Heroes Among Us

“PULL, Fucker!” I screamed at myself in my head. The car barely moved. “What’s the good of all those pull-ups and curls if you can’t move this thing?!”

I heard the count (outside my head) “1…2…3…”

PULL!

I’ve always gotten by. No matter what has happened in my life I’ve made it through and in many cases admittedly fairly easily. High school, college (with a moderate hiccup my freshman year), and grad school were all relatively a breeze. My career? I don’t kill myself. It has it’s place in my life but it’s not at the top by any stretch. My relationships — some have been hard, sure, but that’s to be expected with the ones that don’t work out. So a moderate level of work effort over my life. I give myself a C+, the + just because I’m wickedly sarcastic and I consider that a positive.

I’m not opposed to hard work. I’ve done a fair share of manual labor in my life. It’s not my trade of choice but I can give a good go at it. It’s just I want to know that what I’m giving my blood, sweat and tears to actually matters. There has to be some meaning to it all and despite what the results say, the effort in and of itself must be it’s own reward. It’s the journey, as they say, not the destination, and I’ve found only a few things over my life that have warranted my full effort.

The people here in Tacloban work and they work hard. They work to survive. They work to rebuild. They work to restore “normal” to their lives. Will it ever be the same as it was? No. It cannot be. By it’s very definition the future must be different from the past. But just because it’s different doesn’t mean it can’t be better. We just have to dare believe it to be possible and work (really hard) to make it the new reality of our world.

Today I was given a task by the UNFPA (United Nations Population Fund Activites). They changed the name but not the acronym so it doesn’t match. Along with Crystal, another US volunteer, and two local volunteers, we were charged with visiting the Evacuation Centers to retrieve data from the DSWD reps (it’s something related to social services) about the number of pregnant women at each center as well as those who had recently given birth, and some other macro-level stats. Then the UNFPA can distribute services to the centers. Easy enough. Talk to some people. Get some information. Basic retrieval task. Right up my alley.

We split up into teams: one US and one local volunteer. I grabbed Ron, a kid 21 years of age, who I had met yesterday by happenstance when he was pulling water out of the ground with a bucket to use for laundry. There’s not much running water here and certainly no electricity aside from a few generators in key places throughout the city.

Don’t worry, I’m getting to the car. This is called building the story. You front load it for a dramatic climax.

My partner-in-crime Ron and I cleared our 5 evac centers in about an hour and a half. If we were competing with the other team, it would have been like (insert favorite pro sports team) against an ant. The ant loses in this scenario.

We regrouped and headed out for 3 more evac centers. The second one is where this story takes place.

It was Cirilo Roy Montejo School, which didn’t have a DSWD rep so we met with the principal instead. Imagine the sweetest 62-year-old grandmother you can and then double it. That’s who Valeria Gabriel is.

We talked a bit about the data, then she showed me the mark on the wall signifying the level the water had reached during the typhoon. It was above my head by a good amount, so maybe 8 feet high. She then showed me the cracked hole in the corner of the ceiling where the family including Valeria’s husband, son, pregnant daughter-in-law and I presume their two young girls clamored out of to reach the roof. A typhoon of god-like proportions and their only safety was on a roof in the middle of it. Let that sink in for a moment. Now let this: Valeria couldn’t fit through the hole. Instead she had to swim around the room in 8 ft water, work her way outside of the structure, around the corner and take refuge by floating, holding on for dear life and resting her head on a stretch of bamboo. For 2 hours. In the worst typhoon known to man. Separated from her loved ones while who knows what the hell was happening to them.

Fuck.

I broke inside. I had no choice. I’ve been able to handle everything I’ve seen here thus far including all the stories of heartbreak and tragedy. But not this. This got me and it got me good. My eyes welled up and it took everything I had to not let the tears fall. I had a job to do I told myself, but it had nothing to do with the job at this point.

I had to let Ron continue the UNFPA interview. I couldn’t focus on data. All I could say to her was “You’re my hero.” It was the complete and total truth. She smiled and said her husband was her hero because he helped push her family up through the crack by standing on a ledge inside the complex. He was now sleeping soundly nearby on a wooden table, his rest well deserved.

