Early in my career, I had the life-changing experience of working in an incredibly diverse organization with coworkers and customers from all over the world. I refer to my early days with that company as my “peas and rice” days because in addition to sharing a small apartment, and bedroom, with many roommates, I could survive on a box of “Minute Rice,” a bag of frozen peas, and soy sauce. Supplemented by discounted meals at the employee cafeteria where I could get fresh veggies and an affordable hot meal or sandwich. Of course, there were weekly outings with my friends for heavily-discounted drinks and dancing with thousands of other hospitality workers. Thank goodness this was pre-social media. But I digress.

We were taught in that hotbed of hospitality and smiles that our job was to welcome everyone and treat everyone with respect. We actively recognized that we were there to welcome each and every family - REGARDLESS of how they defined their family. And even if they were NOT a family. An individual was still a customer - a guest. And adults of all ages were just as welcome as children. At the time, my day-to-day “family” became the blend of fellow hospitality workers, thrown together in entry-level jobs, surviving and thriving in the intense sun, rain and occasional hurricane that is called “Florida.” Having graduated from high school in a conservative state where race, color, religious and class divides were strong, and where sexual preference and identity were either assumed or “that which shall not be named,” I loved being in bright, colorful Florida. It was still a pretty sheltered existence because we all lived and worked together, but there was a freedom, acceptance, and respect for people that taught me important messages about being a good human.

I learned a lot about how lucky I was to be born into a family that could “make do.” A family where education - and higher education - was assumed. A given. In neighborhoods that weren’t rich, but where breakfast, lunch, and dinner were always available, we could “all” participate in after-school sports, and usually go on at least one decent vacation every year. (“Decent” is a relative term. One parent’s dream vacation is an 11-year-old’s version of torture.)

When I worked in Florida, I met people who had risked their lives, on a boat, to flee Cuba. Not an exaggeration. I distinctly remember, decades later, digging through an office wardrobe with my friend, Denise, to help a man find clothes to wear to work. He only had one pair of pants - a pair of clean denim jeans that didn’t meet the dress code. We had resources at work to help in these situations, but the fact that we needed them really taught us how different people’s lives may be. My circle of friends was admittedly still pretty homogeneous in terms of education and demographics, but it was definitely more diverse than my upbringing.

Our employer valued cultural diversity. So much so that we were taught, on company time, about the history, language, and customs of the various communities that made up our workforce and customer base. I learned how important the separate cultural heritages were for people who immigrated from Haiti and the Dominican Republic - one island with distinct differences. As an HR manager, I was educated by a fellow supervisor about how to approach an upcoming Halloween celebration, as different religions and cultures have different associations with the holidays, with costumes, etc. I learned about the differences among Puerto Rican, Cuban, Mexican, Central American, and South American cultures - distinctly different though they shared some Spanish language in common. The pride people had in their heritage was clear. In retrospect, I wish I’d learned more.

During this period of my life, I also spent time with and formed deep friendships with members of the LGBTQ community - and heard stories about their “coming out.” I also just worked and enjoyed life alongside many people who had not yet come out and appreciated their friendship, talents, and humanity. I honestly look this for granted. It was just so ingrained. I’m sure I could have done more to be accepting, supportive and an ally. I’m not sure if anyone even used that term at the time. At the time, it all just seemed normal. I knew that not everyone felt accepted by their families or home communities, but in my rose-colored glasses, our community at the time seemed generally accepting and supportive.

Looking back, it seems like an odd utopia of sorts where people of different religions, from different parts of the county or world, with different political beliefs, could come together and appreciate what we had in common. We didn’t really care whether so and so liked men, women, or both unless it involved our own romantic escapades or those of our friends. Being a good person was what was important.

I’m a lot older now. My day-to-day world is now somewhat homogenous since I live in suburbia. Yes, one could argue that’s a choice. Let’s not go there as life’s a balance of choices and priorities. But over the years, as I’ve lived in various states and cities, I’ve come to appreciate what my friends and coworkers experienced during that time in my life.

Late last fall, I volunteered to be on a Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, and Belonging Committee at my daughter’s school. I did this, in part, because I know I have skills as a professional I can contribute. It’s the “right” thing to do and a way to give by sharing talents and expertise. I also volunteered because I believe that people with diverse experiences and beliefs can coexist. We can support each other. We can enjoy each other’s company without feeling threatened or needing to judge. Or, if we do feel threatened or hankerin’ to judge, we can effectively manage those feelings. I can deeply value my neighbor’s contributions to our cozy little block, but I don’t have to go to her church or share all her beliefs. I can appreciate that she prays for me, though our versions of prayer are different. And that’s okay.

High five to all my friends and acquaintances from my “peas and rice” life back in the day. Quite a few of us have reconnected on social media and are back in touch. Others, I’ve lost touch with. I wonder, if we were all together again, would that acceptance and mutual appreciation still be there? Or would the intolerance and conflict we see on the news take hold? The dreamer in me hopes.

I still occasionally eat peas and rice, with a dose of soy sauce. The rice is of better quality. Probably jasmine, possibly from the Asian market. The peas might be organic and the soy sauce is light sodium. But every damn time I eat peas and rice my brain flashes a snapshot of that red Minute-Rice box on the counter of some cheap apartment I lived in. And the warmth, support, friendship, and acceptance of that community at that time. The peas and rice life was a good place to be.