"What a world that I'm livin' in,

Will the rainstorms ever end,
Still I feel my... path narrow,
I run again,
See happyness is gone again,

And then you see 'em,
Grey clouds up above man,
Metaphor to my life man,
Still I feel my...heart stronger then its ever been,

Awake in another state,
Livin' in a new space,
Still I feel my...mind runnin' at a steady pace,
God help me so I'll win the race"

-"The Sky Might Fall" Kid Cudi

Some kids had babysitters when they were young. Of course, my brother, sister and I had a myriad of short lived experiences with after school helpers. There was the the teenager who let me as a toddler shout expletives out the window at the elderly man across the street. The elderly couple who, routinely had some type of potato for dinner every night to break from the influx of "Days of our Lives," and "General Hospital" blaring in their ever-too-hot household. The cousins, the friends, but none served a better guide and role model than the Bremerton High School track.

My father can be called many things; mentor, role model, coach, leader, friend, yet the one constant from birth to present is simply stated: runner. There was never a time in my life that my dad did not saddle up Aisic classics, zip up windbreakers and close the door with a simple, "heading to the track." I remember brisk mornings, amidst fly bys of chiseled men and women in numbered paper in Portland and Seattle, waiting as he would pass and one of us would have to expertly hand off a Dixie cup of water for him to splash his face as the next "wall" of 26.2 miles approached. I remember stories from my childhood of "tornadoes on the horizon," "bees in my pants," and stretches of mid-western horizon "as far as the eye could see." It was not a surprise then, as a child, whenever my dad would head to the oval track, to train for his next marathon, de-stress from the day at the office, or simply stack up another mile in a 40 year career, he would take me along.

Before youth races, before spikes for young kids, before road trips to Eugene, OR for "Track City," there was images of rain, sleet, or even snow falling on the Bremerton track and the focused look of patience, but determination as I would sit in a sand pit, run with imaginary friends, or create mischief as my Dad kept a watchful eye on me, but continued to circle the black-top and count the mileage like a odometer.

It was my first sport, track and field. With my father's creation, the Bremerton Jaguars, I trained and learned the value of practice, and racing, and went out time and time again, racing the best youths in the state of Washington. I hated it. I despised the angst coming before a race, I hated that every calculation, time, repetition, hydration, diet, played into the seconds I would be attempting to knock off my race time, to get a closer take on my competitors. I despised the over and over monotony of going around and around the same stretch of track day in and day out, and for the latter part of my teenage years, had no idea why my dad continued to practice, what to my team sport dynamic was punishment for a bad play. "Offsides, go run a lap, bad lay up go, run a lap." Running was something you did for punishment, yet as the years past, the same look, the same determination, the same tranquility never left my dad's face.

I ended up in Micronesia, teaching and spending my days immersed in discipline and lesson plans, in attendance, and in community, which brought joys and stresses all in itself. Amidst a foreign culture, and challenges to my free time with little money, I tried many routes. Basketball of course was a great way to meet locals, yet, as the year progressed, I found that courts would be locked up early, that the rain could appear and end a game as quick as the passing Pacific storm, and that trying to schedule anything in Micronesia comes slow and un-easy. Softball was played, but would often be reliant on other teams getting to the field on time. On certain Friday nights, league games scheduled for 4 in the afternoon would get pushed back due to rain, then a team would not get the message, and due to attempt after attempt, it would not be uncommon to see a softball game going on at 11 or 12 at night, not exactly teacher hours.

Pain struck me, fear took over me. I had come to the realization that to deal with the everyday stress and demand of life in Pohnpei i would NEED to exercise just like I would need to eat or sleep. There seemed to be one last option. A small strip of road connects the airport, through the ocean, and unto the main island where I live. It had relatively little traffic in the evenings and mornings, when it was cool enough to exercise, and there were no dogs. I looked myself in the mirror, in horror, and thought of the millions of times I had told my dad that I would NEVER, under any circumstance take up running, I ate my words, tied my shoes, and headed to the causeway.

I run every day in Pohnpei, and some days twice. Despite the quick shot of exercise I got that first time, I noticed many other things. I noticed the reds and pinks that crystallize the morning sky as the sun dances over the Pacific. I noticed how the fog gets caught on the pleasant green, jungle infested, hills of Pohnpei. I noticed how the calm blue waters could be glass one second, and a strong wind would bring white heads and ripples as fast as can be imagined. I noticed the sight of a storm passing over Sokehs ridge in the evening, as the blue hughs of rain clouds mix with the sun set to actually create a purple sky. I noticed these all as I trouped along, 3 miles at a time, reflecting that there was so much I was seeing, while I traveled along my small stretch of road.

