I walked to the grocery store with Isa yesterday. It's about a 20 minute walk past our neighborhood park, under a highway, across some train tracks and past numerous taco stands.
It's not a beautiful walk, or really even that pleasant, with the traffic and endless sounds of cars honking and the smog filled air.
For a few seconds, I found myself liking the idea of raising Isa here for a substantial part of her life. For the amazing cultural experience that would be for her. But then thoughts of Isa playing by the ocean crept in and the clean, fresh air she would be missing out on back in San Diego entered my mind. A five minute trafficless car ride to a much less crowded store entered my mind, and I quickly focused back in on the pothole I needed to dodge in front of me.
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People here are mobile because they have to be. They walk everywhere. They do not complain.
As I found myself lagging as I climbed the steep steel staircase to cross the train tracks, having to push past the young men and chatting women coming in the opposite direction; I was immediately annoyed. Don't they see that I'm carrying a baby? Don't they think they should be more careful and let me pass?
But then I look around and see five other women my age carrying their babies and walking, some with bags of groceries in hand and they don't complain.
I see a 60-something woman carrying food for her family, slowly but confidently walking down the stairs with her cain in hand and she does not complain.
I have this sense of entitlement going on. I feel as though I should receive special treatment since I have a baby and more to carry, but I quickly realize that this is such an Americanized idea, this feeling of entitlement, because all I need to do is look around and I'm quickly faced with the reality, which is, we all have to do it.
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People here do what they have to do to get things done. They take an hour long metro ride followed by a 30 minute walk while carrying a 5 month old baby, in order to get to the store to buy tortillas and chicken for dinner that night.
They wake up at 4 am to open a tamale stand on the side of a highway to catch the morning commuters in time.
They don't complain.
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I tend to complain too much. I complain about the weather, the smog, the traffic, long lines, heavy loads to carry. Whether that's because of a sense of entitlement, or simply a gap between cultures, I find that it creeps into my daily life.
We all have heavy loads. They are different, they are the same, they are heavy. Sometimes we forget the weight and sometimes it's all we can think about.
Rather than dwelling on the load itself, I will look to my left and my right and chose to realize that I am just another person carrying my load. I am not any greater or any smaller.
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I am thankful to live in a place where I can be reminded of this everyday.
