Everywhere and Nowhere

I moved to Texas, because I wanted to belong.

Michigan was beautiful, but I never “fit in” in the small towns where we lived. I felt out of synch at work, and while I did okay, I was never able to move forward in the way that I wanted, with my career. I had some friends, but they lived far away.

When we went sailing on the Lakes, the most transformative aspect of the experience was that we did seem to find our tribe. We belonged to every port we visited, and we enjoyed the company and energy in the marinas. We were a part of everything.

Then we went home. And we weren’t.

We thought that moving to an urban area would help, and that moving to an area where we could live aboard full time would help. That eventually led us to Clear Lake Shores/Kemah, Texas, right between Houston and Galveston.

And we did find belonging here. Houston is the most diverse city in the US, and the marinas were no exception. We met people with different races, ethnicities, religions, political views, gender identities, and so on. This was all fine. There was no need to “fit in” and become a cookie-cutter part of a group. We all belonged, because we were there. The only requirements were to respect each other and respect the shared spaces.

I found the same sense of belonging when I joined Moonlight Yoga. As far as I can tell, we are split 50/50 with political leanings. That doesn’t matter, even as politics have become more polarized and hateful. We are all there, because we are following a spiritual path, and because we care about each other. The few times that politics have come up in discussions, it was a matter of respectfully discussing ideas, with an emphasis on understanding and finding common ground.

In both places, I have no need to change who I am or pretend to be someone else. I belong exactly as I am, and everyone else enjoys the same privilege.

I love it here, because I have found belonging.

However, the trip that I recently took reminded me of another trip I went on, a few years ago. On that trip, I experienced profound exclusion and began to doubt that I could belong anywhere. Then I found belonging in a very real, very unexpected way.

I will tell you that story now. Some identifying details have been changed to protect people’s privacy.

River of Peace: A Journey to the East Coast and Within

Part I: The City of Rude

A few years ago, I was really starting to feel settled in our new community, and my daughter’s class decided to take a trip to Richmond, Virginia. That would be our home base for visiting some historical sites such as Mount Vernon and Colonial Williamsburg.

Through fundraising, the school was able to pay for the students’ trip, but parents needed to cover a number of expenses. At the informational meeting, I connected with the parents of three of Iliana’s classmates, and we decided that the four of us would share a room and car, in order to save money.

Our arrival was a little rough. The flight was late, after having to be rerouted due to a storm. There were some issues with luggage claim, so it was rather late by the time we arrived at our hotel. We received our room keys, and I did some unpacking before heading back to the lobby to figure out our plans for dinner.

The moms I was staying with were Sarah, Kim, and Shelby. Sarah had set up all of our reservations, due to her AAA membership, which got us a number of discounts. When I entered the lobby, I saw Sarah watching the desk disapprovingly. The receptionist was nowhere to be seen. She later returned, frowning, with two towels. Sarah carried the towels and we all retreated to our room. She explained that we only had one towel, but the girl was very rude about getting us more. I agreed. We definitely weren’t in the South anymore.

It was 11:00 pm and nobody had eaten dinner yet, so we walked to the restaurant/bar adjoining the hotel. Music was playing loudly, as a DJ seemed to be taking people’s requests as they made their way to the dance floor. We were seated next to the speaker. The loud music made it difficult to place our orders and explain how the checks were being split, and finally Sarah asked if the music could be turned down. Instead, we were moved to a separate room, away from the speaker.

It was at that time that I noticed a soda was in front of my seat, just as I heard Shelby ask for new sodas, because these were flat. They brought a new soda before I had a chance to look at the menu. The menu was disappointing, because everything was slathered in sauce or butter (and I was working on maintaining my weight). But I was able to request my usual salmon with no sauce and unbuttered vegetables. Overall, it was nothing remarkable. There were some issues with the bill not being divided up properly, but they were able to correct it.

In the car, we rolled our eyes, laughing at how disorganized and chaotic Richmond was.

When we got back to the hotel, the girls were standing outside of their room. Apparently they had locked their room keys inside. Sarah found the receptionist from the front desk, who rolled her eyes as she unlocked the door for the girls. We went to our room and marveled at how rude people were in Virginia. I said it was similar to Michigan, where people just weren’t as polite as they are in Texas.

Part II: Negativity

The next morning, we headed out to Walmart to get a few supplies we had forgotten to bring. It was a rather small store that was quite busy. The kids had fun looking around and spending some of the money they brought.

