This may seem too self-referential for some but here goes: one of the reasons I LOVE spending time in our beloved Montréal - besides the culture, arts, beauty, great food, jazz, and chill vibe is the disadvantage I experience as an old dude with only a minimalist ability in the French language. Put positiviely, I marvel and honor the radical bi-lingualism of the city's Francophone majority (same, too, for the bilingual Anglophones.) I grieve that I don't have that ability but revel in their incredible linguistic flexability. Intellectually and emotionally I know that facility in more than one language creates a way of being in the world that sees/comprehends possibilities. One size does NOT fit all. There is more fluidity between the right and left side of the brain and creativity abounds. Once upon a time I had some of this happening with Spanish, but that is mostly gone now, too. What I am trying to say is that wandering the streets of Montréal, trying to engage the citizens in questions and sometimes even a conversation in French, is not only humbling but evokes a measure of vulnerability within, too. And vulnerability is holy ground - especially for a white, cisgendered, bourgois American male. To date, my Francophone sisters and brothers have helped me ripen into old age in a few unexpected ways:
+ First, they remind me that I am not the center of the universe. As a man of modest privilege raised in the USA, it is second nature to act like the proverbial "Ugly American." I am used to getting what I want (most of the time), when I want it. And when that doesn't happen I can easily feel deprived or even oppressed. (Read the wise op ed in today's NY Times by David Brooks about what motivates mass shooters @ https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/07/opinion/mass-shooters-motive.html ) Choosing to be vulnerable, however, opens my heart and eyes to the reality of others. I'm not saying it is simple or easy to walk the path of downward mobility. It isn't. It's just transformative. It creates space to change and go deeper. And make room for others, too. As a recent FB meme put it:
May we release the myth of independence and make a declaration to embrace and nourish our interdependence. May we pledge allegiance to the land, to the waters, to our human and nonhuman kin, to the earth-body we call home. May we find our house of worship in the trees, the sky, the dirt, the mountains, in our own bodies. May we find new places of power, shimmering along the edges of what we think is the only way forward. May we love each other and honor life more than we love guns, oil, money, power, control, or the written word of hungry ghosts. May we midwife systems of harm to die with grace, and compost them into new ways of caring for each other. May we honor our grief, make space for deep rest, find pleasure in our pursuit for justice, and ignite transformation with our holy rage.
+ Second, their willingness to help me learn new words is all about compassion and our interconnectedness as living beings rather than dominance. Last night, after a long day of travel, Di and I walked through the fecund beauty of le marché Jean-Talon, the fresh food farmer's market in Little Italy (our current neighborhood.) After any measure of travel, I find it grounding to simply walk around the area both to get my bearings but also take in the vibe. This is a wildly diverse community populated by every stripe of humanity you might imagine. After a simple supper of Mexican street food, we went in search of some libation and breakfast supplies. The local depaneur (convenience store) gave up the ghost during Covid, so we wound up a few blocks away on Boulevard St. Laurent. Di was wiped out and sat out my quest along one of the many traffic free pedestrian walkways that are family/handicap friendly. I found a new (to me) upscale market, gathered my goodies, and stepped up to the counter only to be gently reminded en français that the line formed behind me where five other shoppers were patiently waiting. I apologized, took my place sheepishly, and waited my turn. When my turn arrived, the young female clerk told me (first in French and then in English): "Don't sweat it. That happens all the time." She smiled knowingly and made space for an old, tired Anglophone in a French neighborood. Over and over this happens to me: there is space for us all when we take one another into account. Ever try this in the US? As a non-native speaker? Believe me, it is NOT something you want to experience. Hell, you could get yourself shot! A quote from jazz pianast, McCoy Tyner, gets it right as he describes his approach to making music together:
I like people to be comfortable. That’s the first thing I think about. Will people playing with me be comfortable and compatible? That’s very important. It’s a good place to start. I also like to provide enough room so the person is comfortable to do what they do. I don’t like to handcuff people. But at the same time, he’s got to understand that when he’s playing with me, he also has to listen. Listening and responding are very important.
+ And third, their respectful interactions push me towards greater generousity. When I was very young - and all through high school - I had some anger management issues. Over time I've learned to let go of a lot, but I still need encouragement to be my best self. Living, breathing, shopping, walking around, and watching others helps me practice waiting which is, in my worldview, the foundation of generousity. It's why we practice contemplation. It's at the heart of true religion. And it's built into the rhythms of Mother Nature, music, authentic conversations, and loving relationships. Maya Angelou told us: "I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." I believe that grace ALWAYS trumps karma, but that doesn't mean karma isn't real. St. Paul hit a home run in Romans 12 when he defined spiritual worship as embodied waiting:
So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for God. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what the holy wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.
Like travel guru, Rick Steves, tells us: “I would like travelers, especially American travelers, to travel in a way that broadens their perspective, because I think Americans tend to be some of the most ethnocentric people on the planet." In addition to my time as an Anglo organizer with the farm workers union founded by Cesar Chavez, my first trip to then Soviet Russian and Eastern Europe opened me to the challenges Steves described. We were 50 so-called peace activists. While in Poland during Marshall Law, however, I saw my gentle colleagues explode with rage when told that given food rationing and shortages there would only be one cup of coffee each morning - and no sugar. The words, complaints, and attitudes would have led you to believe we'd just been stripped of our right to vote! Ugly Americans, indeed. So, thank you now, and thank you always, Montréal: as long as I can travel I'll return.
No comments:
Post a Comment