twelve. Aza plus 10 more.

Aza is lovely. Her simplicity and light way of things makes it easy to see her real self as soon as you meet her, which she is sure to start with a warm hug. 

Our paths collided at the beginning of the Designing for Social Innovation course I am apart of in Bangkok, Thailand. Aza and I (and the rest of the innovators who recently took the risk to leave the comfort of their homes to come explore the unknown in South East Asia) were hoping to have just set ourselves on a path of cultivating real change for communities who are marginalized in this world. Some of us have spent the last several years deeply enmeshed in this work, while  others just beginning to put together the incredible projects set before them by destiny.

Some lived in places where violence was a daily reality, and others flew in from  the suburbs of rich neighborhoods where safety was an inherent characteristic of houses that lined the lit streets. Some where fighting stagnancy which can be as debilitating for communities as violence I would say. Others were fighting injustices that happen everyday and unfairly award communities a sense of powerlessness in their own lives. We came from 17 countries  in all,  but it was clear  right away that all of us were interested in igniting change. Everyone in that room subscribed to the  fact that the real “experts” are the ones that are dealing with the problem first hand. We all believed that “ we needed to address problems with the same sense of urgency that the group experiencing the problem are showing.” What a world we could create with these principles as the foundation.

The DSIL group dove into the task of being intentional about building a inclusive community from the beginning. What personality did we want our collective to form? What feelings did we want to leave with when are physical time together came to an end? What actions were we committing to take together? How were we going to get there? How could we ensure that we supported each other in all of our differences and when would we make time for discovering not simply what others believed in, but WHY they believed in it.  

These tens days taught me so much, one of the biggest of lessons being that we inherently seem to be re-creating ourselves over and over as the days of our lives pass by. Each person taught me something too. 

Kendra taught me about self-confidence, inner strength, the power of idea networking.

Alex taught me about the warmth that can be created and radiated with humor and hugs.

Stephen taught me about balance and listening to the universe when it is calling you.

Natalie taught me about accepting each other as we are and leaning on others.

Phylis taught me about blooming into who you are when you are at your best.

Jacinthe represented patience and deep empathy. She reminded me to follow your dreams when they are knocking.

Cate taught me about vulnerability and moving past the problems we faced and telling the story about what happened next.

John taught me that many times there is a lot more then what you see. 

Emma taught me of the power of letting go, and taking chances. She helped me more fully become myself and reminded me of my humanness.  

Yumiko taught me to look for knowledge in others around me before I assume I know things. Sometimes the quietest among us have the most valuable things to say and contribute.

Wern, one of my biggest teachers taught me about honesty all the time. Through that we can decide where to go next. 

The lesson of story telling is where Aza comes in.

After a design thinking session, I noticed the t-shirt she was wearing. Hand painted, it portrayed the picture of the mountain landscape in the far view, and in the closer view clear eye glasses laid on the ground. If you looked through the glasses you could see the far off mountains and large bright red strawberries with perfectly detailed  seeds on them- reminding me of the absolute incredible design of even the smallest things around us.

I told her how beautiful her shirt was. Aza lit up and went on to excitingly explain to me that her very good friend painted it for her. The shirt was a depiction on John Lennons song, "Strawberries Fields." He wrote that song in the small town in Spain where she is from. She told me about the town, the people, all the things she loved about that place that she called home. 

So much information about who Aza was came from a simple question about a shirt. It didn’t come from some deep inquiry,, or years of knowing each other. It was simple really. It took almost no effort. As these blogs suggest it is in our stories that we find ourselves, but also it in those stories that we discover others too. And it’s really not that hard is it? 

 For me it seems to be true that more we tell our stories out loud, the more we become ourselves, the more we “settle” into our skin I think. The better we listen, the more we learn about others. I could go around and ask questions all day and learn countless things about everyone around me. Our clothes, our ideas, our past experiences, and our current feelings all hold stories that help others understand us as we are in this moment. The great thing about Aza is that she was so willing to share. She was willing to explain things even if it took time.  She was willing to add extra information. She was willing to be positive not only that day, but everyday of the program, even when positive may not have been easy. 

I think this question asking is important to creating more intentional and inclusive communities especially when we are surrounded by conflict. We get stuck on the WHAT we believe instead of asking WHY others believe it. What stories does that person have that led them to that belief? How have they been affected? How has the world shaped them? What paths do they choose and what stories led them there?

I have many stories that teach me not to trust. Many times I can feel myself not wanting to share truthfully or add extra information for ever constant thought that my idea’s or my experiences might be somehow not "good enough", or may be too tough to hear. 

