The calm before the storm

Well this living, moving brainstorm has moved its way back to Minneapolis. It's amazing how easily one can be absorbed back into "life as it was". I have been to Narnia, everything is different, and out I step from the closet door back into my home and.... no time has passed, nothing has changed.

But, thankfully for my peace of mind this brief touch-down is but a stop in the road, a time of preparation for my next trip into "fantasy land".... The funny thing is that those times seem some much more real than the "real life" I leave behind. Hopefully this time I can bring Narnia back home with me...; either that or bring everyone from back home into Narnia with me. We'll see which one works better.

The Heart of the Issue

The other day I was sharing a cup of coffee with a friend on top of an old pickup truck in a large outdoor garden/plant nursery/store/coffee shop, right in the middle of Bayview. We were talking about social enterprise and community development (the topics of somewhere around 96% of my conversations, I'm afraid) and I said, "I just don't like programs; I don't think they really get at the heart of the issue..." At which point he interjected, "What is the heart of the issue?"

I stuttered out some kind of rambling response about generational cycles of family struggles and economic disparities... all the while thinking, "gee... who do I think I am, making statements like that? What really is the heart of the issue?"

So this question has been plaguing me. After a few days of turning this over, I guess I've decided the heart of the issue for all of us is in our hearts. When hearts have been damaged, scarred, and hardened, so that they can no longer love, hope, and dream, this is the issue. When hearts cease to feel and so forfeit that unique and extraordinary quality of humanity that enables such values as compassion and dignity, this is the issue. When hearts are so aching for love that they substitute shallow versions of it for the real thing until they don't even remember the real love they're looking for, this is the issue.

Can a program get at that -- at the heart?

What can?

Maybe some programs can do it. Maybe. But I'd venture to say that people need people -- people with broken hearts need people with healed and healing hearts, people with hardened hearts need people with gentle and open hearts.

If the heart of our complex issues lies in our hearts, then we need something that will reach all the way down to our complex hearts with their complex differences. Something like that connection with other complex people. I know, programs can be perfected, quantified, and planned while people cannot... but programs don't have hearts, people do.

Alternative Rock for Alternative Energy

While eating lunch in Homegirl Cafe I also met a member of the band Trapdoor Social, who is partnering with several alternative energy nonprofits to give 100% of the profits from the presale of their new album to put solar panels on the roof of Homeboy Industries' main building. Gee, why not?! Why didn't anyone else think of that? Watch the video if you're curious to know a little more, or click on this link to see their pledge music fundraising page.

A real trip: Homeboy Industries

It's "Jobs not Jails", of course! While in Los Angelos for Thanksgiving I took a tour of Homeboy Industries, founded by Father Greg Boyle (but just call him "G") and famous in LA for their chips and salsa....

My tour guide (let's call him Jim, since I didn't ask permission to publish his info) had been sentenced for life at age 17, but got out on parole partly because of what Homeboy Industries had to offer him. One of the first places Jim took me was the janitor's closet, "We all pretty much start here and work our way up," he told me. He's been at Homeboy a year, and because of the sociology classes he took while in jail and his passion for sharing his story he is now working with the youth outreach portion of the program. The tour started in the garden, where Jim shared Homeboy's roots and rough beginnings. It began as a charter high school, then a bakery, where the complexities to having a bunch of ex-gang members from competing gangs thrown together in one building revealed themselves in arguments and violence. The old bakery building burned down, but this led to a new and better facility, along with classes, counseling, group therapy, and countless other services to be built up around the training program.

Jim said, "When the rich have problems, they get counselors. When the poor have problems, they get probation officers and jail. Here, we are all rich; everyone gets counselors if they have issues they want to work through." And everyone gets everything, if they choose to take advantage of the plethora of resources that Homeboy offers. Everything I learned about was prefaced by the words, "Now you're really gonna trip on this," or "the real trip about this is"....and the tour really was a trip. Homeboy is doing almost everything you could think of in the job training/re-entry/reconciliation/non-profit/social enterprise/etc realm.

