I was born at Prentice Hospital which sits at the shore of Lake Michigan in downtown Chicago. My childhood was spent on the fringe of the city in a suburb with amazing access to public resources and education. I was raised to admire the macrosystems that created this, such as the stock market, the federal government, and international organizations that “save” people. These are the systems that transferred wealth. I caddied on a golf course, studied economics, and found work for a company built on the principle that people are their own best authority on their finances. The company is named from the last line of Henry David Thoreau’s book, Walden, “Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.” Every day was new at Morningstar, as I learned many facets of the business and built enduring relationships. After many different roles, and a lifetime of Chicago winters I followed my heart’s tug to Hawaiʻi.
Morningstar provided an option to take a year leave of absence, and I was curious what lay beyond the horizon. I wanted to learn how to grow and market mangos since my brothers and I were inheriting 30 acres in the Philippines. As the child of Filipino immigrants that grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, there are many social and political reasons why those mangos were never meant to be mine. I am using this blog to find the metaphysical reason why those mangos are for everyone. They are a gift from the Earth. They are not wealth to be transferred, but abundance to be shared. It is the creation of capital markets that severed people from reciprocating with the lands and waters that feed them. By acknowledging this, can we find a way to re-establish the transferring of abundance that the Earth shares with us? Can we once again consider the Earth and all it brings a worthy stakeholder? In the process, who else are we considering as stakeholders in this abundance? How is everyone and thing valued? There seems to be a race to define what the balance sheet should measure. I am grateful for this virtual space where I can slow down and carefully, but candidly examine how to establish reciprocity with the planet that fed my ancestors, feeds myself, and will feed everyone’s future generations.
In my first week of living in Hawaiʻi, I decided I could not leave until I was ready to give back what I received. A global pandemic and a subpar public-school system inspired me to look within myself to realize what I received from Hawaiʻi was an appreciation for places. Piko is the Hawaiian word for the navel and umbilical cord. I find myself in my piko, the place where I sprung from the Earth, Chicago. After 14 years of living in Hawaiʻi, I was taught to love not the beauty of the place, but how it feeds me physically and defines my values. In Hawaiian this is called aloha ʻāina.
This is where I start my journey unpacking the lessons I received. I am obliged to share what my teachers and places have taught me about exchanging and passing on the breath of life. I hope to share the abundance I gain as I continue to discover what is beyond the horizon….