The Green Lens

A good friend of mine recently gave some great advice - something he called "the Green Lens." He said we choose how to see the world, rather than being lucky or having a bad day. Yes, a pigeon pooping on your head might unequivocally suck, but for the most part it all depends on you. When I arrived in San Salvador on Friday, I thought about Scooby Doo, collecting evidence for how incredible this experience could be.

In fact, as I look back over this blur, I feel truly blessed. I remember beautiful, rolling hills whooshing past as we drove from the airport into the city. I remember a small, perfect office, with a garden in the middle and a tamarind tree blossoming just beyond the window near my desk. I remember Olivia, my new co-worker and housemate, graciously answering all my questions, misinterpretations, and guiding my jet-lagged butt to the "super" (grocery store) to buy bananas, lentils, rice, and ingredients for the lasagna we made for my first dinner.

I remember relishing almost every drop of Spanish I've heard since I arrived. Our house has self-imposed rules. With four Americans and two Salvadorenos, we speak Spanish 95% of the time, with designated 30 minute moments for English practice. But everything sounds better in Spanish.

I remember on the drive to the office from the airport, Noah (the Executive Director of Cristosal and my new boss) would point out everything, from the huge political campaigns painted onto the mountainsides, pupuserias lining the highway or the "Zona Franca," an area where most constitutional rights are suspended for the sake of enticing transnational business. I'm starting to realize Noah can see in four dimensions. Whereas you or I might look at something and see what it is (plus an added meaning or two, like "gee that dog is cute" or "that pupusa smells amazing"), Noah sees history... extrapolating far beyond the present into the past and future of what created a situation and where it will likely end up. How someone holds so much knowledge in his brain is beyond me, but I can't wait to begin work on Monday and see how well I can keep up.

Speaking of meanings, I have one last thing to share with you. When I moved into the house, my room was empty except for a bed and some linens left over. And a small picture hanging just outside the door. It is a small wooden box, painted dark blue, with a small white crescent moon watching over a sparsely drawn woman, traveling the seas with another moon for her sail. Call it coincidence, but when I moved to a completely foreign place, I drew incredible comfort from believing this room was made for "Lua."

Olivia and the lasagna

Los tambores del grupo "Las Musas" en nuestra sala

Practicing capoeira in my new abode