Check out their website or watch the video below if you're interested to know more about their programs, but one unique offering: tattoo removal. Free for anyone and everyone, prioritizing the neck up and elbow down. Why? You can have job training and re-entry services up the wazoo, but if the goal is to help someone get a job in the "real world".... Jim told me this story: One of Homeboy's trainees had tried and tried to get a job, and could not understand why he wasn't getting hired. Meanwhile, across his forehead the words "FUCK THE WORLD" screamed out the answer.... thus began their tattoo removal services. A first degree burn that's enough to make grown men cry (Jim gave me first-hand account of this), and two little star-shaped stress balls are the only tools provided to get them through it. That there, folks, is determination.

I'm hoping next time around I can meet G in person... but for now let's sit and listen to him together on camera:

A Christmas Carol

Last night we got a Christmas tree, so I decided it was time to read A Christmas Carol again. Probably because of this, I had a strange dream...

I ran my own pie diner (thanks to watching The Waitress), and just outside of town was a farm. I decided to go there to get fresh produce, and on my way I met an old man who warned me, "When you get there, you will see two unhappy people working, for they are only two there. When you ask them their names, one will say, 'Hunger', and the other, 'Want.' They will not be friendly, but they will give you what you pay for and nothing more."

All this was just as the old man had described. When the time came to get more produce, I went out to the same farm but was surprised to find two different people working. Still, when I asked their names the response was the same: "Hunger", said the wrinkly man in the straw hat and overalls; "Want", said the wrinkly lady in the sun dress and apron. Confused, I reported this to the old man when I got back to town. "True," he said, "you will see many different people there, but really there are only two; those who are hungry, and those who are in want. The further into the farm you go, you will meet people who like to call themselves by different names. For example, 'The one who pretends to be happy by spending all his money on flashy things', or 'The one who celebrates his unhappiness by flaunting academic cynicism." No matter, there are still only two people, for all the unhappiness in the world comes from either hunger or want. Those who are hungry may not be hungry for food, but they are hungry for love, for attention, for meaning. Those who are in want may have all the things they could ever need, but are still wanting for what others have, or wanting for what they cannot have. Those who are hungry for food may be driven to do things they would never otherwise dream of doing; those who are wanting for physical means and dignity may no longer act with means and dignity. Yet those who are hungry for only food and wanting for only material things you will not find there."

And so this Dickens-like imagery impressed itself very clearly upon my sleeping consciousness just in time for the Christmas season to begin. It is not revolutionary, I realize, but it is interesting, isn't it?

The Seat of Homelessness.

The way the bus schedule works out, by necessity I arrive at work 12 to 13 minutes early. There's a little seat carved out of a stump that I sit on to wait for someone else to arrive and unlock the door. As I sit there in my worn sneakers and over-sized grungy coat, with my backpack stocked for the day, hood up and hands huddled in my sleeves (trying to keep warm), I watch as a few other early-to-work people hurry past me now and then. Sometimes they steal a sidewise glance, but always they walk quickly on the far side of the sidewalk, more often staring straight ahead as if I'm not there. The first day or two I tried to meet their gaze and smile or say good morning, but the people avoided my eyes and quickened their step as they neared my stump. And I realized: they are acting like they're afraid of me, like they're avoiding me. Why would they do that? Why are they afraid? I looked down at myself, looked across the street where a homeless man, similarly attired, slept on the sidewalk with his backpack as a pillow.

Understanding dawned on me slowly (in accordance with the time of day). I bet they think I'm homeless. I bet they do! I bet they're avoiding me because they're afraid I'm crazy, afraid I'll want something from them, afraid that if they look at me they'll remember I'm a person and not just part of the tree stump. Afraid to confront the reality that their fellow human being could be living more like an animal than a human, and they are treating her as such. Afraid of suffering; afraid of compassion; afraid of guilt.

The other day I read an article about a man who, upon hearing he was to be named head pastor of his church, decided to live the life of a homeless man for 4 days. He then walked into church on his "inauguration day" looking and smelling as such, and addressed the congregation. A decently outside-the-box thing to do, I'd say.
Read the full story here:
http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/07/24/pastor-homeless-experience/2583241/

Now I no longer attempt to greet the people. I simply follow them with my eyes from under my hood; daring them to look at me, daring them to see me as a person. Daring myself to look at me through their eyes and wonder, what would I see?

