By

Judith Acosta

I come from a culture where people go to absurd extremes to avoid eye contact. They lower their heads, slide by sideways, pretend to take interest in pieces of scrap paper tumbling down the street or act as if they’re lost in reading redundant ads in foreign languages on subway walls. People rarely acknowledge each others’ existence, let alone smile or wave or greet a stranger with a friendly “howdy.”

One of the reasons, of course, is that NY is so filled with people and the streets are so crowded most times that to be that kind of friendly you’d be spending your whole day tipping your hat.

But, even in areas that are less crowded than the city proper, like Westchester County to the north of the city, the ethos of privacy prevails…I see you…but you mind your business and I mind mine. Eye contact and a smile are considered an invasion of personal space, unless you share a fundamental familiarity, like with a long-time neighbor, a mailman or the owner of your favorite restaurant. Although, in some situations I’ve seen, even that’s verboten.

I have a friend who lives near New Paltz, a small rural and usually hospitable community about 2 hours north of NYC. He has two acres and his neighbor immediately behind him has three. Every day when he tends his garden, the neighbor will come outside to collect the garbage, let out the dog, or pick up the paper. And every day my friend will wave and say “good morning” or “good afternoon” or “fine day we’re having!” And without fail, his sullen neighbor will look up, nod just sufficiently to not be insulting, then turn on her heel and scurry back inside before she has to engage in any conversation.

My friend says he won’t stop saying good morning until he dies or moves, whichever comes first.

I was unusually fortunate in that I lived in an incredibly tight and warm neighborhood in the village of Tarrytown where everybody really did know your name, and your dogs’ names, and invited you for drinks on hot Sunday afternoons in the garden. With only several thousand families, it was an extraordinary cultural anomaly for the metropolitan New York area.

When a freak snowstorm brought down one of my pine trees with a resounding snap, the response was instant. Like the Amish running over hill and dale for a barn raising, everyone poured out of their homes to make sure we were all right. Since we were just fine, and since we were all just standing around in the snow looking at a fallen tree we couldn’t do anything about, everyone came in for hot cocoa and coffee. Small town life is a beautiful thing.

So when I moved out to New Mexico, I didn’t experience the same level of culture shock a lot of New Yorkers do when they are met with a hello, a wave, a smile, or a hearty good morning from someone they’ve never met before. But it was still different than any place I’d ever lived before.

When we lived in Montana, people were quite nice, but their politeness was not to be confused with the warmth of friendship or an open invitation. And I imagine that makes sense in a world where spaces are vast, the passersby are infrequent, unexpected visitors were always potentially dangerous, and people still carry their guns to use them. An outsider is an Outsider and trust is not given freely. This is not a condemnation of the culture there. It is simply my observation as an outsider. The people I met there were some of the most gracious, Godly, decent and humble people I’ve ever had the good fortune to know. But it took a while to get past their wariness and actually get to know them.

New Mexico, in comparison, is friendly. People smile at you and tip their hats for no reason except that it’s a sunny day and they’re going one way and you’re going the other. They make conversation, sometimes engaging in long ones without knowing who you are. They remember your name (which is a constant, tormenting source of embarrassment for me because I can’t remember the names of my own family members!) and invite you over for dinner as a way of getting to know you.

The neighbors are downright neighborly and don’t hesitate to check in on you if they haven’t seen you out walking the dog as usual or call you to make sure the stranger on your property belongs there. When I moved to Placitas, there was a welcoming committee that came to my house, for goodness’ sake!!! The last time I heard about a welcoming committee was in Mayberry RFD and Andy Griffith was sheriff.

People here feel familiar. And it happens quickly. For me it’s been sometimes hard to know what to make of it, no less what to do with it.

For instance, there’s the woman who runs up and down 165 every morning waving at every single oncoming vehicle. She smiles and waves whenever a car approaches. She greets every single one! And with enthusiasm.

My husband and I have passed her a dozen times and we’ve always waved back. In the beginning, we didn’t understand what she was doing. We thought it was odd. Then we thought it was funny. Finally we wondered if she was sane and if we should stop and help her.

But soon, we found ourselves expecting to see her, wondering less about her mental status and more about where she was going on her run, how long she’d run, how much farther she had to go, whether she worked or not. We found ourselves connected to her.

And then we got it.

The fear of my friend’s dour neighbor in New Paltz, New York is the delight of one slender woman in Placitas—connection. It says to everyone on the road, “I see you.”

Which is exactly what the people in big cities pretend to not do: see you. This has a lot of mental health implications and in my practice I see it quite a bit. One patient recently complained how much it had hurt her that no one had ever really seen her. She felt invisible in her own family and that sense of self eventually built into a despair that bordered on worthlessness.

Connection is no minor thing. I can attest to what it does and what devastation its absence can wreak on a life. Which is why this one woman who runs and waves to everyone she sees is so important.

