The World is Your Oyster

On Monday morning we got up very early (7:45 am is very early when accostomed to hitting the sheets no earlier than 4 am) to go to the daycare at the favela near Rodrigo's house. Always the life of the party, Craig made balloons. "Marcel, make me one!" we'd hear again and again. The children were beautiful, as children always are. How is it all humans look the same when they're young? Although these kids live among streets contaminated with sewage, they run after a soccer ball with the same vivacity as my little cousin Patrick, who contrastingly is fortunate to have (and very thankful for) his very own set of bunk beds and extensive collection of toy cars. With my limbs awkwardly folded I sat in a chair the size of a toaster oven, and amidst the eager cries of the Brazilian kids pining for balloons swords and flowers, my mind wandered back to my life in Seattle two weeks prior. At that time I had moved a car-full of my own stuff from a big house full of stuff to another big house full of stuff into a room already full of my own stuff. Twenty houses of families living in the slums where I sat in the miniscule chair would fit into the house in which I grew up. Back in Seattle I feel sorry for people who don't have Tivo (99 out of 100 Americans still watch commercials), and two weeks later I'm surrounded by children who have never worn shoes on their feet. It was shameful and humbling moment.

A lot has changed for me in the past few months. You could say I've had one of those changes in life that people call "perspective." I do have a new perspective, a stronger and more optimistic one than ever before. I realized in the past week that perspective can't be handed down through wise words or be derived from observing others around you. Your own perspective comes not only from living the life you're given, but enduring something that challenges what you know and trust. This is how I have become more sure of my life and who I am than ever before. That's only part of what I've realized about perspective. I can watch the small Brazilian boy scan the dirt play field for anything round to kick because no one can afford a ball to give him, I can feel sorry for him. Watching him and realizing the world can be a tough place doesn't mean I know how this boy lives and feels. As sad as I feel to consider his way of life, it's good for me. In the least I realize how everyone has his own perspective. Now knowing a little bit about life, a little bit about how MY perspective can change and how powerful its control is, I respect perspective a lot more. As I encounter different cultures I must keep this in mind. In fact, I'm beginning to see how understanding perspective gives incredible insight into humanity.