“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
As I have gotten older, I have gotten more and more comfortable in being alone without being lonely. I believe it’s because now, when I am alone, I am never alone. I am with Spirit, which to me is a wonder-filled, peaceful place.
It wasn’t always that way. In my early adulthood, I moved away from the warmth and comfort of my hometown to a student internship in San Francisco. I knew no one in San Francisco – no family, no friends, just a job and the community that the job brought with it. I am by nature an introvert and quite shy, so it was hard to introduce myself, let alone establish a friendship. Many evenings, I sat in my tiny room in the Evangeline Residence for Women, a kind of boarding house that was across the street from my work, and wondered why I was there. What was I thinking when I accepted the internship on such a whim? I had no phone in my room (the days before the now-ubiquitous cell phones), and no television. If I wanted any more than the four walls, I would have to seek it out. I sat in a big blue funk.
The Evangeline Residence for Women was operated by the Salvation Army. We had our meals in a community dining room, watched television in a community sitting room, did our laundry in a community laundry room in the basement. Gentlemen were not allowed anywhere but in the front living room, or in the dining room on Sundays. In my shyness, I would go through the buffet line and find a quiet space to eat, fighting away fear and loneliness.
One day, Gladys Estrella joined me at my table. During the course of our meals, Gladys, a spry, chipper extrovert from Guayaquil, Ecuador, asked me to help her with her English by correcting her whenever she used incorrect pronouncement, grammar, or syntax. In return (although probably not as seriously), she helped me with my Spanish. Gladys had made many friends through her work, and often asked me to accompany her on evenings out in the Mission District, with her Central American and South American friends. I learned about the various Latino cultures, but mostly I learned the value of community.
San Francisco is a cosmopolitan city, and I quickly learned how to be adopted into the various communities – Japanese, Chinese, Mexican, Central American, English, African American, Jewish – simply by accepting invitations from other residents and co-workers. Moreover, San Francisco has a fabulous public transportation system; with my monthly Fast Pass, I could go anywhere and explore everything from the San Francisco Bay to the department store bargain basements. On Sunday morning, I would often catch the Number 5 McAllister bus at the front of the residence and go to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park, or all the way out to the Pacific Ocean, for an hour of silent meditation and prayer. It was on those Sunday mornings in the little havens within the big city that I learned how to be alone, without being lonely. I discovered my Spirit, and with it, my strength, independence, self-reliance, and the richness of my own culture within the myriad cultures.
Sunday mornings in the Japanese Tea Garden changed me from Poor in Spirit to Rich in Spirit, and I found the Kingdom of Heaven.
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