Dos Inviernos y Dos Primaveras – Two Winters and Two Springs

The year is divided into 4 seasons (cuatro estaciones), the winter (el invierno), the spring (la primavera), the summer (el verano) and the fall (el otoño), and the impacts of each season can be different depending on exactly where you live.  In the summer, the days are long (largos) and typically, the days are hot (calientes), the temperatures allowing for a change of clothing (la ropa) and often a change of scenery, as summer also signals vacation and travel (las vacaciones y los viajes).  In the fall, the season changes as the harvest of fruits (las frutas) and vegetables (las verduras) comes to an end, the trees lose their leaves and the days begin to shorten (bajar).  For most people, the winter means cold temperatures, some times snow (el nieve), but for sure the time when all things are dormant and the days are short.  The spring is a time of rebirth, a time when all things (todas las cosas) become as new.

I grew up in Richmond, Virginia, and we definitely had four distinct season (cuatro estaciones distintas), the summer bringing sweltering heat and humidity, the fall cool temperatures (temperaturas frescas) and colorful displays in the trees, the winter often freezing rain (el aguanieve) with cold temperatures and constantly gray skies and the spring lighting up the valleys (las valles) with wild flowers and the woods (el bosque) with green foliage.  I have lived in other places, such as Santa Fe, NM, where the summer meant tourists (las turistas), the fall brought refreshment, the winter meant snow, and the spring delivered hope (la esperanza) and renewal.  Here in El Paso, we are also said to have four seasons, but they are summer, fall, wind (el viento) and spring, there is really not too much of a winter, although the bareness of the trees and the brown remnants of the lawn (el cesped) are reminders that winter is present and dominating.

Yet, I still would have a normal flow to a year, the sequence (el orden) of the seasons is as much a rhythm (un ritmo) of life as it is a signal to behavior, it is a call to the natural within us that drives us in a way (una manera) that brings continuity and consistency.  It is part of the normal cycle (el ciclo normal) of our days, like the sun coming up in the morning (en la mañana) in the East and setting in the evening (en la noche) in the West.  It is the order of days and months, with each and every instance implying congruence (igualdad) to the annual way in which we not only conduct our business (nuestros negocios), but in the way we conduct ourselves.  We tend to spread our wings (nuestras alas) in the summer, get to work in the fall, hide out and hibernate (hibernar) in the winter, and emerge and reinvent ourselves in the spring.

For me this calendar year (el ano calendario) is unique in that in the height of what should have been my summer, July, I was transported to Santiago, Chile where I was placed smack dab in the middle (en la mitad) of winter.  Although winter in Santiago is not winter in Minneapolis, it does have a constant damp cold, think San Francisco or Seattle, where the cold (el frío) sinks right into your bones (sus huesos) and you have to keep moving to stay warm. Winter in Santiago means wearing your coat (el abrigo) and your scarf (la bufanda) inside, eating lots of soup and drinking lots of Nescafe, trying to stave off the cold and survive through August to make it to the beginning (la comienza) of spring in September.  After the national celebrations in September, the push for spring begins with the trees (los árboles) and plants (las plantas) leading the way, the once barren hillsides and walkways filling in green of new life all around (alrededor).

As summer was approaching in December, I had to return (regresar) to the United States as my Fulbright experience came to an end, and as I stepped off the plane (el avión) in El Paso, I had also stepped back into winter once again (otra vez).  I have experienced a number (un numero) of firsts over the past few months, such as my first October birthday (los cumpleaños) in the spring in South America, but I can honestly state that I have never had a year in which I will have had two winters (dos inviernos) and two springs (dos primaveras) within a 365-day period.  Some might think this is a bit of rip off, as I left the hope of the summer for the dread (el terror) of the winter, a seemingly Groundhog day experience that somehow would be an undoing, a backward glance (una mirada atrás) to the past, a time of hopelessness and without a future (sin un futuro).

Yet, lost in all that downtrodden perceptions (las percepciones) is the fact that there is also two springs, two separate chances at new beginnings (empiezas nuevas), two unique settings for setting something new (algo nuevo) in motion. That is the hope that I cling to in this winter age, my second of the year (mi segundo del ano), as I wait for the spring to come knowing that my time of rebirth (el renacimiento) will happen once again.

