Who are those white people?

What can I say about San Diego that isn’t a tired old cliché?  Certainly nothing about the perfect weather, abundant palm trees, beautiful women and sandy beaches.  Those are old news.  Something that was new to me was meeting a few dozen relatives I’d previously only heard brief mentions of—and some I’d never known existed.

I’ve got a crazy, huge Mexican-American family down in southern California.  I felt like I stuck out a bit at the reunion for a couple of reasons: I don’t drink much, and I’m white.  Well, whiter than most of my California cousins, anyhow.  That’s what happens when your dad marries a woman with Irish blood.  Thanks, Mom.  At least I’m not as pasty as my sister.  Though I wouldn’t mind having a tan like my cousins.

My family had trouble blending in at the start of the get-together.  As the five of us walked up to my cousin’s front yard in Chula Vista, home base for the reunion, a group of dark-haired young girls stood leaning over the fence, peering at us.  Even my dad is fairly light skinned, because of the mix of German and Norwegian that blend with his Mexican roots.  “Are you my cousins?”  I asked the girls.  An unhesitant “no” was the response.  I just laughed.  I knew they were probably second cousins once or twice removed, because of their age and the fact that they were wearing the reunion T-shirts.  A short time later, my dad heard one of them ask their parents, “Who are those white people?”

We went around to the back of the house, where the music was playing, fish tacos were being served, tequila and beer were flowing, and probably 40 distant relatives were getting reacquainted.  I grabbed some tacos and beer, but stayed away from the tequila because vomiting has never been something I’ve particularly enjoyed.  My dad took me, my brother and sister and my mom around the yard, stopping every couple of feet to introduce us to new relatives.

I was told by several people that I look like two relatives who weren’t there: a late second cousin who had shaggy hair and a beard (I think it’s the face shape and the beard), and a second cousin who lives in Canada and happens to be a fellow cue ball.  Frankly, I’m offended that some folks look at bald guys and say, “All you people look alike.”  My response is, “What do you mean, ‘you people?’”

I gravitated toward the relatives I’d met on prior trips to San Diego, and the ones I’d befriended on Facebook before the reunion.  But I also spent time chatting with some of the previously unknown relatives.  I tried to meet as many as I could, but it was a bit overwhelming, so most of the meetings consisted of little more than an introduction.  I could only focus on really getting to know a few.  Hopefully I’ll get to know some of the others better the next time I go San Diego.

One of the new relatives I did get to know was my second cousin, Bobby.  He offered to take my brother and me surfing the next morning.  And I think that experience deserves its own blog post.

Dinner with an amateur shrink

Last night I had dinner with a couple of friends in Poulsbo and we decided to try and figure out my life.  Well, Melissa tried to figure out my life.  And then I joined in because it seemed like an interesting topic.  Paul provided a few thoughtful insights and observations from the right side of the couch while Melissa guided the discussion from the left.  The result: it’s a mixture of uncertainty and things I already knew.

Even though I’m sure my taste in movies is solid, Paul seemed to be on the fence while Melissa has lost faith in my judgment.   But we did agree that I need to travel (of course) and that I need a girl who loves to travel (and who can also tolerate me and my shiny dome).   As far as other serious life issues go, we’ll probably need a few more dinners to figure things out.

It was nice to talk with some friends who are willing to hear my musings and complaints and shortcomings without me worrying that they have an agenda or that they’ll hear something they don’t like and then force something on me because of that.  They’re still relatively new friends (I knew them first as coworkers, beginning about 7 months ago), so maybe that’s why they seem easy to talk to.  Or maybe that’s only part of the reason.  They’re also just generally easygoing and understanding.  Although I think Melissa has something against guys with shaved heads and she’s not completely willing to admit it.

Anyhow, they also did their best to help me with my weight-gain goals by feeding me plenty of burritos and ice cream, which I greatly appreciated.

What’s the best experience for a writer?

Sometimes I wonder if writing is the best occupation for a writer.  What I mean is, if I’m going to create, is it best for me to be employed as a writer?  Or should I try to gain life experience in another line of work, all the while writing in my downtime?  That’s the route a lot of great writers have taken.  But that route might be a problem for me.  If I knew I could depend on myself to put plenty of effort into writing in my downtime, it could work for me.  But I’d have to make a concerted effort, which I haven’t done before.

I do most of my writing at work right now.  Even though my job forces me to write in someone else’s voice many times, or to use styles of writing that I’m not terribly fond of, it still forces me to write and edit.  It forces me to hone my skills and become more well-rounded as a writer.

But on the other hand, even though I get a lot of training in writing when I’m at work, I can’t really develop my own voice unless I write on my own time.  That was less the case when I was working at a newspaper, but still true to an extent.  The guidelines for corporate writing (my job now) are much more rigid than those for newspaper writing; but news writing still requires adherence to certain strictures.

I guess all this leads me to believe that, no matter what I’m doing for a living, it really behooves me to write in my downtime.  Working as a writer and editor has its benefits, as I become better versed in the English language. (Reading a lot helps with that too.)  And working in other jobs helps me by offering broader life experiences.  But I can gain life experience and writing experience—or development of my own voice—in my off-time.  So maybe, no matter how I’m making money, the most important thing is just avoiding laziness outside of 9 to 5.