Silence.

You can’t live with them, you can’t live without them. No, I’m not referring to significant others but to words.

Little black lines on white paper have both the power to release and imprison my thoughts, feelings, and emotions. I am utterly reliant on words to give meaning and validity to how I feel and this truth is all the more painful when I’m in the midst of a writer’s block (In fact, I’ve been in this state for over a month. My writer’s block has now had children and built itself a wall of blocks).

Leave it to Regina Spektor to make the loss of words sound so poetic:

.

“It’s like forgetting the words to your favorite song.
You can’t believe it; you were always singing along.
It was so easy and the words so sweet.
You can’t remember; you try to feel the beat.”

.

For some time now I’ve felt like I’ve forgotten the lyrics to my own song and I’ve been desperately trying to recall the words. There is little as frustrating as losing yourself so I’m trying to feel the pulse, the beat of life in those moments when I cannot find the words.

My new cube mate doesn’t even have to speak and still her presence is enough for me to feel the joy of human interaction.

Timo reaches over to link his fingers through mine and the love resonating in that grasp speaks volumes.

I stand overlooking the East River and the waves lapping at the shore let me know they are still following the earth’s rhythms though I seem to have lost my own.

A child babbles in church, happily clutching at her mom’s finger, content though her worldview consists of ankles and the edges of pews.

The flower on my window sill turns its face to the find the sun, no one has to tell it to, it can just feel it.

The sun itself has a pulse, rising and falling each day regardless of what the clouds choose to do.

Even the subway finds its beat as it rumbles along from station to station, giving little notice to the people bustling in and out its doors.

 
These rhythms both human-made and earth-made exist whether words send them into motion or not. Somehow they make words seem like unnecessary, even silly, things that blow away with the wind. I need to stop trying so hard to rediscover myself or re-find my words but, instead, to give my words up to the wind and let the beat of life find me again.

“Singing in the Rain”

Tags

New York City, Rain

Rain, rain, rain, as much as it makes me want to sing the blues I must admit it has marked some significant times in my life over the last year. On my graduation day it rained. On my first bike ride in New York City it rained. And on this past weekend’s Mennonite Voluntary Service retreat it rained.

Typically I’m the kind of person who hates rain but I may be changing my tune. While most people were upset and even angry that it rained on my college graduation day, I secretly enjoyed it. We sat outside with our umbrellas raised in furtive efforts to stay dry but, after a while, there was nothing left to do but let the rain fall and wash over us.

My first bike ride in New York City was on a dark and rainy night and although I was apprehensive at first, it turned out to be the most memorable bike ride of my life (even more memorable than my first ride around my driveway on a two wheeler or my first crash). There is something beautiful about giving in and letting the rain have its way with you. Suddenly there is nothing to fight, nothing to run away from, nothing to resist.

To quote Kathleen Dean Moore’s book Wild Comfort: The Solace of Nature: “When you live, make it all. Don’t wait for the rain to stop. Climb out of your tent with your mind engaged and your senses ablaze and let the rain pour into you…Be the kindness of soft rain. Be the beauty of light behind a tall fir. Be gratitude. Be gladness.”

This past weekend I went on a much-needed retreat to the woods of Pennsylvania with 15 other Mennonite Voluntary Service volunteers for 4 days of rest and relaxation. And, of course, it rained yet the experience was wonderful and I think it was because of the rain, not inspite of it.

Fellow MVSer Janae and I at retreat

Because of the rain I spent lots of time engaging in meaningful conversations with friends new and old. Because of the rain I spent more time reflecting and evaluating my experience so far in New York City. Because of the rain, I was able to appreciate things I usually don’t.

Sometimes I feel like it has rained more often than not in my life during these past 8 months in New York City but I’m realizing that this rain often consists of storms I bring on myself. While life does send its share of showers my way, I need to be conscious of when I add my own lighting and thunder to the forecast.

 
My goal for these last four months in NYC is to let go of the negativity I’ve been harboring inside and let the rain fall where and when it may. The thing about rain showers is that, before you know it, they pass and the sun peeks back out. This time of my life will be over sooner than I realize and I don’t want to miss the sunshine because of the showers. It’s time to step out and start singing in the rain.

Recognizing My Racism

Tags

Good Friday, Jesus, New York City, Race, Racism

With heart pounding and palms sweating, I threw up my hood and climbed onto the flatbed truck. I knew what I was about to say was contentious, I knew it would make people uneasy, and I knew it would call out the police officers that accompanied us but there was no turning back. I stepped up to the mic and yelled. 

