Book Review: "Leaving Microsoft To Change the World"

“Leaving Microsoft to Change the World” is the story of John Wood, the founder of Room to Read, a non-profit organization that builds schools, libraries and computer labs on a global scale, in addition to giving scholarships to girls of the poor communities where the schools are built. Wood relates to the readers the different events that changed his life 180 degrees, taking him from an important executive position in Microsoft, with all its perks, to the fonder/creator of a charity whose goal is to increase the literacy rate in countries that have no resources but put a high value on education. Wood not only describes the culture of this global monster (Microsoft) put also explains how different values of the company aided his success with his non-profit endeavor. Unlike other charities, people who donate to Room to Read know exactly where their money is going and have an opportunity to visit the schools to experience, first hand, the contribution they are making to other people’s life. The fluidity of John Wood’s writing style makes it possible for readers to forget they are learning about someone else’s life, and get caught in the midst’s of the author’s torn feelings about sacrificing a life of fame and luxury for one of public service. I highly recommend the book.

Missing Mindy

Finished on Wednesday, October 24^th, 2007

Shauna always comes bearing gifts, except this time it was not a gift (as such) but and event. She had planned everything down to the very last detail… the white church flowers, the choir, the order in which each of us would enter, her speech followed by the long anticipated solo. Shauna has always been a big giver; weeks of preparation and stress are meant to show Mindy how much she cares, how special and unique she really is. But as life would have it everything that can go wrong does. The decorations never make it and the twelve person choir begins the mass with the wrong song. In the confusion, we are caught on different sides of the church, running along rows of mahogany benches each of us attempting to tie a different loose end of a snarl of strings. I see thin lines of disappointment along Shauna’s eyes and mouth. My heart goes out to her because I know she has worn herself thin to plan this mass for Mindy, maybe hoping that if she can just do everything right God might give us a break and spare her, spare Mindy from the sharp clutches of cancer, of melanoma. It is illogical to feel that way, but I know Shauna, I know how very high she sets her expectations and the self-berating she will put herself through for not reaching them. But the show must go on; the minister speeds us through the ceremony, stopping at the sermon, at which time Shauna walks to the front of the church and talks about Mindy, how free she was in high school, how she succeeded in bringing this group of five together… I’m fixated on a Shauna’s neck; she cut herself rushing around the church. She is bleeding but doesn’t even notice. I stay put, watch in amazement as she does her solo (none of us knew she could sing) applaud and meet her as she walks off the podium. I bandage her wound and see her go off with a throng of people to sit and rest. Mindy is among them, a thin fragile skeleton surrounded by family and friends who take turns keeping her up, like a beehive of trained worker nurses that communicate through dance. She wears loose clothing; a gauze of a dress that falls of her tiny body like the too-small hospital gown she has worn in the past.

I silently walk around the church admiring the tall ceilings, brightly colored statues with gold details, inhaling the smell of polished wood. I don’t necessarily like going to mass, but I like the feel of a church, the way remnants of good intentions and prayers stay within its bounds and give newcomers hope and peace. It is the only place I know where the temperature is cold but one comes out feeling warm inside. I think of Shauna. I know she will be ok because what matters, what shines through are her engulfing intentions, the size and purity of her love for Mindy. Before we exit the premises of the church, the next group brings in the paraphernalia of their own event, a nativity scene. Keeping with the rules of this sanctuary, people fly by me in silence with boxes of red and green bows. Even the two dogs dressed like reindeers walk by their owners delicately and well-behaved as we (the last group) shuffle out quickly. The dogs make me chuckle. They look unhappy and uncomfortable in horns, hats and neck ruffles. They make me think of Mindy and how great it will be when we can sit around someone’s house and just say: “Do you remember when you had cancer? That was so weird and scary.” It would be like a memory we can acknowledge and then shrug off as we continue to interrupt each other with personal stories, beer dares and cigarette drags. As I rewind and take one last look at the church before me I realize that something is wrong. Mindy is too young and Shauna too worn out. It was like two periods in time had turned into ocean waves, had gained momentum and where now crashing into each other with great force. The cool air of the church was not helping me breathe and the hopes and prayers turned to dust that clogged by lungs. We did not save Mindy. Mindy was dead. I had forgotten Mindy was dead!