Do you have the time?

Did I mention I got a part time job as a baker? A few mornings a week I get up at 4:00 and head off into the chilly morning, shake off the sleepys on the way, and bake pie for 8 hours.

I walk about 15 minutes to get to my bus stop, and I can't help but be hyper-aware of my surroundings. Not because I think it's really dangerous, but because it is dark and I am alone (Don't worry all you moms and dad out there - in my coat pockets I have my phone in one hand and mace in the other). I don't usually meet anyone on this walk, but the other day there was a man coming slowly towards me as I rounded a corner. I'm walking quickly and purposefully, head down, but he stops me (my radar goes up) and says, "Do you have --". At this moment I automatically jump to the assumption that he wants something from me, and will finish the sentence with: "Do you have a few dollars to spare? A cigarette? A light?" I prepare myself to say, "No, sorry" and hurry by, but he says: "Do you have the time?"

Taken aback, I glance at my phone, say, "quarter to 5:00" (what an ungodly hour!) and as I continue walking I replay these words over and over in my head. "Do you have the time?" Before knowing anything about this man I had prepared myself to have no time for him, and he confronted my selfishness in the simplest way possible. "Do you have the time?" Do I? It is so easy to be about my business, and legitimately there is a lot of business I am always taking care of. But maybe there is something to that question. Maybe I need to be more aware of how I use my time, of allowing myself to have the time more often. Maybe sometimes that is all someone needs of us - our time.

Do you have the time?

I've been thinking about this lately.

Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life.

--St. Francis of Assisi

Snow

Today Minnesota had its first snowfall of the winter.

Perhaps one of the best feelings in the world is looking out the window to see an unexpected world of sparkling whiteness. The first blinding glimpse of it is awakening and exhilarating, and as you step out the door and breathe in that fresh snowy air with a smile, you know that all is well with the world. That is, until you realize you must scrape off your car... and by the time you get to work late after dealing with the population's incompetence in snow driving (come on, people, this happens every year!) you are cursing your car, the time, your soggy boots, and the god of weather. This is the way being an adult ruins the mystery and and enchantment of the world.

Maybe this is similar to the way an adventure ceases to feel like one after it's been parked in one spot a little too long. The enchantment and wonder that could be found in every new corner, every new face, has begun to wear off with the monotony of familiarity. It is at this point you can take off your rose-colored glasses and see that this place, like every other place in the world, is home to chaos, injustice, sorrow, bureaucracy, segregation. This place, being inhabited by humans, exhibits the paradox of the human existence: that in every joy there is the sorrow of incompleteness, in every healing a scar, in every success the reminder of failure. Because there is no answer; no one fix or solution to suffering and poverty, no one city that does it better than another.

Or perhaps it is because the answer to helping people can't be found in a place or a program, but in people themselves. People who choose to look at the world differently, look at their neighbors compassionately, look at their lives sacrificially. What if we all did this?

A puzzle

When I began talking to people about Mama T's (this home for girls/bakery of my dreams), I had several people ask me: "are you going to sell pies, or mentor young women?" My answer: "both, of course!" Why couldn't it be both? In my mind it all worked together as one completely interconnected organism.

Working in the middle of a restaurant/training program has now made me ask: "are you going to run a successful restaurant, or train and mentor at risk youth?" This puzzle is harder to put together than I anticipated, reminding me of the times we all sat down on a snowy holiday, thinking we'd pass a bit of spare time by puzzling. Several days later, the many stray puzzle pieces mocking us from their random positions about the table, we are forced to admit that we underestimated the task at hand. Is the puzzle impossible? No, but it takes significantly more time and focus than we bargained for.

Is Old Skool Cafe the complete puzzle? I think it's close, and I think it would be even closer if not for the growing pains it needs to get past first. Is it impossible to have the complete puzzle that Old Skool and I strive for? No, I don't think so. But it's not easy, and I'm glad I can observe the points of friction where the dual goals collide and clash. Actually, observe is a bit too distant: I have been thrown into the middle of the operation, told to fit these two gears together, and to make the machine go.