Una Vuelta Completa - Full Circle

There are a lot of cycles (los ciclos) in life that are part o our everyday rhythm, such as the cycle of a hour on a clock (un reloj), the cycle of moving from morning to night and back to morning in a day, and the seasons (las estaciones) throughout a year.  There are also natural cycles (los ciclos naturales), such as photosynthesis, the water cycle and the rock cycle.  What separates a cycle from other types (otros tipos) of events is that the movement beings in one place and moves through a series of connected events to in effect come back (volver) to the starting point.  These cycles are in effect circles (un círculo), revolutions that start and end at a relative and congruent point, a sequence that is completed and repeated over time.

One such cycle of annual ritual at UTEP and at many universities around the world is ceremony (la ceremonia) of graduation.  Graduation is an event that celebrates the termination of a degree plan (un plan de estudios) that signals the completion of an academic program at the university for undergraduate, graduate and doctoral students.  Although this is a finite point (un punto finito) on a linear progression within a plan of studies, the cyclical part of this idea is that at the end of each semester (cada semestre), a graduation occurs, bringing one such celebration at the end of the Winter term in December (diciembre) and another at the end of the Spring term in May (mayo).  For academic faculty and staff, this does become part of the annual academic cycle, as we don’t merely attend (asitir) one graduation, we attend 2 annually, continually for our entire academic careers.

Many (muchos) large universities also have a Pre-Commencement ceremony, which is usually for a specific college within the university.  For example, I work in the College of Education and we have a ceremony prior (antes) to the main university graduation event, one which is a bit more intimate (intimo), and also allows the faculty and staff in the College of Education the opportunity to recognize (reconocer) outstanding accomplishments, awards and honors for students as well as advanced degree achievement.  At this event, which for us is actually held the night before (anoche) the main university graduation, the college itself celebrates the success of the students along with their families and friends.

It is at this event that I find myself with a unique perspective (una perspectiva única), a reflection on a cycle of a year marked by this Winter Pre-Commencement, from both this year (este ano) and last year (el ano pasado).  At this ceremony, exactly 1 year ago, I was sitting on the stage (el escenario) understanding that I would be leaving the next day to begin a journey with students, faculty and my wife, Sarah, all the way to Antarctica.  I remember feeling the uncertainty (la incertidumbre) of this event in many ways, unsure of what would transpire, what events would take place and what would ultimately be the impacts.  It was a time of anticipation, of relative anxiety (una preocupación relativa) and excitement, a time fraught with expectations, a journey to a place so far away (muy lejos) that I can remember thinking, “I wonder what will happen to us all?”

Now, one year later, I have made it to this year’s Pre-Commencement ceremony, having only returned the day before (ayer) from my six-month excursion in Santiago, Chile as part of the Fulbright US Scholars program.  As I was greeted by my colleagues and saw students and families ready to celebrate (celebrar) their achievements, I found myself reflecting on the year that had been, one that began with a journey to Antarctica and finished with a return (una vuelta) from a half-year in Santiago.  This cycle was unlike any that I had ever experienced in my life (en mi vida) , and probably as unique a set of experiences as I could ever hope to experience (experimentar) in one year’s time.  While the cycle of graduation will surely repeat (repetir), and I imagine I will find myself back in this spot again next year, I am looking forward to seeing how (como) this set of unique events will translate to my life here in El Paso.

La Casa - Home

I have traveled a lot (mucho) in my life, and have been on a lot of airplanes (los aviones) over the years.  I can remember getting on a plane as a young child (un niño) and heading out with my parents (mis padres) to Florida to visit relatives and enjoy the sunshine (el sol) in the southern US.  Although I enjoyed my trip there greatly, I can remember an excitement (un entusiasmo) about returning home, anticipation to a time that signaled an end (un fin) to the unfamiliar and a return (un regreso) to the familiar.  Over the years, as I have ventured to destinations both near and far, to places for short periods (tiempos cortos) and long periods of time, the process of coming home has always been a positive and welcomed event.