At first, I just pulled off the covers. I lay in the dark trying to grab the tail end of the dream and change its outcome or maybe stay away from reality for a bit longer. But sleep had left me, so I went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and wash away the dust that was lining my throat. When I went back to bed I saw that I was not alone, my boyfriend was rolled up under the covers by my side. I cuddled next to him for warmth, put my arm around his healthy body and broke down crying. I didn’t want to wake him but I was at a loss for air, even the deepest, strongest, longest breaths did not succeed in bringing oxygen into my lungs. “What’s wrong?” “I had a bad dream.” “Tell me about it.” As a walked him through the dream, through the event and the church I got it, I got the point, the meaning behind the story in my dream! Death does not matter. It doesn’t matter what is it, how it comes or when it comes. Life matters. Life is fleeting moments of friends, lovers... perfect happiness. Living life is about holding on to those moments and enjoying them while they last. I held unto him tighter, appreciated his breath, his skin, his temperature. I swore that I would remember this moment forever. He made me feel safe, warm and happy. With a mixed feeling of sadness and appreciation and like a buoy caught amid crashing waves, I cried silently until I fell asleep.

Unannounced

Finished on Wednesday, October 31, 2007.

Mindy was one or the other… the quiet, somewhat distracted, teenager unnoticed in the back of the class or the lanky ball of chaotic energy that would burst through doors and disrupt assemblies with a loud and obnoxious laugh; wallpaper or bull in a china shop. It seemed as if all that energy could only be channeled in sports. She excelled at field hockey, lacrosse and ice hockey because she rammed into players of the opposing team with the force of three grown men, scoring with impeccable aim. No one would have guessed that the clumsy pale girl was the player to fear, especially because she was always greeting everyone in such a friendly manner. Mindy was not a good student. I think she enjoyed learning, but loved making friends and just being a clown. She was adopted by the girls in the older grades, her sister’s year, who took her to high school parties before any of us knew what was going on. In our class, she seemed to hang out on the margins of every group waiting to include the girls who broke the unspoken social rules and were ostracized from their pack. She was everyone’s friend but had a soft spot for Joan, a serious individual determined to be accepted by the most selective clique in our class. Mindy stayed by her, took her in when the others rejected her valiant efforts, giving her unswerving friendship.

I was shy, and thus watched from a safe distance how relationships where built upon commonalities and crumbled easily because of differences. My Venezuelan background, my accent, my mother’s strictness made me different from the beginning, so in a way I was safe from being accepted and rejected by the people I would have to see day in and day out for consecutive years. Sometimes I was jealous, but mostly thankful that I could always keep my individuality, even at the price of loneliness. I had friends, individual friends, but not a group that would engulf me when I walked the hallways of our all-girl catholic school. I admired those girls who felt at ease talking to everyone, making a temporary friend for a long weekend, or even asking the smarter girls to tutor them on an upcoming exam. I identified with the awkward and shy smart girls who were very willing to please without ever needing to belong to more popular cliques; their lives seemed to be full of family gatherings and extracurricular activities. Mindy was extraordinary in that she was neither, or she was both. Or she was just herself to perfection.

I became friends with Mindy during one of those lonely moments when my Venezuelan roots would not let me fit in, but I was unwilling to cut them for good. She approached me, spoke with comfort and ease, and before I knew it I was spending the weekend at her house. From the moment I took a step into her life I was surprised by the differences between our families. She lived with her mother and older sister and they treated each other like adults. Mindy, in high school, was free to make her own choices and thus live with the consequences. To me, it was a breath of fresh air, and a fact that made it possible for me to comprehend Mindy’s free spirit on a deeper level. Even in the midst of such freedom, Mindy’s priority was making sure her younger siblings (kids from her father’s second marriage) were always ok, speaking about them with limitless love and tenderness, much like a parent. It was this characteristic that made Mindy such a unique person in my mind… she was free-giving.