It is important to allow your dream to be put to the test.... When you can question the perfection of your own vision is when you allow it the opportunity to be perfected.

The Minnesota Glow

Yesterday, October 15th, marked my 1 month anniversary in San Francisco.

On previous October 15ths, Napoleon moved out to his island of exile and Abraham Lincoln received a letter that he would look better with a beard. I moved into a room with a door to the outside world (yes, there is a God!!), and was told by one of my students that my hair color was gold... Lifelong dream fulfilled.

This same student also remarked that I had a glow about me, the same glow he had seen in the only other Minnesotan he'd met. Something about that land of lakes must sink into our skin, and apparently takes more than a month to wear off. I'm hoping mine never does.

Sainthood

My new place of residence consists of a very small room in a basement. Thus, in order to retain my sanity, I conjure Mother Teresa and the many other saints in their tiny, sparse cells.

For the times this exercise fails me, I have acquired a second home (thanks to the hospitality of some neighbors). Often making friends takes a lot of "getting to know you" time, but sometimes friends are instantaneous. Matt and Leah are those rare "just add water" kind of friends, who take very little effort to make but taste like they're from scratch; like we've known each other for a long time. Currently they're out at work, and I am sitting at their kitchen table, my second home.

In addition, on Sunday I was adopted into a large, energetic black family. All I had to do was hang out with them for a few hours, feed them pie, and low and behold I was christened (with a wooden spoon, I believe) their newest family member. The ceremony was complete with a whole lot of whooping and laughing and hugging and dancing.... pretty sure I up and died and went off to heaven. You may now call me Saint Teresa.

Talk about experience...

This week at Old Skool I:

• Worked with Tammy, the head of Old Skool University, to write a curriculum plan for their new class of students.
• Wrote an outline for their new apprenticeship program.
• Created a training plan to equip youth trainers with teaching skills and tools.
• Helped create a new wine list.
• Got to play the role of server, host, busser, bartender, dishwasher, prep cook, and manager.
• Had to tell myself to slow down, as my tendency to constantly edit everything I touch was verging on obsession, my idea-generating mechanism was overheating, and my workaholic meter was climbing.

Remember, Teresa, you're still learning.

A Life of Various Blessings

The other day I sneezed on the bus and was blessed by the man beside me. Thank you, sir, for halting my downward spiraling opinion of this vehicle.

-- -- --

Old Skool's host is a 6 foot-something youth who goes by the nickname "Bird Man". Thus, we have formed the unstoppable "Team Bird!", complete with handshake. I look out for him when he needs a hand with guests, to take a break, or vent to someone; he looks out for me when I don't yet know protocol, when I have to transport heavy loads, when I'm tired and he orders me to sit down, when it's late at night and he offers a gentlemanly arm, walks me to the bus stop and waits til I get on... I think I get the better end of the deal.

A sobering beginning and end to each day.

I have come to refer to my closest friend (we spend two hours together each day), the city bus, as the Great Equalizer. Side by side sit well-dressed businessmen, students, homeless folk, and addicts of all kinds. Vastly different yet all dependent on this box-shaped vessel to transport them to their destination. As a rule, people on public transit mind their own business. I was hoping the bus could provide me with a platform for that much lacking human connection in my life, but if you look at someone too long or attempt to hold a conversation, the response you get is generally the rabbit-like fear of frozen expression and averted eyes, making it clear that you are scaring them; only crazies try to talk on the bus. So people are generally quiet, but when you get a "raver", as I've begun to call them, the bus develops an erie ultra-silence, as people try too hard to disappear into themselves so as not to become a target for the presiding "lunatic". The bus is a world of its own: all these people thrown together and unable to escape until the bus-world collides with their respective portals to the outside world -- which seems safer and more sane only because all the "crazy" (or, more often, just different) people are farther spread apart. It's easier to ignore the things you don't want to see when they're not sitting next to you; when people's chaotic or broken lives can be kept on the other side of the sidewalk or the other side of the city instead of jammed into the neighboring seat. Things are always clearer closer up, and this miniature world inevitably becomes a magnifying glass into the human existence. Perhaps I should instead call my friend the Great Microscope.

