Raise The Flag

Texarkana was deemed the midpoint between Houston and Mena, Arkansas during the child swap that results from divorces. It is not the midpoint. In fact, it is about 300 miles shy of being the midpoint. Win mom.

During said child swap trips, my brothers and I would beg for mom to stop at Pancho’s. For those of you who are not from Texarkana or other similar sketchy towns, Pancho’s is a Mexican buffet. If those two words together don’t bother you, they should. It is inevitable that such a place would be shut down for health code violations. By pure coincidence, this fate befell the castle that held our crown jewels; sour cream enchiladas, chili rellenos, tacos, and sopapillas. This was all served on a metal plate with a red plastic rim. Raise the flag was the motto. Once you were seated at the table, you simply had to raise your flag to let your server know that you needed something. My brothers and I would have enchilada eating contests at Pancho’s. We also had many illegitimate birthdays here. Gone are the days where you can get away with such shenanigans…I’m fairly certain that most places check your ID now. It is a sad day when a kid can’t get a free piece of birthday cake you know? I digress. These sopapillas were made in house, and the smell was overwhelming and wonderful. They’d bring them out in a basket at which point my brothers and I would swarm them like we were prisoners who’d been in solitary confinement without food for a week. The flag would go straight up, and the server would walk over and wonder what the hell else these crazy kids could possibly consume. Christopher liked to refer to Pancho’s trips as the time to break out his “hollow leg.” I never really liked the term, and am still not a fan. I feel like people who use terms like hollow leg have illegitimate children at an early age. Case in point.

Honey reminds me of these trips to Pancho’s with my family. I have acquired a strange obsession with honey this year. I don’t remember ever wanting it all the time before in my life. Sure, I like the occasional bowl of Honeycombs. Honey on my biscuit, done. I have been through three bottles of honey in four months. This is not normal. I put it on peanut butter and banana sandwiches, in my smoothies, on hot biscuits, on a brownie the other day. I even tried it on vanilla ice cream. Hot tea. Everything. I can also not confirm nor deny that I drink honey out of the bear bottle when I need to get a sweet fix.

I read somewhere that if a person was to ever become stranded on a desert island, the one food they could eat for the rest of their life on this island is honey. Honey is apparently the only food that could sustain you for the rest of your life. Nothing else, just honey. Sure, your teeth would fall out, but you’d be alive. This beat my mint chocolate chip ice cream answer hands down.
Does this new love of honey mean that I am subconsciously missing my childhood? Am I so far into the throws of adulthood that I am already having a midlife crisis? Or are we programmed to worry all the time even if life gives us nothing to worry about? Borrowing worry out of the worry bucket is never a good idea if that is the case. Either way, I hope I can find a study that suggests that there are huge health benefits to consuming mass amounts.

I’d like to apply the “raise the flag” concept to life. Think genie in a bottle type of thing. Raise that flag, ask away, wish granted. Trifecta. Hey, it worked when we were kids at Pancho’s – binge eating sour cream enchiladas and betting each other that we could out eat the other. Those were great days.