I asked Valeria how she was able to do what she did. I’m a swimmer, or at least used to pretend to be one. It’s not easy. I can’t begin to imagine what it is like in a typhoon. She must be the Michael Phelps of the Philippines. Valeria smiled warmly and said, “I am 62 and I was feeling young.” Bless this lady and her invincible will. No matter how strong I think I could ever possibly become, it would be but a fraction of the strength of this incredible woman.

I asked her if they needed anything that wasn’t being provided by the DSWD. She said they had all they needed for the 22 people there, but could use more lights/candles and diapers. Fresh out of the latter, I gave her my flashlight. I have an extra and even if I didn’t, there was nothing in me that could possibly refuse any request this woman had. Ron continued the interview for data.

At some point I asked her again if there was more they needed. Her son, who had been there the entire time, had chimed in occasionally to fill in parts of his mother’s story. I don’t remember who said it, but they mentioned “the car.” I looked over at the green car to my left, the front part stuck nicely in a ditch. It needed to be moved to 1) clear the way and 2) so the car could be used in the future by the family. The battery which sat on a nearby table was useless. Another victim of the typhoon.

“The people you need to help will find you and vice versa,” I was told before I left for the Philippines. Well I don’t know who found who but it didn’t matter. I was here and there was work to be done.

“Let’s get this thing moved,” I said to Valeria and her son.

The area came alive. Almost magically Valeria’s husband was outside beside me. Wasn’t he just asleep inside? Must’ve teleported. Her son was there, Ron, and myself. That made five with Valeria. Jerry, one of the teachers of the school, stopped his work clearing the area and came to help. Another young man, maybe late teens, appeared from behind one of the buildings to the side. We were seven in all against the laws of physics and the remnants of a typhoon.

We tried to rock the car back and forth. The wheel was locked, so the tires wouldn’t rotate. Back was the only option and there was very little room between the front of the car and the concrete wall. Oh, it was muddy and wet as well. Probably good to mention that.

We failed to move it from its position the first couple of tries. Well if you can’t push, how about pulling? Jerry got some rope. We tied it to the back of the car, or rather Valeria’s husband did. Old people know how to tie knots. I don’t. I quit Cub Scouts early on in my childhood. Wasn’t my thing.

Okay, pulling time. In fitness, there are two groups: pushers and pullers. Pushers are those who rock at bench press, squats, and all that other jazz. I’m a puller. Back and biceps are my strengths and this was right in my wheelhouse. We got this, I thought.
1…2…3 pull. Nothing. The car barely moved, just rocked back into place.

There are moments in your life when you decide to do something and that’s all there is to it. It’s going to get done. I might not do anything else while I’m here, but by the love of God or the will of David, this fucking car was going to move and I wasn’t leaving until it was finished.

We regrouped, gathered our strength and got into the ready position. “1…2…3…pull,” came the call from Valeria’s husband. Over and over again. The car began to make progress. “1…2…3…pull.” It moved more. I pulled like I’ve never pulled before. “1…2…3…pull!!!”

The car hit level ground.

“Captain America!” came Valeria’s cheer, in response to my Cap’s cap that I was wearing, turned backwards with the star facing her. I smiled at her. How could anyone not?

It was a momentous occasion not just for them but for me as well. I think we all knew at that point this wasn’t about the car. It was about people coming together to re-establish a sense of normal.

We weren’t done, but the wheel would now turn which meant we could maneuver the car. There was a hole right under the vehicle that we had to deal with. If the tire went into that hole, we were done. We moved a rather heavy slab of concrete and eventually were able to wedge it into place. I credit Valeria’s son in his Dolphins jersey with the MVP for that part. Valeria called out “Captain America” on more than one occasion as we hit more milestones along the way. From that point on it was just logistics to move it back and forth to get the car where it needed to be.

We smiled and gave each other praise once the car was finally parked in its new home. The word hero was used quite frequently among us. Ron, for all his 100 lbs, was a trooper and inspiration.

We took a picture to commemorate the event. It was a group selfie. 🙂 Ron and I concluded our visit and it was on to the next Evacuation Center which I prayed to God didn’t have a semi out front. I gave Valeria, my personal champion, a big hug goodbye.