Then, something even worse happened. As I returned from Chuuk from the summer, I started to get anxious, irritated even, if I did not get the chance to run. I started to run in my dreams, and I did something that I would hold dear and secret; I began to smile while running. It was gradual and took a long road of concrete in the equatorial Pacific, yet finally, to my father's chagrin, I became a runner.

Running is an every day part of my life in Pohnpei, people see me out (of course Micronesians think it is crazy to run unless something is chasing you, knowing my background I do not really blame them) and wave hello. There is a common group of walkers I see each morning and greet with a hello, and of course, 4 year champion and my running mentor (and former JV) Tim Smit is an ever-present figure. It has become, as I described to the Jesuits at spirituality night, a type of contemplation for me, as it no doubt is for my father, that look of peace I saw on his face, for 22 years, is slowly finding its way on to mine.

The truth is, running forces me to do something that is not very easy, as strange as it may seem, it forces me to slow down. Running takes concentration. One must keep the back straight, create a fluid motion, breathe successfully, focus on foot control, and so on and so forth. Further, as one runs harder and longer, the famous "wall" begins to set in. That is, the idea of fatigue becomes so great, mental capacities kick in, and fight with all strength to make the runner stop. Here in lies the breakthrough, rather than stopping, the wall can be beaten by a deep breath, a mental check and a thought of "indifference." A runner knows he or she is tired, but simply chooses to continue through the challenges, knowing that it will be OK. A skilled runner (I assume as despite my love I still meander around around like a three legged dog) can train himself mentally like a meditative, or contemplative, to get "out" of his body, to know his body so well, his mind can escape the pain associated with it.

This type of "higher athletics," has roots in Ignatian Spirituality. This idea of indifference is central to understanding our roles in our relationship with God. As each one of us attempts to meld his her life how he or she wants, we loose sight of God's intent, we see the forest for the trees, and what could be obvious or clear with less stress or emotion becomes what Albert Camus would call, "the absurd." Yet, if we become indifferent (not the traditional definition, instead like a spiritual yuji board) we accept the realities of this world, and in such acceptance, allow God to work through us. We know we are tired, know our body wants us to stop, but are indifferent to it, and continue running. Of course, my indifference lead me to the lessons of my father (slowly but surely) and has allowed me a joy, given to my own designs and ideas I probably would have never found.

As the sun goes down each night, my shoes get laced up and I reach for my Ipod to get me through my next run. As I run and see the sun set, I smile, not for the beauty or the joy of another run, but smile at the idea somewhere, undoubtedly on that same track, my dad might be smiling back.

My track these days (the little stretch right in the middle)

"Cash, Rules, Everything, Around, Me
C.R.E.A.M.
Get the money
Dollar, dollar bill y'all"

-Wu-Tang Clan

Economics.

Recently, in his book The Age of Turbulence, Alan Greenspan, former chairman of the Federal Reserve, informs his reader that a study and analysis in economics can not be surmised in a study of markets, supply and demand, inflation, or any other monetary term. Instead, Greenspan notes that to truly understand economics, to get to the heart of why prices fluxuate, or credit and loans become stable or not, one must study people, must understand how they work as governments, cultures, and even individuals.

I had a very narrow view of Micronesia when I boarded a plane nearly 20 months ago. I figured the simple lifestyle of the Pacific was integral to life here. That a coconut and a sandy beach would be an ever present part of the day, and that the last thing on my mind would be economics. Yet, despite my uninformed views (mangrove forests prevent beaches, and no one I know swims in the trash and sewage infested water close to our house and jobs) the study of people that Greenspan describes has become a real description of my time here.

The truth is, language has come slow, I am not the most linguistic of peoples, and my skills in Pohnpian remain limited. Despite that fall back, however, I spend my time and energy in attempting to get an understanding of how Micronesians live their lives. An economist I am not, yet this study has letely melded into my approach.

I teach Science and Literature at the newly formed Catholic high school in Pohnpei. As such, I teach the skills necessary to achieve at the highest necessary level. The reality of this meant and means (at least in the back of my head) that I was training kids to go off the island and attend schools in Guam or Hawaii, or even possiblly the United States. Going to college in Spokane, Washington at a Jesuit college in which very few of the students stayed "home," when home was applied to Spokane, this trend had a name: brain drain. Throughout my year, these sentiments crept into my thoughts and refelctions. Was it not counterproductive to the mission of JVI and essentially the Catholic School I worked at to be training students to simply leave the place I was trying to help? Where was the justice in that?

It was this question that lead me to Alan Greenspan and economics, via Fran Hezel (SJ). Fr. Fran, the origin of my basketball career in Pohnpei, and further the head of Micronesian Seminar (micsem.org) , and the pre-eminent expert on Microneisa. Father had written an article on Micronesia and the future of "self sustainability,"titled "Is that the Best you can Do? A Tale of Two Micronesian Economies," found here: http://www.micsem.org/pubs/articles/economic/frames/taleoftwofr.htm.