Sitting on the balcony (la terraza) of my apartment in Ñuñoa, Santiago, Chile, I am taking one last long look at my view (la vista) of the city skyline and the majestic snowcapped Andes Mountains in the distance (en la distancia).  This view has been so familiar over the last six months and I know that it will soon become a memory (una memoria), as Sarah and I begin our trek back home.  The process of returning began days ago, but now the planning (el planificación) and the packing were being put into action.  Our friend Claudio had arranged transportation for us through the university (la universidad), and a small truck (un camioneta) was needed to take 2 undersized North Americans and 4 oversized, overweight and bulbous bags (las maletas) to the airport.  We headed out around 7 PM Santiago time (3 PM MST) only to be enveloped in gridlock traffic (taco extremo), as Madonna was on her South America tour and on this night, she was kicking off her run of concerts (los conciertos) in Santiago.  I joked that the government (el gobierno) only allows one superstar in Chile at a time, and hat meant that I have to leave, a joke (una broma) that did not translate well or even come across as funny.

Once through the check-in process and complete with paying the fine (la multa) for the overweight luggage, we moved onto the security area. Saying goodbye to Claudio was hard (difícil), as he has been my mentor, my friend, my advocate and role model for these six months, but we were also confident that we would soon see each other again (otra vez), whether it is in Chile or in the US.  Anyway, we said our goodbyes and made it thorough security (la seguridad) and to the boarding gate area.  Soon, we were on the plane, and it actually took off on time, and we were in the air by 11 PM (7 PM MST).  As we lifted off and I could see the lights of the Santiago city sprawl, I felt a pang of sorrow (la pena) coupled with a sense of joy. The juxtaposition of this internal strife would only continue to oscillate (oscilar) as we crept closer to the US.

The deep night darkness (la oscuridad) was broken with dotted lighted areas on the ground, with small clusters of lights signaling civilization, but I was unsure (indeciso) whether we were over Central America or Mexico. As day broke, the lights also increased and soon we were preparing to touch down (aterrizar) in Dallas, Texas, with a landing that happened right on time, around 6:30 AM CST (9:30 AM Santiago – 5:30 AM MST).  Moving off the plane with great trepidation (inquietud), I made it through customs, where an agent welcomed me back home to the US of A, stating, “It is always good to come back to America.”  I had to agree (estar de acuerdo) with him, although silently I knew I had never left America, only moved from North to South and back to North again.

A bit later (después), and another airplane flight, which was also on time, rendered me closing in on the familiar sites (los sitios familiares) of home, the desert landscapes, the Franklin Mountains, the interstate (la carretera) running through town and of course, Ciudad Juárez across the river.  With this entire opening up in the morning light (la amanecer), a true signal was sent that indeed, home was just around the corner.  At the airport, we were met by our friend Chris, who had been living in our home and taking care of all things there, including our two big dogs (nuestros dos perros grandes), Judah and Brodie.  He surprised us by having the dogs with him in the truck, which presented a truly memorable greeting (un saludo) and a thoughtful effort that left Sarah and I speechless.

I moved into the driver’s seat (el asiento del chofer) and as I drove the truck down the familiar highway leading to familiar streets (las calles familiar), I maneuvered the truck towards home, seemingly getting there inherently, as if on automatic pilot (piloto automático).  Pulling into the driveway and seeing our house, it was almost too much to bear (soportar), a dream now a reality, a memory replaced by real life.  Around 11 AM MST (3 PM Santiago), we were in our house, some 20 hours from start to finish (la empieza al fin), a day’s journey to a destination half a world away.  As we lay on the living room floor (el suelo de sala), the dogs joined us and this huge dog pile was the ultimate sign that in effect, we had truly come home (a casa).

La Madrugada – Daybreak

I have always (siempre) been a morning person and I find daybreak (la madrugada) to be a refreshing and inspiring event.  When I was younger (más joven), I used to like to stay awake until dawn, to see the new day come into light (la luz) from the darkness (la oscuridad) of the night before, to hold the expectation for a new beginning directly, to find communion in the tranquility (la tranquilidad) of the awakening morning. 

I know a number of people (la gente) who share this view and a number who can do without it, as the chance for sleep (el sueno) seems sweeter in first light for others, but for me, it is almost a call (una llamada) to arise, a chance to start anew, an opportunity fresh and unspoiled.  Some people find this habit (el habito) annoying and mock the morning person, a not so subtle response (la repuesta) to the ever present cheerfulness of the early riser, who may be in the office so early (muy temprano) and so wide awake.  Yet, I see the time in the early morning beginning with daybreak to be unspoiled, to be free of noise (el ruido) and traffic (el trafico), to be unhindered and alive.