“Put your hands behind your head! Now!” 

The stunned youth reluctantly obeys the white officer.  “What did I do wrong sir?”

“Don’t ask questions,” the officer barks, digging for the teen’s wallet. He looks over the ID and the questioning begins.

The teen has experienced this before and knows what made the officer suspicious: the dark color of his skin.  For many people of color, these stop and frisks have nothing to do with justice and everything to do with race.

According to the New York Times, the N.Y.P.D. recorded more than 600,000 stops last year; 84 percent of those stopped were blacks or Latinos.  It is easy to pin racism on institutions or the actions of a few but what about the countless times our silence, in particular the silence of white people, breeds the same racism as physical violence?

Many white people deny that racism exits, while many people of color experience it nearly every day.  Race is not something that some people have and others do not; privilege is.  Jesus stumbled and fell on his way to crucifixion under the weight of all our hatred but it did not crush him.  In the same way, we must recognize racism as a crushing force and then choose, together, to stand up to its dehumanizing power as we walk the path of liberation for all.

Reading my reflection at the peace walk. Photo Credit: Merv Horst

This year marked the 30th year that Pax Christi Metro New York organized this walk following the fourteen stations of the cross. Yes, my words were so small in the face of the beast that is racism but if I can name racism when I see it and recognize when I myself am racist, then I am taking a stand to end the hatred and that is a long overdue start. 

Photo Credit: Jovon Grossi

“To PB or not to PB?”

Tags

Democracy, New York City, Occupy Wall Street, Participatory Budgeting, PB

All of you have heard about, or perhaps participated in, the Occupy Wall Street movement which calls for a change in our government and seeks to ignite a peoples’ movement. Perhaps what you have not heard about is another sort of peoples’ movement: Participatory Budgeting (or PB).

Logo courtesy of pbnyc.org

PB, which began twenty years ago in Brazil, is a process where community members receive the power to decide how government money is spent in their communities and 2011 marks the process’ first year in New York! (Chicago was the first and only other U.S. city to try PB in 2009).  This year, four council member districts (one in Harlem/the Bronx, two in Brooklyn, and one in Manhattan) received support from their council member to decide how $1 million in capital funds should be spent in their districts.

Over a roughly 8 month period, community members came up with ideas to better their community (this year the funds were only for capital projects which include building and fixing things), chose committees to refine and push the ideas, and came together to vote on the projects. After the vote, the winning project(s) are sent to the council member for final approval and then the community reaps the fruits of their labor. (This is a very brief explanation so visit pbnyc.org if you want more specifics).

My work at the Community Development Project took me to three of the four districts as I conducted research on the process. Each district varied in demographics, style of presentations, and project ideas but all contained one common theme: people were excited to make a difference in their communities.

(Voting week just ended yesterday in NYC and I am now up to my neck in data entry and analysis which tedious but exciting! As I write this I can see the stacks of unentered voter surveys out of the corner of my eye).

Our system of democracy is one where people supposedly have a voice in how their government is run but whose voice is really being heard? Yes, we are given the opportunity to vote in everything from local elections to the presidential election (with less and less power as we move away from the local level) but is that truly enough, especially when the voting process historically and currently leaves out many important voices?

I believe people want more than a check mark on a ballot; people want a chance to speak up for the changes they want to see in their communities. Through PB, I’ve seen people who previously could not access traditional participation venues, I’ve seen people who felt excluded from the traditional voting process, I’ve seen people who never thought they could influence power, and now I’ve seen those very same people feel that they are finally given a chance and, most of all, a voice.

Yes, right now this is a relatively small step in the whole scheme of things but my hope is that other council members in NYC and across the United States will see the benefits of Participatory Budgeting and try it for their own constituents. Which brings me to the age old question: to PB or not to PB? I believe you already know my answer.

Check out this NYTimes article on PB which mentions the work of the Community Development Project.

“Sole Searching”

Tags

Homelessness, New York City, Social Justice, Sole, Soul, Work

Trampled, worn down, falling apart. This New York City winter, a time of walking and wandering, of dryness and darkness, has left many things I cherish in a dire state and, at this point, I don’t know which is more threadbare: my outer soles or my inner soul.

I talk often of social justice, of wanting to live and be in solidarity with the marginalized, yet I complain and dread the one night a month I spend at the local homeless shelter. A little discomfort and change in my routine and suddenly I’m thinking, “What the hell did I sign up for?”

I’m angry because I can preach all the social justice buzzwords until I’m blue in the face but when push comes to shove I get crushed. I mean I have a degree in Peacebuilding and Development so I must know something about it, right? Wrong!

