Meandering down Familiar Rd in a forever foreign zip code. Nodding my head to the beat of my own drum (which may or may not be the beat of everyone else’s), dragging my feet along an incorrigibly bumpy path while kicking a can down the road and making a general ruckus without a cause. The strength of the sun’s rays and the sting of the desert’s dust force me to squint, but that’s not why I find it hard to see.
Just as I get used to the stumbling, fumbling cadence of my own footfalls BAM! I look up to find myself at the intersection of Chaos and Confusion. I’m sure you know the place I’m talking about, I’ve seen a few of you down there too.
You think I’d be used to this block by now, that I’d know every corner store and player. And, undoubtably there are certain rhythms that regurgitate and patterns that have become predictable. The feel of the frenzy is familiar and only the newbies still jump at things that go bump. In fact, the most recent “crisis” bomb kicked up ashes created by the last, and dust new and old cloud the air to ensure breaths come in short and laborious spurts…again.
But really, the only constant is me and You. Me lacking faith, You making it up in spades. Me whipping my head around and looking to gather scattered tools, You sitting calmly wondering when I’ll stop to ask you for the instruction manual. (The comparatives go on, but I’d rather not dwell on the tomes of my shortcomings).
I must admit that this backdrop is getting a bit stale. Last time I looked, there are no chains round my neck, no bindings tying me to the state of Unrest in the country of Frustration somewhere on the continent of WHAT?. There’s no contract, spoken or otherwise, holding me to the man-made altar of self-sacrifice.
There’s only me.
Staring at my passport.
Long lunch with a good friend who inspires with her enthusiasm, hard work and general brilliance followed by a long dinner with coworkies who needed a good home-cooked meal and a nice glass of Georgian wine.
the nights are getting later and the justifications are getting thinner. blood pressure rises, grey hairs increase and motivation wanes…
bbc, al jezeera, cnn—all the outlets are convinced it’s a story already concluded. politics inside and out runeth amok.
so why? when efforts are never enough, methods misunderstood, and ulcers are on the horizon?
because there are stories that need to be told and rights that are worth advocating for.
because it’s not about raising my voice but elevating theirs.
because all this isn’t really for the higher ups, it’s for the highest up.
because success isn’t measured by validation, but by people whose lives have been made even just a little better.
i know i’m not the only one—or the most effective one—and it’s not on me. but it’s still important to lend even a whisper to the groundswell rumbling for change.
and really, is there anything else i’d rather be doing?