Drink It In

It seems as if there are times in our lives that seem to stick out more than others. Times that we can look back on and remember minute details; what we were wearing, the food we ate that day, the people we chatted with, the conversations that we were a part of, or logistical details that are of no real importance in the overall scheme of things. This weekend in Kansas City is now one of those times for me. It started out on a late night flight from DCA. I checked into my hotel room at The Hyatt Place near the airport, took a bath, and feel fast asleep later than I should have. Routine. The next morning, I began a two day journey on this herculean ship that was my outbound seminar with the Ambassadorial Scholar class of 2011-2012. Twenty-four of us gathered from all over the country. Strangers passing through each other’s lives – new Rotarian faces dotted the room and further enhanced the weekend. Larry Lunsford and Jorge Aguilar started us off as we went around the room to introduce ourselves. Two minutes each of who we are, where we are from, what we plan to do, and how our lives led us on this path. Twenty-four individuals spoke on Friday and each and every introduction was awe-inspiring. Sharon Benzoni will study water anthropology in Ghana and work towards solving the crisis of water in Africa. Jessie will study sustainable development and agriculture in New Zealand and help cure world hunger. Greta is about to publish her novel on women in Liberia and will study forced migration in South Africa. Angie will study rural development and food scarcity in India. To say that I was blessed to be in a room with such amazing human beings is an understatement. I want to be each one of them. I want to study the things they will study, work on the same projects alongside them in Ghana, Peru, Hong Kong, Thailand, Australia, England, Switzerland, India, South Africa, Costa Rica, and Scotland. I want to till the soil with Angie in Delhi and work with refugees in Africa. Each person will spend the next year doing extraordinary things with extraordinary people throughout this world. All because we have been afforded an opportunity through our Rotary Clubs nationwide. This organization has singlehandedly almost eradicated Polio. For one dollar a vaccine, Rotary has changed the lives of hundreds of thousands of human beings. $26,000 is being given to me – an amount that could have bought 26,000 lifetimes for those in the countries still stricken by the disease. This could purchase thousands of wells in developing Africa that could furnish clean drinking water to hundreds of towns that have never seen water that is clean and sanitary. Collectively, our group was given $624,000 from the pockets of selfless men and women who believe that we will deliver on our promise to change this world. It will be no easy task, but it will be the spark in the fire that will change the rest of our lives. I am infused with enthusiasm, inspiration, and hope for the upcoming year.

I am already impressed with the reach of Rotary International. Every corner of the world seems to be brimming with Rotarians who are working on project after project that furthers the mission of the organization. They are building wells in Africa, and working with women across the world and teaching them how to take care of themselves physically and financially. Little girls in India are being given the chance to educate themselves in schools that were dreamed up by Rotarians. Microdevelopment, sustainability, renewable energy, food scarcity, peace and conflict resolution, climate change…these “bigs” in the world – the things that can overwhelm both the individual and society…the things that sometimes feel too staggering to address…are being addressed right now by these amazing people. They need hands on deck for each project. Faith. Vitality. Vision. All qualities I possess and want to dole out immediately. For this reason, I have decided that my plane ticket to New Zealand will be a one-way ticket. My studies will end after a year, this is true, but my studies in life will be just beginning. It is at this point that I will begin my trip around the world. This trip will start in New Zealand, Australia, Fiji, and Tonga. I plan to work my way up the map into Indonesia, Bali, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, China, India, Russia, The Middle East, Eastern Europe, and finally, Africa. I imagine that a large part of my time will be spent throughout Africa, as there is the most need in this part of the world. After my time in Africa, I hope to work my way to Central and South America, and finally, back to the United States. I am not capping this trip at a year, as I have no way to know what amount of time I should anticipate on each project that I do, nor do I know exactly what projects will arise. I have a fierce savings goal that I am currently pursuing, but will work when I can while abroad. I will work as the people work whether it be on a farm in India or selling vegetables in Tibet. I am doing my best not to worry about the details, for those will fall into place. I have ten months to prepare myself and my mind for this trip to New Zealand, and then a year to deal with the rest…I will be drawn to the projects that need my attention, and stay as long as I am needed. I anticipate a year now, but I will allow for more if that is necessary - without question. It is an amazing feeling to finally have an answer to that ever present pull I feel within myself – the pull to change the world person by person, place by place. I will finally capitalize on my urge to write as well and catalogue my journey. So stay tuned friends, the next few years will be extraordinary.