There is still a lot of work to be done. Debris is everywhere at the school and, of the 22 people there, a good percentage are children. But I know that no matter what they’ll get it done. They have the hearts of heroes — unyielding and born of love and devotion to their community, their school, and each other.

Valeria and her friends and family at Cirilo Roy Montejo School will probably look back on this day and tell stories of how Captain America used his heroic strength and determination to help them move a car.

But I know the truth.

They didn’t need Captain America and they certainly didn’t need me. They moved that car on their own and they were always able to do it. They just had to come together as a team, unified in purpose, bound by a common belief that it could be done, and work hard (remember we talked about that waaaay back at the beginning) to make it so. They’re the real heroes. I’m just a guy who likes to wear the apparel.

Much admiration and respect to all the unsung heroes out there, wherever you are. Stay vigilant and brave. The world needs you now more than ever. I’ll be there with you, watching from the sidelines, cheering you on all the while. Just look for me. I’ll be the one wearing the Captain America cap.

David

Amongst the Unseen Ruin

I search for it among the shattered glass and broken foundations of countless lives. It is here. I can feel it, can almost see it, as fleeting as it is. There! Then in a wisp it is gone.

I know it for what it is. Live long enough without it and you come to recognize it immediately. You may have your name for it, but I call it Hope.

An interesting notion, is it not? To believe in something against all odds. To imagine what can be when all logic in the Multiverse supports only what is before our eyes. It’s dangerous, as dangerous as it comes. For as transformative as it can be, it can be lost. And then where would we be?

There is a resilience here that I have not before seen. It’s in their eyes and their hearts. It is that of the human spirit. Devastated by tragedy, there are smiles amongst the sadness. It warms me to no end, nourishes my sometimes weak spirit. And it is quite glorious to witness firsthand.

As soon as Jet, my ground contact in Tacloban, met me at the airport and we entered the back of the UN truck – 8 of us in all; 3 newbie volunteers including myself – I knew I was in the presence of something special. There were laughs shared almost immediately, smiles and warm hearted gestures exchanged. Levity is important in life, but it is never more critical than in the most serious of times. It reminds us that it was not always like this and that one day, universe willing, it may be what it was again.

Hope.

My contacts give us the “tour”, telling us what it used to be like. “This *was* a beautiful view,” Ron says as we stand at the dividing line between earth and sea. It’s always past tense. But the way they describe it you can almost see it. Almost.

The two caskets nearby, one shattered, the other unopened, are stark reminders of what’s at stake here.

It’s not just life. It’s not just ensuring that people are fed, watered and sheltered. It’s not just the satisfaction of the first layer of physical needs of Maslow’s Hierarchy. It’s the top layer — the human spirit. I believe Maslow was wrong. I believe we aren’t linear in our needs and aren’t so predefined as to only achieve the greatest potential of our humanity by first “satisfying” all the needs below it in sequence. No, my friend, we are much greater than that in all regards. The people here prove that when they raise their hands in greeting and smile in all sincerity of human kindness.

It is a tribute to us all that amongst ruin we can be strong. Amongst chaos, we can hold tight to our ideals and our compassion. And in the face of monumental odds, we can band together — whether in the back of an 8-person truck or united as a world shoulder to shoulder — and set out to do some good.

And that, my friend, gives me hope.

All the best tonight on your travels from here to there wherever you decide your “their” to be.

David

Into the Heart of Madness

As I decided to book my flight last Thursday night to the Philippines (originally flying into Manila, now Cebu and hopefully on to Tacloban), I was calm. I wasn’t nervous, anxious or fearful. I was calm because the storm that had been raging within me for some time had finally started to simmer. The wheels inside that were grinding incessantly for months began to turn once again.

As I told people about my trip, there were many reactions. I had initially decided to keep this to myself – that’s what being strong is about, right? Doing things alone, on your own, not needing help from anyone at any time. I think at this point we both know that to be a modestly believable lie at best. The reactions to my news? Support/Acceptance (I know you need to do this, just be careful). Negotiation (why can’t you just help people here?). And of course Disbelief in the form of “You’re crazy.”