Someone said to me once that Mindy was not meant to live that long. I waver between thinking that it is but a comforting excuse of an early death or thinking it is actually true. Even in the margins, Mindy suffered, was saddened and disappointed by people who entered and exited her life in the blink of an eye. Her approaches were always sincere, meaningful and pure. She really did want to be friends, and to prove it she would appear at your lowest moment. Classes, sports, friends, boyfriends, etc. always kept Mindy and I on different pages, but at some point we always seemed to get together. Those moments were always filled with laugher, chaos and beauty; she remained from that first moment the deep breath of fresh air that made me smile even when she was not around. Just like she did, her memory barges into my brain unannounced and always leaves me with a sense of being a deeper, better person for knowing her.

Behind the Swinging Door

Material things, like antique silverware plated in gold, have power; the power to define a couple’s social status, the power to glorify a special occasion and the power to divide a family. I leaned against the frame of the kitchen door and watched siblings who grew up together loose control over plates and forks, knives and soup bowls. One said that it is impossible to split a set because a couple of plates are simply not enough when one is throwing a dinner party. None of them had actually ever used any of the utensils they were fighting over, for they had been kept locked in a glass menagerie. Their parents refused to use them even when they had guests, a graduation from college or their first grandchild. Lack of use had made them more valuable, magical, or maybe just cursed. They loved each other dearly, but not one of them would relinquish their claim to the plates and silverware they had never touched. I knew that they, too, would never use them, but place them inside a more modern menagerie in the dinning room of one of their spacious apartments. And just like them, their children would peer through the glass at the shinny pattern, the intertwined letters of their grandparent’s last names and the different colored wine glasses made from French crystal. Untouchable, unusable, useless except to reflect victory over the others and a definite social status that stretched, now, into the second generation. Their family had become established, blue blood, no longer nouveau-riche, the plates and silverware reflected that and whoever kept them would be considered, automatically, a wealthy person with impeccable taste.

The kitchen door swung open, through which came a prim maid dressed in a bleached white uniform offering coffee with milk and sugar on a silver tray. I held the door open as she went back into the kitchen. When I let go, it remained ajar enough so that I overheard the phone ringing and the maid’s ensuing conversation with a close relative. I became drawn, completely absorbed by her words, her story, the stark contrast of her reality with what was happening in the adjacent room. Through tears of joy, she told her niece she had finally found a job which enabled her to send money back home to her family so that they could buy food and clothing. She related how over the last two years she could not even afford the bus ticket into the city to look for work and she was ecstatic and kept thanking God and all the saints for her good fortune. Fortune. As I stood there, in between these two worlds separated by a hollow swinging door, I grasped the meaning of relativity, the dividing power of material things and the beauty of true wealth. I left silently through the kitchen and thanked the maid as I walked out of the marble covered mansion.

On the Move

I’ve moved back in with my mom! Ok, there, I said it! Since my last entry, I’ve vacated my old apartment, which has officially become my younger sister’s and her soon to be husband’s abode, and moved into an even roomier pad which I will share with my mom when she visits Venezuela. Although I am stuck with a smaller room and closet, I love the location, the feel of the new place, the private yard and most importantly the very deep bathtub! So although the move from two apartments into one and relinquishing the master bedroom for the smallest auxiliary room can be traumatic at first, a daily soak makes it all worth it!

In the meantime, my sister Elizabeth is making all the preparations for her wedding in January. I wish it wasn’t so, but pre-wedding can be a stressful experience even for those of us on the periphery. My theory is to focus on three things... booze, food and music. I must say though, she is doing an excellent job so far.

In my last entry I voiced some concerns regarding my writing career. It was helpful to get my feelings out and motivating to get positive feedback from a certain friend who lives in L.A. who is dearly loved and greatly admired. Since then I have been writing a lot, reading works with content and doing a bit of research on the daily lives of international authors to see if I could actually do what they do. So far I’ve identified with Jennifer Weiner, the writer of GOOD IN BED, IN HER SHOES and other books that have made the New York Times best seller’s list and are sold all over the world. Jennifer captures those fleeting moments in our routine when our flaws intermingle with our gifts to make each of us truly unique and special. I love that her work is full of meaning, lessons, yet is told through stories that are humorous and lighthearted.

