Recently, I’ve felt generally bogged down. In part because this time of year at school always seems to inundate me with paperwork and trivial tasks, but also because I’m getting ready to move and there’s always unexpected expenses with lugging my life from the tip of Texas to South Dakota.
Last night, I returned home from a meeting, slouched on our chaise lounge, dug my macbook air out of my 6-year old backpack and started entering meeting statistics into a google document. As I was finishing, I heard the bzzz bzzz of my phone. Expecting to see my sister’s name (truly, she’s the only person who consistently calls me), I nonchalantly fumbled for my phone. When I found it in the mess of paper surrounding me, I was surprised to see a new caller show up on the screen.
Arnold.
Arnold and I met the first time I was in Haiti. Our first night at the compound together, we shared conversation about teaching and the achievement gap. Throughout the week, we enjoyed nights on the rooftop comparing the relaxivity of Haiti with the hustle and bustle of the states. I felt immediately comfortable with Arnold, as if my oddities didn’t need explanation, but rather, sort of synced to his own.
Our best day shared was at the beach. We sat on the rocky shores collecting rocks and sharing fried plantains and french fries. At one point, I took three rocks and piled them on top of each other to create a mini statue of sorts. Arnold looked at it and commented, “You’re really creative.” Nearly a year later, I still think it’s one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.
Knowing that a conversation with Arnold would require my full attention, I ignored his call until I finished working and stowed my belongings. Then, I plopped onto my bed and nervously retrieved my missed calls and waited until I heard his voice on the other end of the line. We talked for an hour about topics ranging from his law school to my upcoming move to Haiti. At one point, in the first quarter our conversation, he recalled a conversation we had in Haiti when I told him I wanted to be a writer. His recollection spurred a tangent of chasing dreams as we each vocalized what we’d ideally like to do in life. It was beyond refreshing to put words to what have become my self-secrets, to the dreams I don’t share with anyone for fear of sounding too lofty or too idealistic.
At one point, I prefaced one of my statements with, “this is going to make me sound really naïve” and then I shared my dream of purchasing land in Haiti one day and starting a big community garden. I could live there three months out of the year and the community could sustain and utilize the garden while I was in the States. When I finished detailing my plan, nervous his response would be something like, “you’re crazy” he said,
Can we collaborate on that?
Later, when I hung up the phone, surprised how quickly the hour had passed, I felt renewed. I sunk into my pillow and inside my chest, it felt as if an independence day firework show was convening. No longer was I worried about figuring out how to rent a U-haul trailer before June 7th or how to take apart my homemade bed. A new sort of urgency had overcome me, a peaceful urgency to be consumed by my passions, to expend energy on following the (not so beaten) path to my dreams.
Arnold taught me that loving is really putting words to my dreams because there are other people who are likely dreaming something similar who want to
collaborate.
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