I’ve never been part of a relief effort nor have I been to a third world country. I am not medically trained aside from CPR and I don’t know the language. In all respects, I should have a healthy level of fear and anxiety. As I sit on the first leg of my flight which will layover in Seoul, Korea, I can say that I am still calm, collected, focused. I have never felt more sure of where I’m supposed to be than at this moment.

Madness, right?

Well I’m here to tell you that there’s a fine line between Greatness and Madness. And to follow your Dreams, you need a bit of both.

But the question still persists: The “Why?” variation. Why now? Why this? Why…(fill in the blank)? Here is my best attempt at answering that, but as someone once told me: either you get it or you don’t. That is not a reflection on anyone’s insight or intelligence. There are simply things in this world that cannot be explained, but only known through experience and an innate understanding that is often cheapened by the words we use to describe it. I’m going to try my damndest to not dilute its significance in the following paragraphs.

For those closest to me, my decision to do “this” may have come across as impulsive, but not surprising. For others, it may very well have seemed completely out of character and in total contradiction to the dashing, incredibly charming, and stunningly witty person that they have come to know and love. Fear not, for I am still me. But for some time I have hidden a part of myself for reasons of my own. In doing so, I have created distance between myself and many of those I care for, and for that I am truly sorry. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness; I can only hope for your understanding. Eventually you reach a point, often one not of your own choosing, when the pieces of who you are must converge, coupled with the fact that there are simply some things you cannot do from the cover of shadows. That time is now. Is it ever not?

My life has been torn apart before, the pieces of my world shattered. A few know the story. I call this time Darkness. But the Darkness itself, nor the details of my life, are important. What matters is what comes after. For I know that what can be lost can be found. What can be broken can be rebuilt. I’ve seen it. I’ve done it. And I know we’re all capable of it. What I learned from it was a simple, yet incomparable truth: in each and every moment of our lives, we have the power to make “it” better, to choose to become more than we were just seconds before.

Each. And. Every. Moment.

This is a belief that I hold onto with everything that I am, and I will not yield it – not for me, not for you, nor for any amount of Madness that the world may bring.

So as I sat watching the news over the past week, seeing the catastrophic effects of a typhoon that mankind has never before witnessed in recorded history, I saw the following words etched into the bottom thirds of the news broadcast: “…Worse Than Hell.”

To someone of at least moderate to average intelligence, this should have been a clear warning, an evident deterrent. For me, it was an invitation. It was an invite to quell the sadness and anger within me – deep-rooted emotions that up until this point could not be sated no matter how much gym or quiet time I logged. It’s a sadness and anger born of a single purpose that echoes throughout the corners of my soul: I will not live in a world where people suffer and I sit back and do nothing.

Will not. Cannot. Not any longer.

I once believed that the greatest tragedy in life was not knowing what to do next. I now understand that it is knowing what to do and not doing it. I have “slept” for far too long. It is time to awaken. There is work to be done.

Know that I do not tread lightly into the unknown. I have “trained” for many years – strengthening my beliefs, pushing my limits physically, clearing my head and understanding the depths of who I am, but more importantly who I so desperately desire to be. I take all of myself with me, and I carry, too, pieces of you. Though my second suitcase exceeded the 50lb limit at the airport, I travel light these days, thinking all the while that perhaps each of us could use a touch more Madness in our daily lives.

We live in a success-driven world, so might as well ask the question. What is success here? Let’s get down to it. I am fully aware that I may be able to do nothing of any value on this little excursion. It may be a “wasted” trip by all known measures of what we deem makes anything worthy. However, success for me is landing on the ground, taking the first step outside of the airport, and letting the rest be what it may or may not be. At some point the journey is out of your control. At that point, the journey becomes what it was intended to be. You have to let go. This is not something I’m particularly good at, but I am trying.

I don’t know if I’ll continue to do relief work in the future. My 501c3 application is currently pending at the IRS and hopefully will be approved by early next year. What I do know is that you don’t have to travel halfway around the world to give a damn. There is need all around us. We just have to have the compassion to open our eyes and the courage to act upon the call within.