The Lady of the Open Road

I finally had the pleasure of meeting the person whom I’ve been calling the Waving Runner at a July 4^th party at a neighbor’s house. Her name is Denise. She is smart, warm, and, yes, genuinely friendly. There is absolutely no pretense whatsoever in her.  And she is as sane and solid as a Midwestern prairie. 

She started running during her divorce. “I had five kids and I didn’t want to go to bars. And one day I told them that I was going to do a marathon. I was 43 years old. And even as I said it, I thought, ‘Oh, cripes, what have I done?’ But I promised them and I live up to my word.”

And so she did. She ran and ran and ran until she ran the Chicago Marathon (3 hours and 40 minutes) and qualified for the Boston Marathon.

The waving, though, didn’t start till she and her husband Dave, who run an insurance company together, moved to Santa Fe.

What changed there?

“The economy tanked and people were miserable. I thought I’d do something for people that would maybe reassure them or inspire them. Maybe that’s not the right word…but I wanted them to be okay.”

Apparently, the littlest passengers were her first and biggest fans. Babies waved from car seats, children leaning on the windows annoyed at having to go to school smiled at the lady running by.

“Teenagers, though, they were tough. They’d flip me off a lot, trying to be cool, but after a while their finger turned into a hand and then the hand moved from side to side and, eventually, they were rolling down their windows to say hi.”

She soon became known as “the Lady of the Open Road” and the police would slow down and encourage her to keep it up.

When they moved to Placitas, her running and waving turned into an art form, just like everything else in Placitas.

“The reception was  unbelievable! People came up with new ways of waving, criss-crossing, two-hand flutters, salutes, hand flips, flagging out the window…Leave it to Placitans! People even stopped and gave me Christmas cards, scarves, and head bands. One guy gave me a newspaper every week. You look forward to certain cars after a while.”

I asked her what her waving and running has taught her. She said thoughtfully, “I know that I take a risk by waving at everyone, but I’ve found it’s worth it. I learned that people are warm and wonderful and crave this kind of acknowledgment.”

She also said that the waving saved her: “I never would have never gotten through the death of my father without all my waving friends who have given so much back to me.  I pray, cry, laugh and make my peace with God but I need those smiling faces & waves back to make this complete for me.  I fell one day and the people that stopped were amazing.  They all wanted to help and take me home I bet 6 cars stopped that was when I realize what we meant to each other.”

I agreed, “What you do is sacramental. You are a morning rite that reminds us who we are and the Grace in our existence.”

She laughed, but her husband exclaimed, “That’s it!”

The Sacrament of Hello and the Human Communion

I don’t think it is too far a stretch of the word. A sacrament is a Christian term that is understood to be an outward sign that conveys the existence of Grace. It is understood to be brought about by a combination of the action of the Holy Spirit and a ritual that is consecrated by the participants (usually a representative of the Church). In the Eastern Orthodox churches, however, all encounters with life are sacramental in some sense.

In the New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia, “sacrament” can be taken in a very broad sense to mean the sign of something sacred or hidden.

“We can say that the whole world is a vast sacramental system, in that material things are unto men the signs of things spiritual and sacred, even of the Divinity. ‘The heavens show forth the glory of God, and the firmament declareth the work of his hands’ (Psalm 18:2).”

Through a sacrament, the invisible profundities, the mysteries of beauty and life and death, the subtle grace of the world is more clearly seen and experienced.

Perhaps through the ritual of a simple wave, through the simple act of “hello” we are being introduced to the mystery of connection, by which we receive the blessing of the human communion.

Either way, Denise, whether you are just saying “howdy” or you are serving as the portal for all of us to one another, we’re mighty glad to have you.

But, I was totally unprepared for the COLORS!

The wildflowers are just spectacular and there seem to be new ones, with new colors, every day.

WOW!!

I’m not too crazy about the wind, however.

Carole

Lui

I joined the Army after high school and went overseas. After that, I traveled around the country with some buddies looking for someplace to find work and maybe settle down.  But nothing was like New Mexico and I eventually came  back.  I don’t know if I can tell you exactly what it is, but I know I that this is home.  I live outside Penasco to be near the Sangre de Cristos.

Eddie

I grew up in a small farming town in Illinois and married my high school sweetheart. I was young and naive and excited about the prospects of being married and having a family. But my husband turned abusive and got into alcohol and meth. Because I wanted so much to live the American dream I stayed and tried to change him. But the screaming and hitting continued. One night I ran away and hitchhiked to Chicago. I didn’t know what I was going to do but I had to get away. I had no family and had based my whole life on the dream of a happy marriage.

Chicago is a pretty friendly town but it is BIG and the noise and congestion were very scary. Besides, I got there in October and was unprepared for the wind and cold of the Chicago winter. I took what remaining money I had and bought a train ticket to Los Angeles. My only thought was to get as far away as I could and be someplace where it was warm. I was desperate.