What if all my cries and protests for social justice are more about me than anything else? In some ways I don’t believe it’s wrong that my passion for social justice is about me in the sense that it’s what gives me hope and makes me tick. What scares me is doing this work out of some subconscious selfish motivation to feel better about myself through “helping” other people, as if they need my help!

The savior complex is a scary thing and I am well aware of this. I’ve seen far too many people get involved in social justice to save the world (and all too often, in my experience, this involves white, privileged Westerners trying to save everyone else.  I can’t tell you how sick I am of all the money grabbing organizations pleading with people to “save the starving, HIV-ridden children in Africa,” as if the whole continent is summed up in a few pictures, as if we in America have all the solutions to the world’s problems. Hell, we can’t even take care of our own problems! But I digress.).

Some of my worst fears are getting caught up in what I’m doing and not the broader social justice picture and not living what I believe and speak. What if I can’t do this work of social justice and peacebuilding? What if I am too weak or lazy or selfish? I don’t have all the answers (or any answers at this point) but I have to believe that there is a reason my heart beats to the drum of social justice. I just know that I can’t be a lone drummer out here on my own; I need to make this music with others.

One of the worst injustices I could take part in is to talk about the marginalized but not have the strength or will to step into their shoes. Until I can fit my soul into their soles, until I can stop using words like “their” and “them,” and until I can figure out how to break through the walls that hold me back, I will be nothing more than a talking head. If this is to be my life’s work then it must be more than work and bigger than me. It must be a lifelong journey of sole searching.

Flowers someone gave to the shelter. Hope, life, and beauty are found in the most hopeless of situations.

“Goodbye Honeymoon”

Tags

City Life, Honeymoon, Lord of the Rings, New York City

I think it’s safe to say the honeymoon stage is officially over…in fact, it’s been over for a few weeks now.  I’ve become increasingly disillusioned with New York City– it doesn’t hold that magic I once thought it did, people aren’t as kind as I once thought they were, and public transportation isn’t as convenient as I once thought it was. 

I suppose this is what happens six months into a new life situation: things become stale, ordinary, boring, even uncomfortable.  There are no longer grand visions of what work might be like or of what the city holds. Everything has come into the light and this is reality.

In some ways I’ve become more accustomed to the 8 hour long days in an office, in other ways I still lose my sanity when I think about the long week looming in front of me. Sometimes I don’t know whether to be grateful that my office stamina is increasing or saddened that my soul has finally succumbed to the office’s dark hold (Insert shameless Lord of the Rings analogy: My office is Mordor, my cubicle Mount Doom, my hatred for office life the ring I must destroy).

I’ve even noticed the toll New York City has taken on my health: I rarely sleep well and suffer from headaches almost daily. I find myself exhausted and on the verge of sickness more often than not.

But yet there are still blossoms of hope here and there. I still find peace in quiet moments and beauty in my surroundings. I still live with the same wonderful people in the same wonderful house. There are still books that captivate me, parks that call to me, and rivers to run beside. I am still Megan and I must remember that a few ups and downs does not change my essence.

It is tough to grapple with the ordinariness of every day life but I suppose that this is life in its truest form: ordinary, ritualistic, mundane.  It is finding the extraordinary in the ordinary, the beauty in the mundane, and the newness in the rituals that is so difficult.  I know life waxes and wanes and there will be a time when I am once again excited by this great city and hopeful about the work I do.  Until then, so long honeymoon, hello married life?

“A Weekend in the ‘Burg”

Tags

college, Eastern Mennonite University, Harrisonburg Virginia

“I hate this place! You call this a city? I can’t wait to move away from here.” A mere four years ago I found myself saying these very phrases almost daily as I surveyed the college town of Harrisonburg, Virginia where I was to spend the next few years of my life. I couldn’t believe that “downtown” was literally about two square blocks, that people actually found things to do here, and, most of all, that I would be living here for four years!

I’m sure you can already guess how this story ends: slowly but surely I started to love Harrisonburg and now the place is as dear to my heart as my own hometown. I returned to the ‘burg this past weekend and immediately felt the familiar love and warmth of its beautiful people. I was taken in by the serenity of the surrounding mountains and the peaceful sounds of birds beckoning me to wake up and wander outside each morning.

(It seems to be a reoccuring theme in my life that the things I hate I end up loving in the end.  I think I’ve told myself, “I told you so” more times than I can count.  I suppose I should take heed for the future; my hated cubicle may turn into something I love, although I highly doubt it!)