Aza reminded me to never listen to that piece of me. Every story we find the courage to share with others around us keeps us connected.  

A few days later we were in a village and there was a tiny little girl there who lived on the bio farm we were visiting. At first she was shy and didn’t come by any of us- for her it may have been the first time she saw so many foreigners who all looked so dramatically different.

Aza was patient with her. She showed again showed her warmth and love and before you knew it the little one became best friends with her new Spanish friend. Aza gives with her whole heart and she shares the pieces of her at every moment. I was lucky to be around her. I was lucky to be around all of these change makers. I am better now then I was ten days ago because of it. 

eleven. In Africa, the Addis Ababa Airports and Anna.

Not so long ago I used to dread every moment spent in an airport. Flying never made me feel very good physically to start with.I always seemed so drained after traveling even short distances because the majority of travelers always seemed expel this rude energy at each other especially in airports; people were constantly competing against the "fact” that one person’s destination always seemed to be more important then anthers. 

Now, I love being in mostly. 

As I am writing this I am in Addis Ababa airport, which I now know is in Ethiopia. I am here on a long layover headed back to Bangkok to run a program I have been working on for a long time with such gifted international team. I am excited to get there, but being here now is just fine too. 

It’s comical really how when I settled in on the plane here the Ebola check card required me to write which country my layover was in and I just didn’t know. So, I humbly asked my neighbor, Anna. She told me all about this town Addis Ababa where she was born. She flawlessly pulled out the highlights of the the people who made up the communities that helped to make her. She explained the profound meaning and appreciation of the foods, the struggles the culture has encountered over the years and how many times they felt such disconnection to the rest of the world.

I didi’t feel so great at that moment being the westerner who asked where we were headed.

As importantly to the past of Ethiopia, she discussed how these struggles of poverty and famine have continued to define this country of wonders for the rest of the world despite their recent growth. 

She talked about the lions here with black manes that live in jungles, showed me pictures of some of the worlds most magnificent waterfalls and bragged about the jewelry that is undoubtably meticulously hand crafted with high levels of skill. Traditionally and even today Ethiopians wear these beautiful white linens- dresses lined with rainbow patterns. My time with her on a plane ride taught me more then I could ever hope for in days of reading. This is often true for me. The more I live the more I realize I don't know much of anything in the grand universal scheme of things, and I think that's pretty amazing in itself.

In Addis Ababa the air was crisp when I walked off the plane across the lined concrete to customs and memories of American autumns flooded my mind and made me smile. Interesting how far away I can be from there and so quickly return in my thoughts.

I’ve gotten really good at airports too. I have learned not to sit in the “designated waiting areas" anymore. People sleep there mostly or connect to internet and disconnect with the world. Families get impatient there, lovers express worry about the million things that could go wrong…it’s stale there. 

Instead, I find hallways where people only walk through and near to where they get off the plane and enter all the shops. Now, instead of being consumed by the waiting areas and impatiently waiting my flight too, I watch people walk in so many different ways. I watch how fast they are moving, or how slow.  I guess if I can tell the emotions of people. I wonder where they are going and why. I think about all the pain that must exist in some travel, going to funerals from sudden deaths that came too early but, also the massive excitement that comes to some from knowing they are about to explore the unknown and that vacation is so close to your reach. I can see nervousness since most times traveling somewhere new it is expected you are not sure what will come next. I can see who trusts in the process, who is worried about the process, and who is re-planning the processes because of flight changes and visas that aren’t being approved. I talk to the the amazing locals who work at the bars and restaurants. They are always so kind. I look for dolls for my grandmother to add to her collection- I dream about how much she will love them and how much more I wish I could find for her if only I had enough time to leave the airport. I look at the beaded dresses for little ones and think about what mine will look like someday, and how I hope they aren’t so white since the sunburn is a strong memory of my childhood past. 

These airports now are places where I can “be.” 

They are incubators that push me to process where I am coming from. They are spaces that give me the time to think about what kinds of things I just experienced. 

They give me time to sleep.

And right now at this Ethiopian restaurant while I am watching a futbol match with an old man laughing at the obviousness of the fake flowers on the table- I realize airports have become an new place for me. Airports have become a container I can stay in and observe the world in all of it’s many forms for awhile. In all the exploring I do, just as much happens here. As I have begun treat the space so differently, people seem kinder these days as well. I wonder if they are different, if the world is becoming more humane like that they say or if I am just being more humane and open. I wonder often if I am changing, or the world is. No matter what the truth is, I am glad I can reimagine my life in airports…… and reimagine my life everywhere else if something isn't working for me.