In the article the idea of emigration by Micronesians abroad is adressed, not as a hinderence, but instead as a viable and real option. Further, cultural norms, such as the history of outer atoll dwellers sending the young off to other islands when food suplies began to dwindle, always yielded desirable results; meaning they returned, with the necessary goods. Further, that today, those Micronesians who left for college education, or jobs abroad, sent remitance home and would continue to, creating an economy of sustainability in itself.

Sidebar: As a Jesuit Volunteer, I ascribe to systematically examining all aspects of my host country. Jesuit Volunteers as an orginization takes very seriously the "preferential option for the poor," outlined by Catholic Social Teaching made so prevelant in the post-Vatican II Church. Personally, I came to Micronesia to see the way a foriegn people live each day and do my little part to teach at a school, given all that I could learn in the mean time. Poor or not made little difference in a country where subsistance living is still a reality. However, as these ideas of economic development invaded my everyday life, I struggled (and struggle) to equate where as a Jesuit Volunteer I stand on development on markets economies.

I had read, The End of Poverty by Jeffery Sachs and examined the idea of capitalism and free-market economies bringing a new quality of life to the poor, yet had not truely seen the reality of it. I continually asked myself when diserning JVI (a program that focuses itself on living life in a simple lifestyle, working with the poor, and continually examining the influences of American and therefore capitalistic culture and upbrining), would Jesus have been a capitalist? He had a job as a carpenter, did he charge a fair price? Did he strive or a profit? Of course, these questions bared little important to his ministry or message, yet on such questions I reflected (and reflect). Further, what about St. Ignatius? Surely an orginization such as the Society of Jesus would need a net profit to continue, and certainly the markets of 16th and 17th century Europe helped spread and fund the work of Jesuit saints in Latin America and Asia. As a JV, what should my stance on econimic development? Who were my models? As Catholics, we proclaim to embark on a life dedicated to Jesus message. Undoubtedly this message tells us to be with the poor, the sick, the meek, the lame. Yet, can this work be done on Wall Street, through capital investment, by createing sustainable econimies, in which statistics prove life rates are higher, infant mortality rates are markedly lower, and the poor are given the option to pursue those material niceties previously un-prescribed (in meer months Pohnpei will be recieving a fiber optic cable allowing for high speed information processing).

So I was led to a few memorable names from my college Political Science classes for insight. I glanced a few times at Adam Smith, re-read a few lines of John Locke, and amidst teaching a Confirmation class for english speaking Micronesian's, kept an eye to the Gospel. Thus, I landed on Alan Greenspan's memoir. Upon reading it, one thing is clear, the former Chairman of the Fed. Reserve is an undying believer in the power and un-wielding strength of market economies. As I read his reflections, I was amazed on his un-changing favor of "market" forces." The extent to which Greenspan believes that markets can save peoples and the world can be called nothing but faith.

Sidebar 2: On an island, and with a dedication to living a simple lifestyle and less than normal information feeds, I was less than in touch to the extreme recession taking place in the States. As I received emails and talked to friends and family, one thing became incredibly obvious; the greed of a few had influenced the trends of certain profit wielding enterprises, henceforth, the fall-out and repercussion of that greed had led to the slippery slope recession now going on at home and casually around the globe.

Greed. Certainly this did not play into Greenspan's formulas for thriving economies. Further, little was said by Mr. Smith as well. Jesus states time and time again about needles eye's and camels, in summation, that the wealthy do not have much of a place in the Kingdom of Heaven. Greed, however, is not a cause of market economies. Cain killed Able before Adam Smith wrote anything, Pharos of Egypt led slaves to build monuments to their greed before Moses saw any burning bushes. Greed is as old as human beings, and further, was as present to communist countries political structures as capitalist's.

So, I offer one glimmer of hope. Capitalism, as a philosophy, not a science, offers the same thing that most other philosophies do: a glimmer of hope in an idea on humanity. Winston Churchill tells us that democracy is "The worst form of government besides all others we know." Certainly the same can be said of capitalism. As a follower of Ignatius Loyola and his systematic approach to "find God in all things," I then look for God in the ways in which men and women (whether in the States, in Micronesia, or anywhere else) trade goods and services and why. Whether it be for money (dollar bills, euros, francs) or for slabs of fish, breadfruit, or other, the fact remains that we all live in societies in which one thing is necessary to continue in the face of development, sustainability, or recession; a hope and a faith in our fellow man. As a foreigner, whether they are going abroad or staying for good, I can answer honestly that I have found that hope in the people of Micronesia, whether they say the same for me is a goal, and the only target market, I hope to acquire.