To say returning to Harrisonburg was a breath of fresh air is a bit of an understatement– It was more like a all-consuming wave of fresh air. The allure of Harrisonburg is almost hard to define: it’s in the quaint local restaurants and shops, the smiles of familiar faces, and the sustainable way of life that many residents embrace. I suppose you could even say it’s in the water.

Graduation weekend last May: the beautiful Shenandoah Valley.

The transition from the intense, fast-paced life of New York to the slow ebb and flow of Harrisonburg was, in some ways, jolting. Yet, it didn’t take long for me to feel right at home and, before I knew it, I was already plotting and scheming for when I could return, thinking, “I love this place! What a charming city! I can’t wait to move back here!”

Note: The main reason I returned to the ‘Burg was to speak in a chapel service at my alma mater, Eastern Mennonite University. The text from the message is much too long to put here so I’ve included the link to the podcast if you’d like to take a listen: http://emu.edu/now/podcast/2012/03/02/seek-the-peace-of-the-city-a-volunteers-journey-in-ny-megan-grove/

“The Thrill of the Bike”

Tags

Biking, City Life, New York City

I have found a new love.  Or, more accurately, I have reunited with an old love: bicycling.  Last year, while living in Harrisonburg Virginia, I embraced this thrilling mode of transportation while going to and from campus, the grocery store, the farmer’s market, and the boyfriend’s house but I never expected to continue biking in New York City for several reasons:

1. I don’t want to die.
2. I don’t want to die.
3. I don’t want to die.

Not to say that biking in NYC is a death sentence but, well, have you ever seen NYC traffic (not to mention the bewildered, naive tourists wandering around in the streets, lost in their maps)?? These two dangers combined with my unsteadiness on a bike create a triple threat recipe for disaster.  Even my most experienced housemates have had their share of biking catastrophes.

One housemate was riding through a danger zone (aka passing a stopped taxi) when a car door suddenly swung open, nailing her bike and causing her to fly over the handlebars.  As she lay with her feet in the air and her body pinned between the door and the cab, she could not decide which was worse: the pain or the embarrassment.

Another of my housemates was biking across an intersection when a taxi cab turned into him, hitting his bike and sending him over the handlebars (what is it with bikers always flying over handlebars?). He suffered no injuries but, alas, his bike did not fare so well and it took months to fix. As for the taxi driver, I don’t even think he was aware of the incident because he kept driving like nothing happened.

With these very real fears in the back of my mind, I respectfully declined any invitation to bike– until this past Friday.  It was a dark and stormy night (more accurately it was dark and sprinkling rain but nonetheless treacherous) and my housemates and I were headed to a friend’s birthday party.  Since there is no fast and easy transportation across Manhattan, we decided that walking or biking were the ways to go. 

Already late, we were faced with the choice of taking 30 minutes to walk or 8 minutes to bike.  After surprisingly little persuasion we threw on our helmets, wrapped our ankles with reflective patches, and headed out into the night.  I must say it was the most exhilarating bike ride of my life: zipping across intersections, weaving around parked cars, shouting, singing, and laughing at each other.  We showed up to the party soaked and soggy but just in time for plenty of drinks and conversation.

I enjoyed the experience so much I went for a leisurely ride with a housemate a few days later, this time in the warm sunshine and I am now convinced that biking in the city is the way to go.  First of all, it is a more efficient form of exercise than walking.  Secondly, it beats the crowds and hassle of subway and bus riding.  And thirdly, it gives you the chance to see the city in a way you have never seen it before.

Stylin and profilin on the bike...yes, we did stop to pose for this, what can I say?

When you travel underground from point A to point B you never see the places in between; on a bike you see the whole story, from beginning to end.  The wind rustles your hair, your heart beats excitedly with each new perceived danger, and you see the bright, beautiful city come alive before your very eyes.  A car buzzes by much too quickly to enjoy the view and walking is much too slow– biking allows you to not only see the view but be a part of it and that is electrifying.  While I am still a ways away from biking to work, or even biking on my own, I am committed to my new love: the thrill of the bike.

“Things $50 Will Buy You in New York City”

Tags

City Life, Coffee, New York City, Yoga

New York, New York: city of opportunity, bright lights, big buildings, and all things expensive and overpriced!  I am learning more and more every day just how high the cost of living is here.  While Mennonite Voluntary Service covers my rent, transportation, and food costs, it provides me with just $50 a month for anything else I might want or need.  Yes, that’s right, my 40 hour a week “job” pays me $50 a month!  “Now what in the world can you afford in New York City for $50 a month?” you might ask.  Well, let me enlighten you.