When we got back to the car, Shelby said, “Where is the Southern hospitality? The cashier charged me the wrong price for my gum. She fixed it when I told her, but she didn’t even apologize. People in Richmond are so rude.”

I agreed. Then politics entered the discussion for the first time.

Sarah shook her head and said, “You can tell we’re in a blue state. My husband warned me to be prepared for rudeness.”

Politics are a complicated issue for me. I am split on a number of issues and rarely vote straight ticket. However, I predominantly lean center/left. I don’t have strong views on most issues, and I do enjoy hearing other people’s ideas, as long as they are factual and respectful. Experience has taught me that it is best to get that out in the open, so that we can avoid awkward conversations.

I said, “It’s the rudeness issue that has made me a moderate. I tend to lean to the left, but I don’t like how rude everyone is in blue states.”

Without much acknowledgement of what I had said, Sarah continued, “And it is so loud everywhere here. I have never seen a city as loud as Richmond. That restaurant last night, and now Walmart. Why does everything have to be so loud here?”

Kim chimed in, “This whole trip is so disorganized. Typical. First the issues with our luggage, then the hotel is such a mess, and now we’re staying in this bad neighborhood. I can’t wait to get home.”

She seemed to be right, and it made me sad. I had taken a week off for this trip, and I wanted to make the most of it. I was glad when we started our day of sight-seeing, so that I could enjoy the time with my daughter, rather than listen to negativity.

And we certainly did have fun exploring the sights! While Iliana doesn’t like history class, she does like history. She surprised me with her knowledge about each of the sights we visited.

The other moms complained about the itinerary, but it was a day that I enjoyed. Dinner was very late and I overate as a result, so I decided that I needed to pick up some food to have on hand for the rest of the week.

I had my opportunity when we got back to the hotel. The other moms needed to go to Walmart, so I said I would go along and pick up some food. And it was on that ride that the conversation took a turn for the worse.

“These are such gorgeous houses,” Shelby observed. “But I don’t think we’re in a good neighborhood.”

It is at this point in the story when it becomes relevant for me to mention that we were in a predominantly–almost exclusively–African American neighborhood.

Sarah nodded. “I know this sounds bad, but I wish we could ask if a hotel is in a white neighborhood, before we make the reservation.”

Shelby and Kim nodded. “I know, right?” Shelby replied. “And you notice that they are much nicer to each other. Remember Ms. Lipstick at the counter last night? She kept rolling her eyes at us, but she was super nice to the black lady who was in line behind us.”

“They are always nicer to each other,” Kim agreed. “At the movie theater where I work, there is this black security guard. She gives all the white people a hard time, but she lets the black families in, with no problems.”

I was eager to get out of the car and get into Walmart, to collect my food. The store was small, without much on the shelves, but I found some boiled eggs, low carb tortillas, fat free cheese, and lunch meat. As I was taking my spoils to the self check-out, I noticed that the line went all the way to the back of the store. I had a long time to wait, before returning to the car, where renewed racist conversation was beginning.

“Those lines!” exclaimed Shelby. “What in the world is going on? It looks like they are expecting a hurricane or something.”

Sarah laughed. “Is it the first of the month? They get more welfare money in blue states, right?”

Kim sighed, “Do they really? And we probably have to pay for it.”

“They are rude, because they expect to get something for nothing,” Shelby concurred.

I did not mention that I had once been on public assistance, while I was on medical leave from teaching. Or that I keep my SNAP card in my wallet, so that I can remember that I had the support of a village that allowed me to get out of a horrible situation.

I didn’t feel the love that that village this night.

I did not speak during that conversation, but I rolled my eyes after every comment. My silence is a part of the collective shame experienced by every American of European decent. We have all been one of the people in that car. Those of us who have not been Sarah, Kim, or Shelby–making the outright racist remarks, have been in my position, staying silent to keep the peace.

But while not rocking the boat keeps outward drama from happening, it does anything but create peace within. There is something about racism, hate speech, and dehumanization, that causes a reaction on a primal level. Denying the humanity of another feels so wrong, that people go to great lengths to justify it and make it feel okay.

“I hate this city,” Sarah said. “How many more days until we get to go back to Texas?’

I was counting the days until I no longer had to ride in that car.

