Ever since I was a little girl I have hated
my hair. I know just about every girl says she hates her hair, but y’all I’m
telling you. This was different. Algo fuerte.
I hated my big, fluffy, puffy, knotty, unbrushable, untamable, home beauty
shop disaster. And I detested every time some old person crouched down and told
me how they would just love to have some of my pretty, thick hair. After many
years of a puffy pony tail, I eventually learned some new tricks: the straightening,
braiding, cutting, thinning that normalized my mane. I hadn’t reflected very
much about my hair since coming here. * Then during a Skype conversation with
my mom, she commented on how long my
hair has gotten. This struck me as strange because my hair, a little more than
shoulder length, is still shorter than most women here. Actually, I have much,
much less hair than most women here.
Peruvian women pride themselves on their hair. This ranges from my primary
students who show up with their hair carefully done, to my secondary students
who braid each other’s hair during my class, to the old woman on the bus with
her beret placed just so, to the traditional pueblo women whose two braids reach their legs. I was once
informed, “You know people pay for Peruvian hair. Did you know they sell it in
the United States?” Yes, actually. I learned about the weave industry in my
high school English class.
My
big hair is something that I am learning to peacefully, comfortably—not accept—know about myself. My cousin observed that
I am challenged in every part of my life. She said that I am working really
hard. I find truth in this observation and comfort in her comment. But it’s
interesting to me. In a lot of ways what I’m finding and how I’m living is so
normal. Rather than waking up and tackling a to-do list, I’m moved through my
days. And the way that I’m moved seems to come very naturally. It only seems
right to start and end my day in prayer. My body moves through my yoga exercises;
the books I read hop right off the shelf and into my hand. I speak with and
teach to whomever I encounter at work. Sometimes that means a busy day with
rowdy students. Sometimes that means catching up with friends from home and
chatting with some moms at the market. My choices are coming less from a place
of habit or obligation. I’m getting to know what I desire.
This is a whole different algo fuerte.
When all else falls
away and it’s just you and your God, whom do you encounter? When you’re off the
tracks and given the time and space to simply be, what person do you become? What do you desire? I’ve had these
moments of encounter before, these moments of waking up as Merton calls them. I
can recall certain times and spaces when I experienced purity of purpose…
glimpses of myself. With letting go, dying to self, sacrifice, humility…
whatever phrase you would like to use really… these moments arrive with greater
frequency. I’m still a beginner.
Some of these
sacred moments came through learning (and witnessing) about liberation
theology. These writings and people reached through my being and touched my
heart with perfect clarity. As much as I was moved, I also felt stopped in my
tracks. Sometimes it’s as if I’m facing something that scares me to stillness
and silence or as if I’ve been hurt. It’s kind of like shock. It’s the shock of
my own privilege. There is something about liberation theology that I will
never really know because I’m not oppressed. There isn’t a whole lot I need to
be liberated from. I felt the shock
of disconnect while being called to radical, passionate solidarity. I still
feel that sometimes.
However, in a very small
way by coming here I too am liberated.
(And I cannot reiterate
enough the blessed smallness of my own liberation.) In the moments of
encounter, I discovered my desire to fall into downward mobility (shout out,
Dean Brackley). I chose to take a step aside, away from the upward mobility and
competition. I decided to give up academic success, career, culture and status.
I decided to simplify my life: my material possessions, my schedule, my
priorities, my work, and even the relationships I hold. I am blessed with
clarity of mission: live a life of community, spirituality, social justice and
simple living. By side stepping culture and status and viewing life in this
way, I find the moments of encounter come running to me. On the side, I find
myself in a place to welcome these moments with full-being, to live into them.
When I was little,
my big ponytail and I liked to lie in the backseat in the car sometimes while
we were driving. I would look up through the window, watch the leaves and the
clouds roll by and entertain myself with the different perspective. I´m still
carried through places that change my view. By arriving here and living into this experience,
I´ve chosen a different perspective. I see my peers and loved ones. I hear the
news from the United States. But I have a different view than the other passengers.
Through my grateful and joyful participation in my own liberation, I´m learning
how to see from my own point of view. Rather than taking ownership of my
perspective, I know that the person I find is a gift from God. I pray for the
humility to offer myself to God. I´m a beginner.
¨The beginner has only one assignment: work hard at making your will
conform to God´s will. This is important. Don´t forget it.¨- St. Teresa of
Avila, Castle
My cousin is right. I am working hard… but I also let me hair
down sometimes.
Another view: the cerros (sand dunes) from nearby beach town, Arica... with me in the way
Gratefully welcoming sacredness and joyfully living into being.
*Except when I thought I was being
intentional and living simply by not washing my hair for a couple months. Note:
Moving from 23 years on the gulf coast to a desert climate is not an opportune
time to “restore the natural oils in your hair.”