Things $50 will buy you in New York City:

 

10 well drinks at the local bar (bottoms up!)

9 books from Strand Bookstore. (18 miles of books indeed!).

8 “I <3 NY” t-shirts (The perfect way to say “I’m a tourist!”).

7 medium lattes at Starbucks (or, if you are against giant corporations eating all your money and you want to support local businesses, 33 medium coffees at the corner market).

6 pieces of clothing from a local thrift shop…give or take.

5 yoga classes at Yoga to the People (If you’ve never heard of Yoga to the People, look them up…then get your butt to a class!).

4 haircuts from the sketchy barber around the corner (Ok so it’s more like 3.5 haircuts but who’s counting?). 

3 ice skate rentals at Bryant Park (and enough left over for a bag of kettle corn).

2 tickets to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (or, if you don’t mind getting the glare of death from security, you can give a donation of any amount).

1 ticket to a Broadway play…just kidding!  You can’t even get a nosebleed seat for that price.  But you could attend an off Broadway play!  Or just a movie or three.*

And finally, $50 will buy you a bus ticket to Philadelphia where you can purchase 60 of the most delicious soft pretzels…yum!

In all seriousness, taking the “$50 challenge” has been a much needed lesson for me.  Yes, it is difficult to figure out how to make $50 last for a 30-day period but it also makes me think a lot more about what I want versus what I need, a lesson many of us in our consumerist society should learn.  Perhaps you’d like to see how far $50 will take you (groceries, rent, bills, etc. aside)?  Give it a shot, you never know what you might learn about yourself! 

 

 *Correction: After a discussion with my coworkers, I discovered there is a way to see a Broadway play for less than $50.  Oh happy day!

“On Walking to Work”

Tags

City Life, Justice, New York City, Work

In a lot of ways I’m not like other people I know.  For instance, not many people would wake up on a 35 degree morning like this morning and think, “It’s a beautiful day to walk to work!”  You see I’m a winter lover to my very core and I would much rather make the 50 minute trek to work bundled up in my jacket and scarf breathing in the crisp, chilled air than sweat in a tank top, suffocating on humidity.  On a winter day like today, the sun is just peeking above the tops of the buildings and the city begins to shake off night’s darkness, yawning in protest.

It is 9:00 am when I step out of my door.  Many people across the U.S. would be starting the work day by now but not New Yorkers; this city is just waking up.  My walk takes me downtown, through Chinatown and along Little Italy, by Soho and, finally, into the heart of the financial district.  Shop owners roll up the big metal gates covering their storefronts and arrange colorful window displays.  Trucks stop on nearly every corner to drop off deliveries for the day.  People hustle about the open air markets of Chinatown to purchase the freshest fruits and vegetables before they get picked over. 

The city is alive and abuzz with anticipation of what possibilities the new day can bring.  Passersby smile at one another, their moods not yet tainted by the worries of work.  This is my favorite time to see the city.  I suppose many people prefer the extravagance of New York nightlife but not me, I prefer the beauty of the beginning (I also tend to be one of those super chipper morning persons that you want to smack in face).

When walking to work my mind tends to go down all types of paths.  For one, I am always on the lookout for any man who will sexually harass me and say something degrading.  This asinine man could very well be any one that I pass on the street and this makes everyone a suspect.  Therefore I am constantly running comebacks through my head…just in case.

I also tend to make up stories for people, imagining what secrets their lives hold, where they are headed, what they are thinking.  Every now and then I get so caught up in people-watching that I forget where I am going or I suddenly catch the confused eye of someone I was staring at and have to quickly look away.

The least favorite part of my walk to work, even more so than the potential sexual harassment, is passing 1 Police Plaza and the other Department of Justice buildings.  This morning I noticed an engraving above one of the buildings that read: “Equal and exact justice to all men.”  Besides the blatant lack of gender inclusive pronoun usage, the glaring reality of this phrase stopped me cold: there is NOT equal and exact justice to all people when the majority of prisoners are young men of color, when our prisons are filled beyond capacity, when we as Americans demand harsher, longer, crueler punishments for the convicted, when, time and again, people are guilty until proven innocent. 

Suddenly the beauty of the day is tarnished and my mind begins its daily pondering of why the world is the way it is, what systems are in place to keep it that way, and how I can change them.  Like I said, I suppose I am not like most people, consumed by the massive amounts of injustices I see on my walk to work, but, then again, perhaps I am.