As I sit here in my apartment (mi departamento) in Santiago, and stare out of the window (la ventana), catching the sun’s rays gently touching the peaks of the Andes Mountains, I understand that this is my last dawn (el final amanecer) that I will see this site for some time.  I understand that a new day (el día nuevo) is upon me, one that will begin here in Ñuñoa and hopefully end somewhere in the air (en el aire) over Central America, in a plane that will be heading into Dallas, Texas in the next morning’s light.  After that, the next steps (los pasos próximos) will be to make it through US Customs and back into line to try and get on another plane (un otro avion) and make it home to El Paso.

I have to admit (admitir) that some things went really well here during my time in Chile and that some things (algunas cosas) didn’t go so well either, but it is not the individual successes or failures (los fracasos) that really matter, it is how you respond at the end of it all.  There is a saying (un dicho) that is does not matter how many times you fall, but how many times you pick yourself up.  In other words, it is not the failures or the successes (los éxitos) that matter, but how you respond to them, it is not the number of days you have counted (has contado), but the one that you have anew in your midst. 

The morning light is a gentle reminder (un recuerdo suave) of the potential of the day, that there can be a fresh start (una empieza fresca), and that this idea, this guiding principle, can actually be lived out with (con) each breaking day.  That to me is the important point, that we have an opportunity to excel (destacar), a chance to be forgiven and redeemed, a time to hope (esperar) for a better way. Sometimes it is important to have thoughts (los pensamientos) and to give things a lot of reflection, but it is equally important to put (poner) those thoughts into action.

As I stare out into the morning light (la luz de la mañana), I recognize that this is the call of the new day, the time (el tiempo) for taking what I have learned and applying it to my life anew.  I only hope (solamente espero) that I am up for the task.

Dos Pies en la Tierra - Two Feet on the Ground

I have never (nunca) been one who has been lacking for practicality, as I am inherently searching for something that I can use in my life (en mi vida), not merely think about, but apply in a practical way that will help me to learn (aprender) and to grow (crecer). When I teach my classes at the university, many of my students often comment that they have learned (ha aprendido) practical applications that they can immediately implement in the classroom (en el aula), and this is an important goal for me as well, that they have useful materials that are not solely based on theory, but on practice (en practica) as well.

I am also a constructivist by nature, in that I like to have (tener) an experience first and then look to understand (comprender) the content.  I have certainly applied that here in Chile, as I literally jumped in with both feet (con dos pies), landing here in Santiago, not unprepared, but somehow hoping that by effort and presence, I might be able to make (hacer) sense of things, even in Spanish.  I was at times unprepared for the reality (la realidad) of the content, but did find that in time, with more experience, the information all around me, that was in many ways constant (constante), suddenly began to make sense, whether it was in my professional life at UMCE or on the streets (en las calles) of Santiago and elsewhere in Chile.

As I am preparing to get ready to go (ir) home, to head back to the US, to get back (regresar) to my home university at UTEP and to see (ver) my family and friends, I am reminded that I am still wholeheartedly in Chile at this very moment (en este momento). Sure, I am allowing myself to think (pensar) about my life back in El Paso, about returning to my house, about greeting my dogs (mis perros), which hopefully will not bite me or run away, about seeing my neighbors (mis vecinos) and about getting ready for the Christmas holiday (la Navidad).  I mean, I may have begun to plan to get home, maybe even daydream (un sueno del día) about what I will do when I am home, but I have to remember (recordar) that at this point, I am not home, I am still physically here in Chile. 

A friend (un amigo) recently asked me if I had 1 foot in Chile and 1 foot (un pie) back home, implying that I was neither here nor there (ni aquí ni allí), but somewhere in between.  I had to reply that I am firmly here in Chile, with 2 feet on the ground (dos pies en la tierra), growing where I am planted.  I was not trying to be confrontational or even less than truthful (verdadero), as I really feel that way, I am here and when I leave for home, I will not be here.  In other words (en otras palabras), I still have opportunities to impact my learning, my life and the situations all around me today (hoy), right where I am, here in Ñuñoa, in Santiago, in Chile.

People talk about living in the moment (el momento), but in reality, living in the moment is at times very difficult (muy difícil), especially if the moment is hard or a more attractive moment is looming close (cerca) on the horizon.  I think the big message for me to that you have to grow (crecer) where you are planted, and that your 2 feet on the ground signals your place to be (su lugar para ser).  In that regard, I hope to grow a bit more today in Santiago, so that I can live better (vivo mejor) and grow better once I am firmly planted back home (en casa).