Border Re-immersion

Writers block. That’s what I’m blaming my blog hiatus on. Now this isn’t saying that the drought is over, it’s saying that I am sitting here with a cup of coffee and my entire iTunes library on shuffle (so far: Bon Iver followed by Neil Young followed by Miles Davis) and I’m feeling ambitious.

(Intermission as I realize my coffee is gone and I leave to go brew another cup)

I’ve been struggling this week, there simply has been too much on my mind and too much going on and not enough introverted recharge time watching 30 Rock or pretending to learn how to play a guitar.

Let’s cover the most recent event of worth talking about.

Last weekend the Urban Servant Corps took it’s annual border immersion trip to Las Cruces, NM/ El Paso, TX. Now if you’ve been following this blog you’ll know that this area holds a special place in my heart. I did live there for a year after all.

The USC crew in El Paso

I just never realized how special of a place it held in my heart.

It felt incredible to be back but was also bittersweet. Seeing old friends, coworkers, and areas that I’ve spent time in all in a blur of a couple days left me in an emotionally drained state, in a good way, for this past week.

The border is an incredibly unique place and I had basically forgotten it. I had moved onto the next thing and neglected to give it much thought any more. But being back reopened my eyes to how incredible and sometimes heartbreaking it can be. The culture is nowhere else to be found and the stories and struggles of immigrants hoping to find better lives only to find resistance from our country is frustrating.

My visit to my old work site was not what I had hoped for. While seeing coworkers again was wonderful I only saw a few clients and they were only as excited as kids getting socks on Christmas to see me. I realized that I had applied my current work environment to my old one. My job last year didn’t allow for many personal connections with homeless clients, it discouraged it. This year at HRAC I have formed friendships and know the name of almost everyone that walks through our door.

Don’t get me started on the 24 hours that we spent on a Greyhound bus over the course of the weekend, a time that was about equal to the amount of time we spent awake on the border. Ridiculous.

I didn’t tear up when I moved away from Las Cruces in August but I did when I was waiting to get on the Greyhound to be taken out of view of the Organ Mountains once again.

Goodbye Organ Mountains. Until we meet again.