Amos Lee

February 8, 2011

It became very apparent to me today while I was watching this week’s Grey’s for the third time (slumped down on the couch so much so that my neck is permanently injured from the contortion)...apparent that I am not dealing with this break up well. Let’s backtrack. September 17 was quite the day for me. It was that day I became a reflection in the rear view mirror for the one person in this world that I am absolutely crazy about. I love him with ferocity, and have not figured out the right way to move forward. It has been roughly four and a half months, and I am nowhere near not missing him every minute. I read somewhere that you should allow half of the time you were together to really get over the grief that sometimes results post relationship. If that is the case, I will need about five more months. Fantastic news. In the meantime, rest assured that I am trying absolutely all of the wrong things. If it is advice, I’ve heard it. If it has been suggested, I’ve tried it. I’ve passed the time with all the wrong people, binge eaten ice cream consistently, taken long hot showers more often than I should (sorry mother earth, I’m working on it), avoided reading the new Nicholas Sparks book, worked out twice a day and cut my caloric intake to about 500 a day for the so called revenge diet, (that last about a month) and have forced myself to go out more often and hang out with new friends – and that just scratches the surface. Everything seemed to come to a head today while spending time with a man friend.

He kept asking me what was wrong – over and over – at which point I puffed up like a fool and started crying so much that my face turned the most attractive shades of red. Phrases like “I just miss him, I can’t breathe without him, I can’t get this brick off my chest, and I can’t believe I lost him” started barreling out. Ladies, boys love it when you talk to them about your exes, believe me. This specific gentleman is a gem (for the most part) and let me soak his grey shirt with snot and tears and held onto me tight. He instructed me that I shouldn’t be dating et al. anyone. At all. Until I’m okay. I imagine that he is right, but this insight happens to conflict with the advice of many of my girlfriends…”the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” This doesn’t have to mean sex of course to anyone reading this…I choose to think it means anything man related in general. These two conflicting ideas have left me in a fair amount of confusion. Why is it that the girls in my life suggest that finding a new man is the best way – and the boys say slow down and focus on me for a while? Could this mean that they, for once, are onto something? And by they I mean men. Because they are the they and we are the we…we being the more logical of the wes and theys. Most times. In this case, I’m not sure which route to go.

Today I feel like throwing in the towel and pulling a Clueless. Ordering myself flowers and shopping for no one but myself and maybe volunteering to remember that I am not the only person in the world. I need to strap my boots back on and check back into life, but I’m at the bottom of the ocean right now and blue. Amos Lee says when you get right down to the bottom of the barrel, you’ll flow back on top. Let’s hope you’re right Amos, because I’m not sure if I like this fragment of myself bit. I’m over it. Who would’ve thought my whole heart would be living in freaking Omaha, NE? My fancy spaceship phone tells me it is -1 degree there right now. Yet another reason I want my heart back. Maybe I will take a vacation. Carnival has cruises out of Baltimore now. Solution.

2011

I came across something the other day that threw me for a bit of a loop. While packing up my house in Fayetteville and moving my things there into storage (DC rooms don't allow for much excess), I stumbled upon a file folder of quizzes, stories, poems, and artwork from K-6th grade. One prompt in bold block letters begged the question - "When I grow up I want to be...." Underneath this half statement was once a page full of blank white paper now yellow with time. When did I grow up enough for my papers to oxidize? In shaky cursive, I began to state my case. "When I grow up, I want to be a writer. Writing makes me happy, and I want to spend my life making everyone smile just like I do." However simplistic, this threw me for quite a loop. When recounting my childhood, I cannot remember my career aspirations before politics. I heard that I had real interest in becoming a flower, but that didn't come to fruition. I have always known that I enjoy writing, but with that comes this feeling of dread. What if people don't like what I write? What if I cannot come up with something to say? Does enjoying writing mean that I should write a novel, and if so, how in the world do you begin to develop a story line and characters? I imagine that every author grapples with these questions at some point in his or her budding career, but at which point is it okay to stop asking these questions and just start writing? Aside from a blog post here or there, I've not actually sat down to write in longer than I can remember. I told myself that I would write in Honduras, and then after the election - but I didn't make time to. I never want to see writing as a chore, but as an outlet. So until some divine inspiration falls down onto me, I guess that I will still be wordless. Maybe I need to shut down my brain for a spell and learn to just be still...maybe in that stillness the words will come.