An update from Puerto Rico

Driving 60 mph on the Puerto Rican 22-W this morning, I found myself overcome with a sense of daunting solitude and empowerent. Driving in my generous friend Israel’s Mitsubishi, I zoomed over and through green forests of bamboo, prickly palms, and panapén (after two and a half months of staring at trees that defied my imagination I found this treasure TROVE of information).

Every three seconds or so* I’d glance at my smartphone and into google’s servers that would instantaneously give me botched directions of which highway to take at which point. Despite the fact that Google misnamed and misnumbered multiple highways, I made it there without one wrong turn. Despite my strong 4G LTE service updating my gobal position instantaneously, I did manage to wait in two large toll lines to re-load a toll pass that was already loaded. Turns out I could have been speeding by in the left lane.

On this highway, outside of the 50-continental US states, I found myself all alone zooming along to visit the Carlos Beltran Baseball Academy. I felt alone, more so than I would have felt in California or other familiar places for a variety of reasons: I left my AAA card at home; I am off in a place I have never been or really put thought to. Yet, I had google, constantly telling me which way to go. And, I had way more than that. I had Israel who lent me his car and texted me to make sure everything went okay. I had Daisy at the Academy who organized my visit and let me spend the night at her house. I had my San Juan housemates Henny and Yeye who would probably come fetch and help me if I was to say, get a flat tire.

Amidst the sometimes daunting moments when I watched the road or the green trees fly by, I thought about how most of this Fellowship, just like most of life, is controlling negative thoughts. I was once active on the Twittersphere, and back then someone transcribed a 160 character message into cyberspace that stuck with me.

“How many people fill and clout their daily life with negative thoughts,” read the tweet.

That stuck with me. By no means is this a case for devout optimism or hope. Rather, for me, it’s an acknowledgement of how often my brain feels tempted to fill days with negative thoughts, and I have to take deliberate action to create a reality that is not full of these thoughts. It is an acknowledgement of the fact that I have to deliberately try to remain calm and okay no matter what is thrown at me.  Applying this time of intention to my daydreams and mental processes is exhausting, and I don’t succeed at it much of the time. Yet, when I do, when I’m able to coast down the highway, enjoying myself, rocking to some reggaeton and salsa, well, things can turn eerily pleasant. The eery peace usually begins to scare me not too long after it begins, as it feels totally contrived—but enough undermining every thought—let’s get on with the blog post.

As insinuated, I write from Puerto Rico. I am missing the Dominican Republic (words I’m not sure I thought I’d utter). Saying goodbye to my friends there (looking at you Pablito, Jaime, Orlando, y otros) was difficult. Goodbyes are not my forté. Before saying goodbye, I welcomed my parents for a short tour. I got to introduce them to my life and friends. Luckily, they were overcome by a profound sense of relief by the fantastic people I’ve been fortunate enough to meet. I think they went home with fewer preoccupations than with which they arrived. That makes me happy. Though preoccupation is also their job, and I feel confident that they’ll keep up the good work. It can be nice to be worried about, so I try to appreciate all of their love in every form it takes.

So yes, I hopped a plane to Puerto Rico. I said bye. I think I even shed a few tears while waving to Jaime and Pablo at the airport. After intense institutional support via MLB and buscones in the DR, I arrived in Puerto Rico with casi no contacts. It was my first time with no family friends, no Career Development Office, and no “in the flesh” institutional support. I learned a lot. I re-learned that, “relationships are everything,”(@Lorn Foster) and after some blind emails and some aimless meandering around the baseball diamond near my house, I was able to make a few friends and a few professional contacts. I now write to you from the mountain town of Utuato, Puerto Rico. I am close to “cold” for the first time since my plane trip from Sacramento to Santo Domingo. It’s only 79 degrees Fareinheit. Close to freezing. I’ll sleep well with this fresh air, and tomorrow I’ll spend another day at the CBBA.

The Academy, its teachers, coaches, and players, welcomed me warmly. The teachers talked to me about their classes and how the educational environment differs at the Academy compared to prior schools they taught at. The coaches introduced me to the players as someone striving, “to be the second female MLB coach,”(the first was hired by my hometown Oakland A’s last week). I got to take infield. I turned a few double plays, and the prospects answered my questions and engaged me with charm and warmth.

Overall, the glamour of the Fellowship has (almost) entirely warn off. A great example of the sometimes drab nature of the daily ups and downs of this grant occurred last week. I called my friend Luis Castro of Puerto Rico’s International Baseball Academy to plan my trip to accompany him to his Academy’s games in Florida, PR the next day. He greets me warmly, continuing to welcome me to the game, and he asks, “Do you have your ticket?”

“What ticket?”I answer, “I had hoped you could pick me up like we planned.”

“Your ticket to Florida!” he responds.

Turns out Señor Castro and the International Baseball Academy were headed to the namesake: Fort Myers, FL. The trip was not to the Puerto Rican municipality of Florida, as I had assumed. My efforts to clear my schedule and my enthusiasm to hit the road and see some baseball outside of San Juan were dashed. I had to explain the Señor Castro that there was absolutely no way I was going to Fort Myers. The grant doesn’t allow it, and my desire was to see baseball here in Puerto Rico.

Despite the lack of glamour, I’m happy to bring this update to a close with a preliminary answer to the big question I posed about four months ago now:

Q: What constitutes a humane existence in the world?

In two and a half months of consciously and subconsciously thinking about this question, I have come to the first part of a hopefully to-be-dynamic-in-the-future answer: openness.

Open: [oh-puh n]

adjective

1.

not closed or barred at the time, as a doorway by a door, a window by a sash, or a gateway by a gate:

I have learned and witnessed that openness creates extraordinary potential for collaboration. Since the Watson Fellowship enabled me to cross boundaries and borders and enter the Dominican Republic, I will never conceive of the industry of professional sports in the same way. Rather than viewing sport as recreation or entertainment, I now see it also as a globalized business. This knowledge as well as where I come from gives me extraordinary potential to blend my world and the world I saw in the DR to conceive of a different sort of industry. What if the DR and MLB could collaborate on more holistic level? What if Academies could educate women in addition to men?

I would not sit here attempting to fathom a different institutional setup of MLB, buscones, players, coaches, and scouts I met had they not greeted me with such openness. Similarly, if the Watson Foundation had not given me this opportunity to expose myself and my opinions to the world, I doubt I’d be attempting to conceive of ways in which more women in the Dominican Republic could receive an education.

*I am exaggerating for the purpose of illustrating what a truly horrifying, technology-dependent time I find myself in