Julio, Who Is My Neighbor (Part 1)
Julio, who is my neighbor, and I met for the first time on November 3, 2020 (Election day in the USA). As I came striding around the corner onto the street where we both live, I observed him taking the last three or four steps toward his car. He moved gingerly as he opened his car door. On the mend from sciatica myself, I may have been projecting—but my compassionate imagination began considering what could be shaping Julio’s movements.He hesitated before getting into his car. This is my chance to say hello, I tell myself. “Hello. Are you okay? It seems you have a bit of a limp.” More than a hello, but I am pumped from my walk, so all the words spill out. Julio turns slowly to greet me. He looks me in the eye with such a sense of presence I feel a little surprised. I don’t remember the details of that first minute’s exchange, but it became clear that my quick walk home and the errand Julio was about to run would be postponed. We stood there, talking for at least 20 minutes. With his mask on, I couldn’t see Julio’s full face. He couldn't see mine. It is also a little tricky to hear his voice. He is soft spoken. And about 10 minutes into our conversation, I realized that I still have my earbuds in my ears! In the moment, not fully self aware!
If You Knew My Life
Julio’s careful movement is not so much a limp as the walk of someone in constant pain. Three herniated discs from a work injury in 2019. Then a series of heart attacks in January 2020. The first one on his son’s twelfth birthday.Wait. What? “How old are you?” I can’t help asking. Julio, compact and fit, with arms that illustrate the term muscle definition, looks like he’s maybe 38 or 40. He confirms my guess. “Forty-two. I’m 42.” A heart attack at 42! “That’s so young!” I exclaim. “If you knew my life, you wouldn’t think it’s so young,” he replied.With Julio, my scripted Hello-How-are-you?-Oh-by-the-way-I'm-an-artist! conversation takes a turn right at the top. Julio seems to sense my curiosity and trust my presence. With his response he shifts the flow of our exchange beyond preliminary greetings. Julio moves between responding to and directing the dialog. As we stand on opposite edges of the sidewalk, open hearted and fully present, time slows for us.
Project Review
For the project Who Is My Neighbor, I see myself in two roles: as an artist/story gatherer in my neighborhood, then as an artist/narrator, sifting through what I’ve heard and finding words to organize my reflections. Time will determine whether I am a reliable narrator or not.The point of the project? you may ask. There are several I can name and some that I can't, at least not yet. Nameable point one: Connection in a time of extreme social and civic polarization and isolation. Nameable point two: Gathering stories. This is how I find my urstoff, my primary matter. Once gathered, I turn stories into art. Right now, my art renders as essays. Stay with me; we'll find what future forms spring from these stories!For guidance in my practice, I have a reading list. In her book, The Art of Gathering, Priya Parker names the basic attributes for hosting gatherings as “curiosity, willingness, and generosity of spirit to try.” These serve as guideposts for me. I also strive to be generous (everyone is doing the best they can) and honest (our best is often messy); not an easy combination, but one I choose to embrace. (If you're interested in my reading list, CLICK HERE.)In broad & basic terms, I’ve tasked myself to:
- be brave—show up
- be curious—reach out
- be present—listen & gather, and
- be brave again—narrate and share the art I create
Recently, someone told me that my project, “is a big risk.” My neighbors can engage however the heck they wish. The how of them showing up remains a mystery until we interact. So far, everyone I’ve approached is game, even eager to participate. As I release the stories and my neighbors find my narrations, we—you and I, dear reader—may discover just what kind of risk I'm taking!
Generosity of Spirit
Back to Julio and our first meeting. He probably hasn’t read Priya Parker’s book yet, but, Oh! What a generous spirit! After our initial conversation, I hurried home and grabbed my notebook to jot down some of what he said before I forgot. Here's the gist.He grew up in the Bronx, New York. His mother is Puerto Rican, so he speaks Spanish and English; his father is Black, so he and his older brother look different from the rest of the family. Both parents work/ed in law enforcement along with an uncle and possibly an aunt. As a child, Julio played in burned out buildings and saw the occasional dead body in those spaces. At 17, he was shot in the arm—I saw the scars on his left biceps. He is familiar with pain. He avoids pain meds. They leave him groggy and without real relief.He moved to Riverside in the early 2000’s. He loves all the open space of California. “Everything is so spread out.” Nothing like his life in the Bronx.Julio, his wife, Erika, and their son Julio Jr., share the house that makes them my neighbors with extended family: Erika’s mother, Miss Jackson, Erika’s sister and the sister’s husband and son. Julio would like to get back to work so that he can leave the house more often. But he has three herniated discs, and that string of heart attacks in January, and then there’s Covid.He’s looking at an apartment in Temecula. He wants more room. He needs space for his art. Yes, he’s an artist. He likes solitude. He knows what it is from previous experience. Finally, when he is in pain he tries to distance himself from others so that he doesn’t speak harshly to the people he loves, his family. The family he built here because he left New York with nothing.
Final First Meeting Notes & So Much Beauty
All of this—the constant pain, a full house, loss of his job, health issues, making his life as my neighbor from nothing—shared with me on our first meeting. Would Julio share any of this with whoever came along? In our interview—yes, we had an interview—he made it clear that he doesn’t talk to just anyone. I feel the honor of his trust.And on election day 2020—with the outcome unknown and potential for backlash no matter who the winner may be—Julio, a Black man in constant pain, makes time to talk to me. I am more nervous about the outcome of the election than he is. He personifies quiet peace. All of this is a lot to process. But as I walk up the street toward home I feel hopeful and light. Not because of me, but because of Julio, who is my neighbor and, I realize, also a philosopher.More than once in our dialog he tells me: “There is so much beauty in the world! I can’t unsee it.”
If you want to know more about Julio, be assured: Part II is in the works! I completed transcribing the recording of our first interview this week. Whew! Transcribing is NOT my spiritual gift, but is has many rewards for the persistent. All to say: More to come. If you'd like to use any part of this project for your own socially engaged practice, feel free. Tell me about it. Or ask questions. The comment section for this post is open, so fire away (with curiosity & kindness).Thank you spending time with me and my work! Extra thanks for being my online neighbor.
