In Haiti, everyone greeted everyone. Throughout the day, people walked from house to house, chatting about everything and nothing, keeping connected. Two weeks later, I'm taking the T home from Boston airport, sitting in a metal subway car filled with more people than lived in that whole Haitian village. No one talks to each other. No one looks up. No connection. When I'm with Isabel, my four year old daughter, I'm often talking to people on the subway. She's a great icebreaker with her antics. I'm usually saying funny things to her, which make the people around smile and pretty...
Kids know when you're not real. Thu, 20-May-2010 (teefal)
Five days until the Maho Workshop begins and I'm already exhausted. Not that I've had much break since the Haiti trip. Pretty much this entire year so far has been one thing after the next, an endless string of details demanding time. Everything I do is instead of something else. This morning I'm wondering just how real I ought to get in these posts. With a name like "realness" staring back at me, my first thought is "very." But people are many and they've each have their own likely reactions. The deeper you dig, the more you risk alienating or...
