It was Math Workshop.  My kids were all happily engaged in a fun counting activity.  Leopold and Sami, my two visiting kindergarteners from downstairs rushed up to me and begged to have some time to play outside the classroom.  I really wanted to deny their attempt at circumventing the assigned math activity.  However, I was not ready to fight this battle for the sake of attending to the rest of the class.  I allowed Sami and Leopold to build with Kapla blocks. 

“Ok, but we also need to run around the school while we play,” Leopold said with sincerity. 

“Oh?” I replied.  “And why do you need to run around the school?”

“Because we’re Adventure Cats!” Leopold informed me with total seriousness. 

He and I negotiated a compromise that they could play ‘Stationary Adventure Cats” and then made them promise that they would stay involved in building instead of running around.  Leopold and Sami agreed without argument and I went back to my classroom to facilitate the math activity with the rest of the kids.  Five minutes later I came to check on Leopold and Sami.  Leopold was seated on the carpet floor in a meditative position; legs all twirled up like a pretzel.  His eyes were closed and his palms were held together forming a prayer position in front of his chest.  He looked peaceful.  But I wondered what he was doing and why.  I quietly knelt down to his eye level.  He immediately sensed my presence and opened his eyes.  “I’m meditating,” Leopold said calmly.  Then he closed his eyes again.

“What inspired you to meditate?” I asked.

Leopold responded by first shifting his gaze at the disorganized pile of Kapla blocks. “I’m meditating because I am angry.  My Kapla tower fell down.  And I got angry.  That’s why I’m meditating.”  His voice was tranquil, his body stone still, his heart bravely unruffled by the ill-fated circumstances.  I stared at him in awe.  He closed his eyes and returned to the motionless position in which I initially found him. 

I couldn’t help to stay quiet.  I reverently thanked him for reminding me how to deal with the most haunting sensations of the heart: anger and fear.  Leopold reminded me what to do when we come face-to-face with such painful feelings: with a heart of peace, compassion, and patience.  Thank you, Leopold!

‘No no, I don’t want to become a member,’ I said.  I just want to buy some protein.’

A pack of 4 staff members, 3 guys and one lady, escorted me to the window that displayed various shakes and boxes of protein bars.  They all stared at me as if I were an outlandish brute.  One of the ladies handed me a variety of flavors, while one of the guys stood and watched.  The box was 1300 BAT and each bar was 350 BAT.  I tried to haggle with them for a cheaper price for the box, but the personal trainer would not give in.  Fine, I’ll take 4 bars!  But I want to see the nutrition information first.  Of course every bar had a barcode sticker right over the carb, calorie, and protein content.  I rummaged through every bar in hopes of finding one bar without the damn sticker in the same place.  Another man with the came over to join in on the concerted collective effort of playing the popular game of ‘Crowd the white foreigner, look confused, and invite more people to come over and look confused.’  Finally I just ripped the sticker off to see.  I agreed to by four bars.  ‘Shouldn’t someone be on the floor of the gym?’ I wanted to ask them. ‘Aren’t there people who need to be trained?  Or are you having too much fun passively interacting with the exotic animal that wants to buy your food?’ As I was handing the lady money, another girl skipped over to me.  So add another person to the fiasco, and we’re up to, um let me see, 7 employees plus me.  The entire staff of gym staff stood there in a circle with me in the middle.  The new girl who just arrived looked at me and then opened her mouth to smile and I almost had to shade my eyes from the glistening shine that reflected from her silver braces.  Her eyes squinted as she smiled and said, ‘you want to become member?’

“No no, I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said.  “I just wanted to buy some protein bars.  Thank you.”

But this one was determined to squeeze some money out of me. “I give you good deal on membership!’

‘How about you give me a good deal on a box of protein bars and we’ll call it a day,’ I said.  ‘I’m not staying in Thailand very long!’

‘Oooooh!’ she persisted.  ‘How long you stay?  I give you good deal.’  Her trained saleswoman smile didn’t cease.  It was so awfully unconvincing.  The only true thing here was the fact that her teeth would soon to be straightened.  That’s it. I took my bars and said farewell.  This story is an example of one reason I personally love traveling.   When you go to new cultures, you’re bound to encounter silly experiences with others.  Thank you, Wow Gym staff for giving me an interesting experience buying protein bars.  

One of the coolest traveling experiences I ever had was in the jungle of Northern Thailand.  I lived in a small village with a total population of 20.  I was accompanied by a group of 12 other tourists, mostly Europeans.  They all slept inside a wooden room built just for passing tourists like us.  But I decided to sleep outside under the stars with our tour guide, Tok.  As I fell asleep, I heard a gentle caress of a warm wind pass my face. Though I was so far away from home I felt safe.  I felt grateful to have been given the opportunity to travel and experience such wonderful cultures so different from my own.  And then I had a really cool thought.  I mused: t

The wind is a superb traveler.  It possesses an unstoppable ambition to see the world.  The wind travels to the highest and coldest altitudes, to the lowest and hottest deserts, into dark caves and canyons, across rivers and oceans.  It has no fear of its path.  Or maybe it does posses fear.  But at least I know it doesn’t fear its fear.  It only knows the basic formula of expanding itself: to become One with the place that it travels to.  As terrestrial travelers ourselves, we could learn a thing or two from the wind.  The wind takes chances – with the unequivocal guidance of nature’s wisdom.  And so should we attempt to travel to new cultures, to listen to our heart’s desire to harmonize with people in places we could only fit into our imagination.  And when we find ourselves in a new country, we should be fearless to try to speak the native language.  And there are thousands of languages out there. But they should not be reduced to expression of words and body.  There is also the language of play, the language of music, the language of radio-silence, the language of meditation, the language of smile, a language of thought, and language of love.  In other words we possess the capacity to express ourselves in so many diverse ways. 

Loris Malaguzzi, one of my heroes in the world of education, wrote a poem called the 100 Languages of Children.  It’s always inspired me to do my best as a teacher of children.  But now I see how it applies to any person who dares to be like the roving wind: 

The child is made of one hundred.
The child has a hundred languages 
a hundred hands 
a hundred thoughts 
a hundred ways of thinking 
of playing, of speaking. 
A hundred, always a hundred 
ways of listening 
of marveling 
of loving 
a hundred joys for singing 
and understanding 
a hundred worlds to discover 
a hundred worlds to invent 
a hundred worlds to dream. 
The child has a hundred languages 
(and a hundred hundred hundred more) 
but they steal ninety-nine 
the school and the culture 
separate the head from the body. 
They tell the child to think 
without hands 
to do without head 
to listen and not speak 
to understand without joy 
to love and marvel 
only at Easter and Christmas. 
They tell the child 
to discover the world already there 
and of the hundred 
they steal ninety-nine. 
They tell the child that 
work and play 
reality and fantasy 
science and imagination 
sky and earth 
reason and dream
are things
that do not belong together. 
And thus they tell the child 
that the hundred is not there. 
The child says: 

No way.  The hundred is there!

This poem inspires me to travel the world and share our unique languages.  It teaches me how to make the most of my experience by becoming one with the people who are the bricks of the cultural house that stands in every country, unique in its language, value system, religion, and way of mind.  What’s the point of being the typical tourist?  How much can one learn by only going to museums and important places that the travel agent or Lonely Planet guidebook recommends? The wind interacts with the environment as it sees fit.  And so should we.  It knows that in the Caribbean it will be a hurricane or a tropical storm.  It knows that in the valley it needs to be a tornado.  It knows when to be a warm light breeze, and a tailwind for birds and airplanes.  The wind is such a savvy traveler that it doesn’t even know that it knows.  It just is. 

I was walking home from school on a warm January evening.  Turning the corner of 18^th St my stumbled upon the moon, fully bloomed, draped in an amber glow, exquisitely plump, fully exposed on every side. I was transfix by its hypnotic shine as it just hung there, grazing the tips of the San Francisco skyline.

Intuition instructed me to take a photograph.  I whipped out my new I-phone and aimed the camera at the moon.  Just as I was about to push the shutter release button, my screen went dark.  My phone’s ringer began to sing the someone-is-calling-me song, and Daniel Bendett’s name appeared on the phone screen.  Before I could push the ‘answer’ button, we got disconnected for some reason.  I took a few snaps of the moon and then called him back.  “The reason I called was to tell you to go outside and check out the moon,” he said.

Obviously I told him that it just so happened that he called as I was aiming my phone toward that very same moon.  Sharing my excitement with Danny about this fortuitous occurence really made my day. 

There are no accidents.  All events make sense and occur at the same moment in time, in the only moment in time – the moment right here and now. 

To me, this incident was a miracle, but not the kind of miracle that we normally associate with, like the work of some enigmatic dude with a beard sitting up in the sky somewhere doing all sorts of cool stuff here on Earth.  For me, a miracle occurs at any moment, to any of us.  I sincerely believe that a miracle depends only on us.  My definition of a miracle is an event that occurs within you — an awareness of the present moment and a reaction to whatever circumstance that happens in that moment.  My encounter with the moon and with Daniel could be brushed off as a coincidence.  But it deserves a hell-of-a lot more credit than that.  I rank it as a coincidence beyond coincidence — serendipity.

On our search for food we stumbled upon a little mom-and-pop deli, which specialized in the art of shwarma assembly.  The man behind the counter greeted us warmly.  He had dark skin, a thick black moustache, and a white apron, which lay snug around his bulging belly.  His apron was smeared with an impressive display of yellows, reds, and greens.  They must have been from the food and sauces that he prepared for his costumers that day. 

“What would you like, my friend?” he asked in a deep Arabic accent.  His eyes were warm and his smile implored me to smile back.  I did without hesitation. 

I asked for the chicken shwarma.  He sent the order to the lady-cook at the prep counter.  Ray ordered his food and we sat at the table to wait.  Five minutes later, the lady walked over with two plastic baskets, each cradling a sumptuous wrap of Middle Eastern righteousness.  As she approached us, I notice a frownish display on her face, as if she was guilty of a culpable crime.   I could feel the muscles in my face naturally transforming from a smile to a mimic of her frown.  I could not imagine a reason for sadness related to the delicious morsel of food that was about to be placed in front of us.   She put the baskets on our table and looked at for her husband, who was watching the situation unfold from behind the counter.

“We accidentally made a mixed turkey and lamb sandwich for you,” he said with subtle affliction.  “We can make you another one just with chicken.”

In the first 100^th of a second following his apology I caught my mind dispatching the news to my emotional center.  “I regret to inform you that your expectation (a chicken shwarma) has been begrudged,” said Allen’s brain to Allen.  “You are instructed to be displeased with this situation.”

Nonetheless, I had intercepted this message and immediately transmitted to my emotional center the following orders: “My expectations are full of crap and should be obliterated into outer space.  You are instructed to be grateful for the sandwich that you are currently receiving.”

“Roger that,” replied emotion.  “Changing course at 180 degrees from negative to positive – over. Please taxi into positive mental state position and hold until transformation has been complete.”

“Copy that, over.  Waiting for transformation and instructions for how to respond to lady with sandwich,” replied mind.  (Boy am I a nerd.)

My inner-communication took place in the span of milliseconds, of course.  I put my hands together in gratitude and assured the lady that I would be very happy with a mixed chicken-lamb sandwich.  I threw a little smirk her way and said, “I was secretly hoping that it would be mixed with the two meets anyway.”  She seemed satisfied with my remark and nodded in agreement.

Then the man walked up to us from behind the counter. “You two deserve a cookie,” he said with a magnanimous grin.  “It’s for free. You let me know when you are done and we’ll get you a fresh baked cookie.”  I couldn’t help but send 3 or 4 thank-you’s to him.”

After finishing our sandwiches, Ray and I stood up.  “Ok, it’s time for dessert, gentleman,” the man said. “Which cookie would you like?”

I picked the white chocolate cookie and Ray picked the chocolate chip.  I couldn’t help but smile with joy as I ate the most delicious cookie ever! It was filled with, softness, butterness, sugarness, harmonyness, awareness.  (Yes I know the ‘ness’ is unnecessary, but it’s my story and I like to go Dr. Suess-style and make up words). 

Feeling anger or dissatisfaction from un-met expectations is a bitch-of-a-feeling.  I definitely learned to be grateful within that first 100^th of a second.  Such a tiny dwarf of time passing is all it takes to send a heart on a path of either suffering…or joy.   Make the choice. 

After a long day of school preparation I made a plan to meet with Dan at Blondie’s bar for a drink.  I dropped off my bags at home and walked out to the street to wait for the J-train.  To my pleasant surprise it was just pulling up to the train stop.  Perfect timing!  Sweet!  The door opened, I walked in.  The door closed.  My hand reached into my pocket to retrieve my wallet.  The train began to move.  I realized I had forgotten my wallet at home.  At the end of the train car, two police officers were checking passengers for proof of payment.  Fuck!  Of all times, this is the time the frekin cops need to check passengers for proof of payment?  Luckily for me, the train arrived at the next stop before the cops got to me.  Fucking bastards!  (Just kidding…I’m happy they’re around, protecting us good citizens, working hard for the government as loyal minions under a brilliant system of extortion and fiscal irresponsibility…Fucking bastards!)  I hurried out the train and all the other passengers shot daggers of smug glares in my direction for assuming that I was one of those jerks who tries to ride the train for free.

I hurried back to my house, picked up my wallet and went back to the train stop.  I checked my computer to see the time for the next arriving train: 20 minutes.  Fuck!  Dan is waiting on me.  I’m so late.  I’m tired!  The whole public transportation system in San Francisco sucks! And why am I such a dumb ass and keep forgetting everything? Sigh! I was feeling irate.

Finally the train arrived and I sat down.  I found myself yearning for a conversation with a stranger on this train.  I had one of those “Just-say- hi” urges. I eavesdropped on a conversation between an elderly lady and a younger gentleman.  Everyone else in the train was too cool and pretentious to make eye contact with me.  I noticed that a high density of groomed mustaches, plat shirts, and skinny jeans, come out in the San Francisco streets during the weekday afternoon hours – probably on their way to meet their other hipster friends at ostentatiously adorned coffee shops or dirty cheap dive bars with walls sprayed with cool graffiti by the hand (and mind) of a white, young, affluent gentlemen, who probably wears fake 1960s-style eye glasses and works on his Apple Macbook while sipping a $9-shot of espresso.  (That was fun to write.  I’m just being playfully snarky.)

“I’m trying to get to a restaurant called Foreign Cinema,” the elderly woman told the man sitting next to me.  “They have really nice red wine.”  The gentleman told her to get off at 16^th St.

16^th St was my stop as well, and I was silently happy for the prospect of helping this lady with further directions.  I followed her off the train and told her that she could walk 4 blocks to the restaurant or wait for the 22 bus to take her there.

She said, “It’s been 25 years since I moved to San Francisco, lived all my life in the Marina.  Yep, I’m a Marina girl. I gave up my car not too long ago because it was just so expensive.”

I got all excited and said, “Yeah! I hear you.  I also gave up my car not too long ago.  And whenever I go to the Marina, I’m just as lost there as you are here.”  She laughed.

I continued, “Not only are we saving tons of money on parking, gas and insurance, but we also are forced to walk and take public transportation.  That way we can meet strangers and say hi to them, just like I met you!”

The woman gave one of those looks that suggested, “Hey, I’ve never thought about it that way but I like that idea!”  And then she said to me, “Hey, I’ve never thought about it that way!”  She chuckled and then said, “Well thank you!  It was nice meeting you!”

As I walked her up to the bus stop I said, “Well there’s your bus stop if you choose to wait.  But these buses come so infrequently.  You may be better off walking.”  When we got to the bus stop, the computer screen displayed “2 minutes” until the next bus.  “Well, there you go!  You got only a two minute wait!”

The lady looked pleased.  “Thank you!” she said with a really cheery voice.

“Enjoy your wine!” I responded.

I was happy.  I remembered myself cursing the public transportation system only 10 minutes before, and cursing myself for being so absent minded.  And then I realized that the damned Muni and my stupid forgetfulness led me to a wonderful few moments of interaction with a complete stranger.  Thank you, Muni for being slow.  Thank you, Allen’s brain for forgetting your wallet.

Note to self: be grateful; don’t hate; talk to old people!