Writing Through the Crossroads

Sometimes it’s hard to get inspired, to choose which path to take and to know, with certainty, where to focus my energy. I love to read. Reading opens my mind, widens my horizons as much as learning to do something new. Through reading I get to slip into someone else’s skin, shoes, hat and see the world from their perspective, never completely living their experience since my mind contains it’s own process by which even a narration, when read by me, becomes my own. When I read I grow. In contrast, writing is my outlet. It is the one thing that purges me from myself, that purifies me from the baggage that accumulates and clutters my brain. When I write and I breathe easier, I feel better and lighter. Sometimes I even rise above mortality, to a place where I am indestructible, transcendent. My essence seems to split away, unfold, from my physical body and I can fly through time, space, worlds. Writing can be such a passionate and profound experience that I can rarely re-read what I write. When I return to reality, somehow all that dreaming and flying around seems silly and immature. It’s too much when I a grounded.

So here I am, at a crossroads, full of questions… lacking answers. Can my love for reading and writing become a career? Can these two passions of mine be molded, shaped into a job? Can I do what I love while simultaneously building a curriculum? Can I make money being inspired by writers before me and then spilling my thoughts on white paper in black ink? Can I be “productive” while living my dream? I don’t know. Thankfully, I have a lot to say, and I’ve noticed that my opinions are frequently different from the opinions of the mainstream, which might be of great use. Unfortunately, I have found it hard to sit and write daily. All I can say is that passionate feelings, inspiration, comes in waves and I am hoping I can make them come more frequently and stay longer.

Today I had lunch with one of my father’s friends. His profession is international law, and like me, he is passionate about literature. For two hours and a half we spoke about life, traveling and literature… three things that (to me) are inseparable. We share the same hair-raising awe for authors like Jorge Luis Borges and others who make reading literature an all-consuming, foundation crumbling experience. I was inspired, re-energized, motivated to read and write by just taking about the amazing people that came before me. Did they think about their careers, about publishing, about selling? Or was their need to write, to create so strong nothing else mattered? Or was it a negotiation between both, publishing and passion? Anyway, he did give me some practical advice that (at least) makes starting less overwhelming:

1) Read the entire work of authors you enjoy, considering their underlying philosophical perspective and literary strategies.

2) Write as much as you can about anything you want and send your works to contests, magazines, newspapers, etc. without getting discouraged.

3) Consider projects you are not passionate about as training exercises, dedicating time enough to make progress without overdosing.

4) Enjoy the journey!

Although my questions remain unanswered, they are no longer looming doubts that weigh me down and make me apprehensive about the future. They are just questions, potential decisions, future choices that I will make when the time is right. The important lesson is to enjoy the journey, embrace the adventure!

Road Trip of Europe

August 10th: London to Paris and Paris to Amsterdam

• Left London on the 7:25am flight.
• Met up with friends at Charles de Galle Airport in France
• We rented a Mercedes B170 for our trip
• Left airport at, ate lunch (mussels) in Brussels
• Visited Bruges
• Checked into our Hotel in Amsterdam at 10:30pm

August 11th: Amsterdam

• Ate brunch at a sandwich place called Singel 404
• Visited flower show and flea market
• Rented bikes for the afternoon
• Rode to Van Gogh Museum
• Visited Heineken Factory
• Returned bikes and only paid 15 euros for lock
• Had diner at Luden (on Singel)
• Walked the red light district and saw shows from street
• Went back to hotel at 2pm

August 12^th: Amsterdam to Berlin

• Checked out of hotel at 12pm
• Visited thinnest apartment in Amsterdam (Singel 166)
• Had hot chocolate, pancakes and omelet for breakfast at Dutch Pancakes House
• Left Amsterdam at 2pm
• Arrived to Berlin at 9pm
• Checked into Art Hotel on Lietzenburger strabe
• Ate diner at the Hamlet

August 13^th: Berlin

• Had breakfast at café close to hotel
• Got ticket for Circle Sightseeing Bus
• Went to Sony Volcano, Jewish Museum, Checkpoint Charlie, H ilton
• Had a beer at Hilton and walked through park
• Arrived at Art Hotel at 6:15pm
• Ate at Weyers (German food)
• Had drinks at Solar
• Came home at 2am

August 14^th: Berlin

• Had breakfast at local sandwich shop
• Visited Pergamon Museum
• Tried to visit Reichstad but did not go in because cupola was closed
• Visited: Bradenburg Gate, the Wall and Berlin Cathedral
• Rested for an hour
• Ate dinner at local Indian Spice, local Indian restaurant