When I got back to the room, I texted my friend, Jennifer. She has similar political leanings to mine, so I figured she could give me some sanity.

After I told her about it, she replied with, “Yeah, that sounds like Texas. I’ve been so much happier in California, away from those people.”

Far from reassuring, that text only cluttered my mind further. I had friends in Texas, and I belonged there, more than I have ever belonged anywhere else. Did everyone secretly feel the same way as the ladies in the car? Was my sense of belonging all an illusion?

Part III: Finding Connection

The next morning, I woke up before everyone else and decided I needed to go outside. I enjoyed a quiet walk through the neighborhood, where I saw that there was a park with hiking trails off of the next block. I love the woods and I love trails, so this was definitely something that would be worth exploring. The time outdoors definitely brought me some peace.

I headed inside for breakfast, and nobody from our group was out of bed yet. Out of habit, I smiled at the girl at the front desk. She wished me a good morning and asked how our class trip was going. I filled her in on the previous day’s sight-seeing, before heading over to breakfast.

We had the same waitress that we had the day before, when I had ordered a delicious, zero-point omelet, so I excitedly approached her with my breakfast card. I smiled and said I would like an omelet. She replied curtly, “Breakfast is $12.” I showed her my card, and she said, “Write your name and room number on the back. Breakfast is that buffet over there.”

Hiding my disappointment, I smiled and thanked her, adding that I was so glad to have hot breakfast at the hotel. She told me to have a nice day, and I said, “You too–it’s absolutely beautiful outside.”

I walked past another staff member who returned my smile and inquired about what sites we had visited the previous day. I headed out for a day of sight-seeing. I walked with the kids, while the other mothers walked in the back of the group and told racist jokes.

While we were riding a city bus together, the moms spoke to Iliana about politics, telling her that conservatives are the one who follow the Constitution. She gave them the side-eye, and I spoke up, “Yes, I know Daddy and I think differently. And that’s okay. Part of what makes America great is that we have free speech, and people can have different ideas.” The other moms agreed and changed the subject.

The next morning, I got up a little earlier, so I could take a longer hike at the walking park. I saw a 5 mile trail and decided I would give it a try the next day. The solitude was good for me, and after my walk, I was greeted enthusiastically by numerous staff members in the lobby. The waitress smiled and handed me a card for ordering my omelet. We chatted while the omelet was being cooked.

The other parents woke up and joined me in the dining room. As we ate, staff members came to our table to wish me a good morning and chat with me.

The next morning was the day of our departure. I got up at 6 am and set off on my 5-mile hike. I encountered many locals as I hiked, and we enjoyed pleasant conversation. I also enjoyed a great deal of solitude in nature, as I prepared for my return home.

Back in the lobby, I was greeted with an omelet and a plate of blueberry pancakes. I said that I hoped to see them all again on a future trip.

In the end, Richmond was one of the friendliest cities I have ever visited.

Part IV: Back Home

I was not looking forward to the flight home. I did not want to sit next to the other mothers and hear more racist commentary. Luckily, the needed someone to sit in the back near a group of kids. I happily obliged.

Since nobody can hear anything on a plane, I sang quietly to myself, as one song kept coming to mind:

River of peace flow through me

River of peace flow through me

When hatred rises up, please fill me from your cup

River of peace flow through me.

The flight calmed my mind, but new anxieties greeted me at home. Was what I experienced an isolated incident, or was my community and my sense of belonging an illusion? Conversations with friends from my yoga class–especially those friends who had conservative political views–assured me that it is possible for people to have different views and still have no place for hate and hate speech. They were appalled by what I had experienced.

It took me many days to feel like myself again. Normally, I am very social when I walk the docks and go to the grocery store. After this trip, I had no desire to interact with anyone. During my first yoga class back, I couldn’t stop crying once we sat in silence.

There could be many explanations, but I think it was just a primal response to being around so much hate. Being around so much hate and saying nothing.

I can forgive myself for being human, but I don’t want to forget how I felt after this trip. Maybe next time–because, unfortunately, there is sure to be a next time–I can remember that feeling. Maybe next time I can remember the faces and names of all of my friends and loved ones who belong to the group that is the target of the hate speech.

Maybe next time, my memories will instill in me the courage to break the social norm, to break the “rule” that I must remain silent and not rock the boat.

Maybe next time I will open my mouth and squeak out three words that have the power to change my experience: “That’s not cool.”