So I now find myself sitting in the Seoul airport, traveling into the Heart of Madness so that I can stand amidst the chaos and say to the world – my world – with every fractured piece of my being:

I am here with you. I believe in you. I believe in us all.

All the best, my friends, wherever you are and whatever your life is at this moment.

Be safe and Dream well.

David

An Unbroken Life

Sometimes it happens in a moment. Sometimes we don’t have a choice. Sometimes we break.

I am a strong believer in the power of choice, our ability to decide what our lives will be and the heavy responsibility that accompanies it all. But regardless of how long I have fought against the notion, I have come to accept that sometimes we don’t have a choice. Sometimes life happens and we are but an involuntary reaction to it. Sometimes all we can do is break.

It is a bitter stark realization and one never more real than when I received the news that a family member’s 37-year-old husband had died suddenly one morning due to heart complications. I knew, as I sat with the news, that my cousin had no choice but to break. After all, how could she not? Her world had changed forever, and continues to change constantly as she immediately lives a life she has never known, one without her beloved spouse.

There’s a fragility and solemn beauty to the human life that we are not always strong, coupled with the fact that we’re not supposed to be. Yet just because we break does not mean we are broken. We are not merely a sum of the choices we have made and the ones that have been made for us. We are not defined by the tragedies of our past, but who we choose to be in the present.

This is evidenced over time through experience as we learn an incomparable truth: what can break can be rebuilt. What once was shattered can be made whole. Perhaps not in the same fashion as it was before, but in a different version of our life, one that exists now – unbroken – because we have found the courage to live it.

Snow Patrol – This Isn’t Everything You Are

An Act of Kindness to All

An Act of Kindness to One is an Act of Kindness to All.

I met a homeless man named Alan a few weeks ago in Reston Town Center, VA. He carried a newspaper with him and showed me the article that he was reading – which is posted here –  as we talked. It was evident that it meant something to him. I remember him talking about how it was nice to know there are people out there who care.

I had read the article he carried with him before. It was inspiring and a genuine act of kindness. I have read updates on the story since then that state the homeless man in the picture is now shoeless once again, which is disheartening to hear.

Jennifer Foster's photo of Officer Deprimo with the homeless man.

Maybe he hid the shoes that he was given as he claims. Maybe they were stolen. Maybe he sold them to use the money for whatever else. In the end it doesn’t matter. I know that this story made a difference to one homeless man who was not mentioned in the article.

Sometimes we don’t know what the effects of our actions will be. Sometimes we wonder if any of what we do actually makes a difference. And sometimes we need to tell the cynical voice in our head to shut the hell up so we can proceed with giving a damn.

Here’s to a better 2013 for us all.

Amidst Perishing Thoughts

There are moments in life which dictate that we alter our course. Sometimes we find that we must act without the desire to do so, lest our decisions be made for us through circumstance rather than by our input. We soon find ourselves bombarded with emotional tumult, to the point of wishing regretfully for stoic release. Yet in the moment of absolute indecisiveness, something unconscionable happens.

From amidst the chaos of our perishing thoughts, we find a solace as we are enLighted by a peculiar occurrence – a realization, if you will, originating from the depths of our being that shines a beacon of insight on this altogether unfamiliar phenomenon.

That insight contains on its fringes a single message: we have a choice, in all that we do.

Shifting is a choice. Remaining still is a choice. We work, play, fall in love, and cry out in defeat all as choices made in the commodity of our days through this journey called Life. And as we find our desires gently giving way in favor of a general acceptance of the way things are versus the prospect we thought they to be, we take heart in a fleeting yet tangible thought:

We cannot always choose the path we travel; we can only decide the manner in which we walk it.

Who Would You Be If You Lost Everything Tomorrow?

Most of us treat life as if it’s a scavenger hunt. We scurry about madly trying to gather things. Jobs. Money. Cars. Clothes. Homes. Women. (Or men.) We travel. We hang out. We eat, eat, eat. The more stuff, the more fun, the more more, the better. We’re all guilty of it at some juncture—many of us are even Hall of Famers at it.