I slept for a long time on the train. The train heads south from Chicago to St. Louis and then across the plains into Kansas. The openness of the Kansas plains was familiar to me and I began to relax. Then, the train turns south and crosses into New Mexico. I was unprepared for the scenery. As the train traveled south I spent more time staring out the window. I felt increasingly calm and at ease. I was moved by the mountains off to my right. The scenery was as open as the plains of Kansas but different from anything that I had ever seen before. These hills and reminded me of the Badlands that I read about in stories of the Old West. It seemed that this could be a good place for me to hide much like the cowboys and outlaws. As we continued south I became more restless and curious at the same time. By the time the train was approaching Albuquerque, I had decided to get off and stay.

I’ve been here for over a year now and believe that I am safe. I stayed in a shelter for all while and many people showed me a lot of love and support. They helped me regain some self-confidence. They helped me with some new clothes and I was able to find a modest job. After several months, I was able to get a place of my own with some support and assistance. I’m growing more confident about the future but still have occasional nightmares about my past. I know I can never return.

 I joined the Air Force right out of high school and spent the next 30 plus years in the service.  I guess I never had the ambition or talent to be an officer, but I enjoyed my time with the Air Force and believe that I served my country the best I could.

 My first tour at Kirtland was in the ’60s and I watched Albuquerque change and grow over several tours here.  I was a medical technician and got to see some of the early NASA astronaut programs and the Lovelace people.  It has been interesting to watch Albuquerque and Lovelace grow since then.

 The major reason that New Mexico has fascinated me all of this time is the variety of outdoor activities.  Even in the early days, when a lot of my buddies would use their time off to go into town, I found myself exploring fishing spots throughout the state.  Each time I returned to Kirtland, I ventured further away and have found some places where the fishing good and there is beautiful scenery to boot. Now, I’m not going to tell you where any of those spots are! I still go to the same places and the fishing is still good and the scenery is still beautiful.

 I’m originally from Florida and considered retiring there. But it’s too hot, too wet and there are too many “old people”.  So, I’m fortunate to have my health, a good pension from the Air Force and plenty of time to fish.  I’ve been doing some odd jobs in our neighborhood and that has provided me a little extra cash to add to my pension.  Unfortunately, I spend most of it on fishing gear.

 I grew up in the Philadelphia area in a traditional Italian Catholic family.  I spent all of my life working in an office environment in a variety of jobs including clerical, secretarial and finally administrative. One of the fondest and strongest memories of my childhood was going to mass.  Before I was old enough to understand the ceremonies and the sermons, I was fascinated by the light coming through the stained-glass windows of our church.  In the springtime and in the fall when the light was just right, the colors of the windows enchanted me.

 After my husband’s death, a girl friend invited me to spend some time with her in Placitas and I ended up renting a home.  Almost daily, I walk along the road in the National Forest which is just off of the main road in Placitas.  It provides a panoramic view to the west and to the north including Mount Taylor and, of course, Cabezon.  I can see White Mesa to the north and have begun to identify certain features in the Jemez Mountains.  Sometimes on my walk, I see shadows on the landscape caused by clouds, something I had never seen before in my life.  I have been overwhelmed by the colors and the changing colors that exist.  When I first looked at the mesas and the mountains, they seemed rather drab.  As I took more time and became more at peace with my new surroundings, I began to notice how the colors changed with the sunlight and with the seasons and certainly with a little bit of rainfall.  One day I realized that these colors were having the same impact on me as the stained-glass windows of my childhood.

 I have made short trips to the north to see more of the New Mexico landscape.  The sunlight reflecting from the red and orange rocks reminds me of the stained-glass windows of my childhood and brings me the same peace that I felt in that situation.  Maybe I will take up painting or photography.

New Mexico Chronicles

New Mexico attracts and enchants. People come here for inspiration, a new start, a search for meaning, or to escape something or someone. The underlying forces that bring people here may be practical, whimsical or even accidental.  There are conventional reasons, such as jobs, the weather, Balloon Fiesta, green chiles, etc. but it is the longer, more intimate stories, filled with insights and observations that are most intriguing. The New Mexico Chronicles is a Project about understanding New Mexico as a destination and as part of a life-long journey. The Project’s premise is that New Mexico is a land of opportunity and enchantment; it is also a place for discovery, renewal and personal growth. The Project chronicles the individual paths and reasons that led people here initially and why they now view New Mexico as home. Through others’ experiences, we may come to understand the “sense of place” that is New Mexico.

For those of us who currently live here, these Chronicles will encourage personal growth and enhance our understanding and tolerance of others.  We may all gain insight into our own lives. The purpose of the New Mexico Chronicles Project is to collect individual feelings, impressions and experiences to explore the breadth and complexity of reasons for being here. It is not to judge, only to provide a complete and accurate reporting of each individual’s views, perceptions, etc. of their journey.

Please share your own story with others.   Please contact The Project at nmchronicles@gmail.com to get started, or post a Comment.

If you need assistance, or if you would like someone to interview you instead, just leave an e-mail. 

Thank you.