To Find - and keep - Your Tribe

Cynthia and I at the Balloon Fiesta... Tyler and Abuela, who adopted each other

​“Is someone in your dining room on live with KTLA right now??!?!” an LA friend texted Jory. “Yup” he replied.
This is a fantastic story of recognizing your tribe, and holding those members close.
 
The measure of intelligence is the ability to change – Albert Einstein
 
If we use Einstein’s measure as a barometer of intelligence, my friend Cynthia and I are scoring pretty high.
 
Cynthia and I met ten years ago when she was the principal of a parochial high school in Playa del Rey, and I was a local resident with a two-year old toddler and six-month old baby. My friend Lory had gathered neighborhood moms to meet with Dr. Cynthia Colon in the hopes of seeing how we could support the local high school and raise its academic standards so our children would attend it.
 
Dr. Colon and I immediately clicked. We "got" each other. I loved her energy, her kindness, and yes, her intelligence. I put her on my radar as someone I connect with, even though our lifestyles were different. I recognized that we are from the same metaphorical tribe, which is why we worked to stay in touch from that first meeting, especially since none of the neighborhood kids ended up going to the school, she no longer works there, and we’re no longer remotely part of Playa del Rey.
 
After deciding the life of a principal was no longer for her, Dr. Colon wrote a fantastic book about getting into college. She now runs a successful business in which she mentors high school students. On our end, we came to Albuquerque in order to find academically suitable and more affordable high schools for our kids.
 
But when you recognize a tribe mate, you find a way to stay in touch, even sporadically. Thus, Cynthia and her mom graced us with their presence during this year’s Balloon Fiesta and were incredible house guests. Her second day here, KTLA contacted her about doing the above live segment on the college admissions process.
 
However, the shadow – and painful - side of recognizing your tribe members is being reminded that you’re not always part of a tribe you think you want to be in. When working or communicating with a person or community is repeatedly difficult or excruciating, you’re not of the same tribe. Cut your losses and walk. This can be hard because you feel like you have somehow failed. But you haven’t. They are just not your tribe. Your tribe is somewhere else.
 
Speaking from recent experience, I requested help to ameliorate a situation in a community I was excited to belong to, but my words were apparently misunderstood. Instead of asking for clarification (or asking me anything, curiosity not a value here), I was instead chastised and even berated. It was like a scene from the 1950s. At the end of the day, I had dared to question the status quo. What was most shocking is while I had initially gone to this authority figure for help, I was told to apologize for being offensive, though mysteriously never told *how* I had offended, or exactly *what* I said that was offensive. I then was informed that my apology was unacceptable because (even though my husband helped me word the demanded apology) this person felt the wording of the apology was not as he wanted. (Why yes, this was a man, a white man with authority.) I saw I couldn’t get anyone to understand me, or even like me here. So, I left the community that initially attracted us to Albuquerque. Through the harshness of several interactions, I came to accept that this is not the tribe I thought it was. My offer to volunteer had gone ignored, my requests to work on a sporadic basis had been denied in writing, my plea to help a situation was even castigated. So, yes Albert Einstein, I had to change. It’s the best any of us can do in a situation like this.
 
To my surprise, a few days after I surrendered, doors from other communities opened right and left of their own accord, as if in some sort of Universal justice. A private prep school saw me teach three days of history for them and, even though they have no current openings, on the spot offered me a full-time teaching position in their summer program. The same week, a friend I’ve known since 1997 (we are tribe mates) hired me to write two projects for a lit agency she just joined. And the dynamic and whip-smart principal of my younger kids’ school (who reminds me so much of Dr. Cynthia Colon) showed up in an incredible way. Having observed my teaching, she moved heaven and earth to get me in as a morning long-term sub teacher for two third grade special ed classes. She sees that I can help these kids, and I can. We are of the same tribe, putting the kids first.

The ease and fluidity of all these offers make me wonder why we try so hard to be part of tribes that don't respect us. Why do we feel the need to put in all that effort to change their mind about us?
 
An exciting thing in life is that when we stay open, we keep stumbling upon – and recognizing – people from our tribe. Finding each other is a cool drink on a hot day, a Kleenex for a faucet nose, a parachute on a plane. Since my family has been in Albuquerque, the world (in general) has broken our hearts, stomped on our dreams, and shut doors in our faces to an alarming degree.

In response, we've learned to celebrate tribe members, celebrate victories, celebrate the mundane. And when a tribe member has the chance to shoot a live broadcast for Los Angeles television from our dining room table, we make it happen.