, and experiences as women of color. And, when we didn't share similarities, it was important for me to listen and be an ally in the conversation.

Once the conference had come to an end, I walked away with new found knowledge, new connections, and a new sense of inspiration. It was amazing to look out to the audience and see women from different ages, cultures, and walks of life united with the purpose of learning from each other. Throughout the day I was able to learn about other Asian American women, the Stonehill students that joined us, and myself. I learned, firsthand, the benefits of stepping out my comfort zone. 

"Tell me and I'll forget; show me and I may remember; involve me and I'll understand." -- Chinese proverb

--Jacqueline