It is no wonder that the bus often leaves me feeling melancholy and slightly disoriented. I have not yet decided the best practice for surviving this situation. Shall I continue to ride, observe, and be melancholy? Retreat into my book or my own little world, and numb myself to the experience? Avoid the bus altogether? That would be quite the walk.

Check Mark: Week 1

Living in a new city is a surreal experience. It is simultaneously home and totally unfamiliar...

Working at Old Skool has followed suit. It feels very normal to go in, participate in meetings and discussions around the organization, work in the restaurant and joke around with the employees....
yet at the same time everything is new and I am constantly learning.

On my first day I overheard a conversation taking place in the kitchen.
Student of their training program, talking to one of the already graduated employees: "So, is this a church?"
Employee: "No, I mean, it's not like a religion or anything... It's more like a family."

It's true, Old Skool feels like a family, and the youth have openly and quickly welcomed me into it.

So has Steve, the restaurant's Director of Operations, who reminds me of my good friend Guy Western. It is a great feeling when you know you don't have to try to prove yourself to someone, but you are seen for who you are and automatically valued for what you can offer. Thank you Steve! It is because of you that I am in a perfect position to learn everything I need to know to run a restaurant well.

Greatest accomplishment so far: Last night I earned the entire staff's respect by taking on the cooks' challenge to eat a full rack of ribs. I felt a little guilty for not sharing, but my competitive streak came out, and heck yes I can eat a full rack of tasty barbecued ribs!

San Francisco

Get ready - the real adventure has begun (please click on that link....sorry, couldn't help it).

1940s supper club? Live entertainment? International Soul Food? Run by at-risk youth?
Yes, these all exist in one place.

Welcome to Old Skool Cafe! Watch this short video and be amazed (but first you might want to click on that there link and check out Old Skool's awesome website while waiting for previously clicked on pump-up song to be over).

Talk about outside the box -- this place is it. I am excited to say that starting tomorrow I will be working here as a full time volunteer for at least the next 2 months. I suppose that's a bit outside the box as well. 

My (awesome, crazy, enthusiastic, resourceful) friend Michelle Turner suggested I do another outside the box thing -- give people the opportunity to pay for my salary, since Old Skool Cafe cannot. I hadn't even considered it, had no idea if I wanted to do it or how to do it.... so she patiently walked me through setting up a site on Razoo. Check it out - this will link to my page, but there are so many neat things on this site you could support!

There will be much more to come about Old Skool Cafe in the weeks ahead... get ready.

A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them.

Have you ever had a big exciting event planned for the evening of a very busy day? You run around all morning, all afternoon, you're exhausted, and you have just enough time for a sufficient cat nap to boost your energy. You dream about strange adventures for just long enough to feel fully refreshed, and wake up just in time for the real event of the day.

That is how I feel about finally arriving at my destination.

Everything is beautiful in its time, including a spontaneous cross country road trip -- and the end of the road trip. There is something so fulfilling and invigorating about knowing your traveling has, for a time, come to an end.... and now you are really about to start living.

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

I have a dream.

Recently it has taken the shape of a bakery, restaurant, or cafe that exists beneath the home of the young women who run it. Why? Adventure, business training, full-life mentoring, a self-sustaining and self-replicating venture.... the pursuit of this idea is why I'm going to San Francisco.

It's true that my dream has taken many turns, from this big picture (aka by some as Mama T's Cafe), to just a home (for children, young women, or lost and lonely people), to a school (for kids who can't read good, per Derek Zoolander), to a farm school.... In the spirit of allowing my vision to mold as I go, I think it is good that I have an eclectic one.

What do I really see in my mind's eye?
A big, old, wise house whose entire yard is growing vegetables, herbs, and tall, wild-looking flowers, topped by trellises and arches sporting vines of peas, string beans, and morning glories. If you walk up the little stone path to the front door you will enter into a lively and colorful room wafting cajun spices, coffee, and laughter. Is it a restaurant? Maybe. But maybe it's just for the people who live there, or who come in. Maybe we'll sell our baked goods, or handmade crafts. We will definitely have music concerts and plays.

I think this is what I want most.

Vision for Vision's Sake.

"Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others." - Jonathan Swift (a fellow Irishman)
A friend of mine once told me, "Experience molds vision." And I thought, pshhh. I have great visions for a great future that are so real I could touch them!...and they don't need molding. 

Then a few months went by, and as I grew older and wiser I realized that whether or not visions need molding isn't the point; they just do mold. The reality is that everything we do, see, hear - in short, experience - shapes who we are and who we aspire to be. If we fully live and engage with the people and places we meet along our way, they will leave their mark on us. This is part of being truly human, part of being in a world with so many unturned stones that bid us to never stop looking and learning.

Having a vision can be a beautiful thing if it comes from a heart that is yearning for beauty. It can also be an ugly thing if it comes from a heart that perhaps once yearned for beauty and now has ceased to do so in favor of protecting its own prideful pursuit of power. (I'm not sure power is the right word, but the opportunity for another p was too much to pass up)... What I mean is this: if I have a vision, there is a danger for me to become married to it simply because it is mine (this is often a downfall of amateur entrepreneurs as well); I think it will work, I believe in this vision, I know that people need what I have to offer -- regardless of what the evidence does or doesn't support. If this occurs then my "vision" is no longer about the original vision at all; it is about me, and I will fight for it whether it continues to be a beautiful thing or becomes something futile. A pure vision is one that springs from, and remains within, a pure and malleable heart.

Beauty is utterly intertwined with meaning. As we continue to discover the depth of what is truly meaningful, our vision of beauty and how we reflect it will mold to that understanding as well.

O Pioneers

"A pioneer should be able to enjoy the idea of things more than the things themselves." 
             --Willa Cather, O Pioneers!

I personally believe that just about anything is better shared, so please share your ideas and I will share mine. Hopefully by so doing we will create a collection of ideas which are naturally great, if only because of the hearts that invented them. Ready, set, brainstorm.

On the Outside

"Stay outside the box.....it's better out there" --Ward Brehm

Here we shall display people and places that are outside of the box. Why not?

A thought

Life has elements of sweet and bitter. Just like balsamic vinegar.

The Kamikaze Entrepreneur

ka·mi·ka·ze : a Japanese term literally meaning "God" or "spirit" (kami) "wind" (kaze). Usually translated as "divine wind" (used as a noun and an adjective).

en·tre·pre·neur : a French word, which comes from an even older word meaning "to undertake". Interestingly enough, a similar-sounding Sanskrit word meaning "self-motivated" is thought to be historically related. Literally, a "self-motivated undertaker"; and we can at last understand why we've adapted the lovely French word instead of its English equivalent.

An entrepreneur, no matter how much of an innovator, organizer, or manager, is first and foremost a risk-taker. A good entrepreneur will identify these risks and attempt to eliminate them before sinking in too deep, but nevertheless risks have always, and will always, be present. We self-proclaimed entrepreneurs often go into things a bit kamikaze, hurling headlong into an unknown and unwelcoming market with big dreams and little knowledge. Still, this is not why I choose to highlight the kamikaze kind of entrepreneur. This person is perhaps without experience and knowledge, but it is precisely this "greenness" that allows him or her to be swept up in the whirlwinds of unassuming inspiration. Though one may hear their sound or feel them brush across the face, none can quite tell from where they come from or to where they go. And for this reason it is the kamikazes who will soar on these winds; risking a fall to the death over defeat by fear, and in hopes of reaching the heights where sorrows melt and bluebirds fly and dreams come true....

But why blog about this? You may know that blogs usually make me cynical, and I tend to laugh at them rather than read them. But upon request I have taken up the challenge to blog my findings as I begin my career of a self-employed researcher. My promise to the readers is that this will not be my online diary, nor my online trophy case. My goal instead is to present an online research journal and brainstorming outlet for those of you like me who are entrepreneurs at heart. Yes, at heart and perhaps not yet in action, but as Willa Cather wrote in her book O Pioneers!, "The history of every country begins in the heart of a man or a woman." Maybe the same for the history of every business? At least the kind that we kamikaze entrepreneurs dream of. 

Don't confuse us with the mere dreamers of the world. Dreamers dream but don't always act, while we will attempt - one little rise at a time, upon each little breath of wind - to bring the things of our dreams to life.