On the flip side, “hustle” is one of the keys to success. Many of the folks we admire for their accomplishments didn’t achieve them by standing at the curb, waiting for success to drive by and offer them a ride. And often the spoils of success are, simply, All of the Above.

Unfortunately, we often define ourselves by the spoils. We become what we wear, what we drive, where we dine. We are where we live or vacation. It happens easily, comfortably. We become more proud of our “stuff” than of what it took for us to obtain it—intelligence, work ethic, integrity, passion, skill, and more. And, yes, sometimes luck.

In so doing, we diminish who we are, we dismiss our values. We ignore our core.

Today, ask yourself: “Who would I be if I had nothing?”

Not what would I be? (The probable answer: screwed!) But who . . .

Who would you be if the stuff you’ve obtained suddenly disappeared—poof, as if a magician had waved his wand?

Who then would you be? At your core.

Too many Americans are learning the answer these days. With unemployment hovering at around 9%, people are going months without work or income, without that which made them who they were. A catastrophic illness can strip away the stuff, too. A lost love can rip away your heart.

Who are you then?

I hope you never find yourself with nothing, with whatever stuff you’ve accumulated hauled off and gone.

But we should all act as if it just might happen, and ponder what—and who—we’d have left.

Would you still like you? Would you be proud of you? Would others love and respect you?

If your answers (honest answers) don’t exactly thrill you, there’s good news: You can work on it. Work on it as you do on your job, your relationship, your body. Work on it every day—push through plateaus and achieve new growth. In time, you’ll not only like the answers, but you’ll also find that the you you’ve created is more important than the stuff you’ve accumulated. Way more.

Ultimately, who we are is what we leave behind. Sure, you might have a will crammed with all kinds of stuff to leave your family and loved ones. But even if your estate is worth millions, it won’t be as valuable as you and how you touched those around you, how you taught those around you—by your actions and words.

So make sure you like you when there’s nothing else around.

From Men’s Fitness Editor In Chief, Roy S. Johnson. View Article

Why We Choose Not to Pursue Our Dreams

Paulo Coelho, author of The Alchemist, writes often about the pursuit of Dreams and what they can mean to our lives. His keen insight into why we choose not to follow our Dreams probes the thoughts buried deep within. This particular excerpt challenges us to ask the hard questions we often dare not ask for fear of the answers they may bring. Why do you not pursue your Dreams?

The first symptom of the process of our killing our dreams is the lack of time. The busiest people I have known in my life always have time enough to do everything. Those who do nothing are always tired and pay no attention to the little amount of work they are required to do. They complain constantly that the day is too short. The truth is, they are afraid to fight the Good Fight.

The second symptom of the death of our dreams lies in our certainties. Because we don’t want to see life as a grand adventure, we begin to think of ourselves as wise and fair and correct in asking so little of life. We look beyond the walls of our day-to-day existence, and we hear the sound of lances breaking, we smell the dust and the sweat, and we see the great defeats and the fire in the eyes of the warriors. But we never see the delight, the immense delight in the hearts of those who are engaged in the battle. For them, neither victory nor defeat is important; what’s important is only that they are fighting the Good Fight.

And, finally, the third symptom of the passing of our dreams is peace. Life becomes a Sunday afternoon; we ask for nothing grand, and we cease to demand anything more than we are willing to give. In that state, we think of ourselves as being mature; we put aside the fantasies of our youth, and we seek personal and professional achievement. We are surprised when people our age say that they still want this or that out of life. But really, deep in our hearts, we know that what has happened is that we have renounced the battle for our dreams – we have refused to fight the Good Fight.

View Original Post from Paulo’s Blog

A Moment of Magic Possibilities

Every day, [we are given] a moment when it is possible to change anything that is causing us unhappiness. The magic moment is the moment when a “yes” or a “no” can change our whole existence.

Every day, we try to pretend that we do not see that moment, that it does not exist, that today is the same as yesterday and that tomorrow will be the same too. However, anyone who pays close attention to his day will discover the magic moment.

It might be hidden in the instant that we put the key in the door in the morning, in the moment of silence after supper, in the thousand and one things that appear to us to be the same. This moment exists, a moment in which all the strength of the stars flows through us and allows us to perform miracles.

– By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept