Homecoming Riots

Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.
~ Frederick Buechner

You were once wild here. Don't let them tame you.
~Isadora Duncan

This morning my dreams were filled with violence as explosions continued to rock the ground around me. I'm not really sure what I was doing, talking to my fourth grade teacher who had somehow turned into a parakeet, or maybe trying to fly by running really really fast (I don't know why I always try that in my dreams). Whatever the particular dream may have been, when I finally opened my eyes I realized there were actually an inordinate amount of fireworks exploding outside, especially for 7:30 in the morning.

Ah yes. Riot day.

Bolivians love riots. More specifically they love bloqueos, or roadblocks. If you haven't been paid in two weeks, set up a bloqueo, if you've petitioned the government for a change and you haven't heard back fast enough, set up a bloqueo, if your favorite soccer team lost last night... bloqueo. While these actions sometimes border on the comical, the sad truth is that many poor Bolivians have no other recourse in which to make their voice heard, thus for days at a time cities are often shut down while particular interest groups battle it out with government bureaucracy.

This particular day happened to be the bus drivers, petitioning for a raise in public bus fares from 24 cents to 36 cents. As I locked my front door and stepped out into the street I wished them all the luck in the world, but I couldn't help letting out a little grumble as that still meant that I had to walk the 18 blocks to work, and it just didn't feel like a walking morning.

Even though there are other elements to this story, including witnessing a non-rioting bus driver get his tires slashed by an angry mob, and having to pick my way through an oncoming band of riot police, all the while convinced one of them was going to crack me on the head just for kicks and giggles, I wanted to pause the progression here. Because even as I grumbled my way to work this morning, I have to laugh this evening, because like soooo many other things I unthinkingly whine about, having to walk 18 blocks to work when I don't particularly feel like it falls in my new mental category of "first world problems." I can't remember who I need to thank for helping me create this category, my best guess would be Becca Pratt's facebook wall, but suddenly I have begun catching myself complaining about things that are entirely not complaint-worthy. The other day, for instance, my ipod just WASN'T syncing with my library and it was bugging the snot out of me... up until the point I was able to whap myself on the forehead and say, "Ryan... first world problem!"

Friends, the fact that you are able to read these words should help you realize that most of the things we spend our time worrying about are completely first world problems. We are so entirely blessed/lucky/privileged/good-karmaed (depending on your spiritual or psychological outlook) that many of the things that get us down just AREN'T WORTH IT! None of us had the tires slashed on our sole-source-of-income this morning, none of us are trying to earn 12 cents more to help us feed our families. I don't mean to minimize anyone's pain, but I think we would all benefit from trying just a little bit harder to avoid worrying about our first world problems, and instead bleed for the things that deserve to be bled over.


It's late and I have places to visit in my dreams, but I also wanted to mention that my time here in Bolivia is coming to a close. Due to the continuously overwhelming generosity of others I'll be able to make my way up to Lima and catch a flight to Dallas where I'll get to watch two wonderful people get married. Then, if I'm lucky and the wind blows just right, I'll find myself floating back to LA. For those of you who know me well that probably sounds strange, me coming back to the states. I left trying to be strong, trying to let the wound left from the absence of friends heal over... but like so many other things I'm continuously learning and relearning, strength is highly overrated. I miss you, and I don't particularly feel like trying to not miss you anymore... so I'm coming home.

Love,
Ryan