August 15^th: Berlin to Prague

• Breakfast buffet at hotel
• Berlin Zoo
• Drove to Prague
• Checked in at Tulip Inn
• Ate dinner at Pravda

August 16^th: Prague

• Coffee on the street
• Walking tour of city: Tyn Church, Charles Bridge, Jesus of Praga Church
• Went to concert at 8:30pm at Municipal House (Smetana Hall): Pachelbel’s Canon in D, Mozart’s Divertimento D Dur, Kv 136 (Allegro, Andante, Presto), Vivaldi’s Four Seasons (Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter)
• Ate dinner at Bily Konisec

August 17^th: Prague

• Breakfast buffet at Tulip Inn
• Drove to across bridge to Old Town, walked up hill to…
• Audio tour of Castle of Praga including cathedral
• Ate diner on riverside restaurant (Czech wine and goose)

August 18^th: Prague to Vienna

• Ate fruits from market
• Checked into El Levante Parliament Hotel
• Walked city and ate Go & Co restaurant
• Had drinks in lounge

August 19^th: Vienna

• Breakfast buffet at hotel at 10am
• Walking tour of city: Parliament, City Hall, Museum of Natural History and Fine Arts Museum
• Went to Sisi Museum, Silver Collection and Apartments
• Visited St. Stephan’s Cathedral and checked Mozart Museum (not good)
• Had Wiener Snitchel (typical dish)
• Woke up at 10:30pm and drove around Vienna at night

August 20^th: Vienna to Budapest

• Visited Schobrunn Castle (by car) and left Vienna
• Passed by Bratislava and arrived to Budapest at 3pm
• Checked into Art Hotel
• St. Istvan’s (Stephen’s) day in Budapest with air show
• Made reservation at Kacsa Restaurant at 7pm but arrived early (because of storm)
• Had typical Hungarian dishes

Appetizers: pate, cheeses, smoked fish, goulash, and duck strudel

Main course: duck prepared in different ways

Dessert: pancake and chocolate mouse

August 21th: Budapest

• Had coffee and sandwiches at Mocha Café
• Visited Castle on Buda side (including Matya’s Cathedral, Lion’s gate, important fountains)
• Went to Pest and visited Parliament, TV Station, Vacy Street
• Had a quick bite
• Back to hotel, drinks at the lobby, dinner reservation at 9pm at Arany Szarvas
• Ate game dishes with deer crepe as highlight
• Drove around city and had ice-cream

August 22th: Budapest to Salzbourg

• Ate breakfast buffet at hotel
• Visited bath at Gellerd Hotel
• Visited Great Market Hall and bought pate and paprika
• Left for Salzbourg at 1pm
• Arrived at Salzbourg at 6pm, checked in
• Walked from hotel (Belmonte) to town
• Ate at a local restaurant

August 23th: Salzbourg to Luxembourg

• Visited castle from 1100 on funicular
• Left at 12pm to Luxembourg
• Arrived at Luxembourg in the evening
• Checked into Hilton (far from center of town)
• Made reservations and ate at Notaro Restaurant (best Italian ever)
• Went to bed early

August 24^th: Luxembourg to Paris

• Drove around city
• Had bagel breakfast
• Left Luxembourg and arrived at Paris for lunch
• Charles and I walked to St. Germaine
• Walked back to hotel

August 25th: Paris

• Walked to St. Michel and ate lunch
• Visited Notre Dame, Louvre, Champs de Leisse
• Went back to hotel, got dressed, met up with friends
• Dinner and drinks at George, on top of Pompidou Museum
• Couple of beers and bed

August 26th: Paris to London

• Flew from Paris to London
• Took train to Anna’s apartment
• Unpacked, ate Indian food
• Went to bed early

August 27th: London

• Visited Leighton House
• Met up with Nichole at Wagamama’s
• Went to John office, walked around the city
• Had a couple of drinks at pubs
• Had a drink with Nichole, said goodbye
• Packed and went to Benito’s Italian Restaurant
• Went to sleep

August 28th: London to Miami

• Flew from London to Miami
• Rented a car at airport
• Dropped off luggage
• Had dinner at P.F. Changs (Andrew, Charles and I)