Love Letter to a [Potential] President

Dear Senator Barack Obama,

I don’t know you very well, but already you fill my heart and head, with long forgotten dreams and desires. When I was a child, I dreamt like a child. I saw the world arrayed in the splendor of love, hope, and equality. My parents taught me right from wrong, and like a child, I believe that the entire world operated on such simple principals. Justice was simplified to the basic understanding of cause and effect. And humanity was easily revealed in the goodnight kisses and impromptu gifts of adoring family and friends.

However, as I grew, the world revealed itself to be something completely different. Gone was the veil from my eyes and there, what stood before me, was a future cast in shadows. Humanity was suddenly hard to find, and as I traveled further from the comforts of home, I clung ever more tightly to my family and friends. They were the only ones I could depend on to bring sudden glimpses of light into my life. Finding the world operating on such cold principals of politics, power, and polemics made it difficult to remember what love, hope and equality were. I learned to hide my principals, my expectations, my character goals from the rest of the world. Fearful of derailment, not ridicule, I tried to hide my naivete, because I wanted to be taken seriously. I needed to be an adult, and as an adult, I had to understand the world as everyone else saw it. No longer could I see what I wanted in the world.

Then you came along. You came along with this vision of the United States and politics that advocated change. CHANGE. Your powerful words seduced me. What you said over a loudspeaker whispered to my heart to let go. To reveal my fearful aspirations that the world could look different. That the world WAS different. That humanity extended beyond my intimate family and friends to strangers on the street, living across the country and in another continent. Your words got me to think that maybe what the whole world dreamt of was the same, but that we were all afraid and so we chanted with the same cynical voice: power, politics, polemics.

Yet, even as my dreams begin to materialize with greater clarity, the voice of caution in my head grows ever stronger. Here is a man who has the power to break my heart. So I had to write this letter. I had to let you know what is at stake in this Presidential Election. It’s not just if you win, it’s what will you do when you win. What is your vision of this world?

e.e. cummings is one of my favorite poets. His words hide in my heart. Perhaps they will speak to your heart as well:

(While you and I have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch invents an instrument to measure spring with? each dream nascitur, is not made…) why then to Hell with that: the other; this, since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid.

Love,

A simple 24 year old

David Sedaris and Me

David Sedaris has to be one of my favorite contributors to This American Life. While I have gotten out of the habit of listening to the show, it was my savior last year when life was at its most despressing. I recently learned of his books and in a stroke of luck found them at Costco, my consumer paradise. After having read Me Talk Pretty One Day, I started to wonder, could I write like this?

If even half of his book is true, Sedaris has done more than his fair share of drugs and borders on retarded. While I do not trust in standardized tests, even my own SAT scores did not reveal my obvious brilliance, I just have to wonder what it takes to be a published author. The fact that Sedaris is so successful leads me to a series of doubts: 1) he is not really retarded; 2) he doesn’t really write his own books; 3) the reasons why books are successful is retarded; and finally 4) writing is not for the intelligent.

I am, of course, being a bit facetious when I write all of this because I do, honestly, believe Sedaris is brilliant. Regardless of what any test may say, he has a sharp sense of humor, a way with description and dialogue, and an understanding of what life is really all about, namely the mundane. But as I finished the book, I had a serious conversation with another aspiring writer about what really goes into writing.

What is it? And how do I cultivate it?

THE FUTURE…

WALLE is a great movie. It’s subtle commentary wasn’t simply targeted to Americans, but rather the human tendency to want the easy way out. Technology, for the most part, has been used to make life simpler, easier, and more efficient. However, WALLE does a wonderful job of getting the audience to question whether or not “simpler, easier, and more efficient,” is the way to creating a better life. What exactly is life is the question driving WALLE. Who is more human, the robots who feel, think, act, or the people stuck in their chairs going wherever they are told? The idea that this may one day happen is fuzzy, since the economic factor would mean some could grow fat and sit in chairs, while others would not, yet the overall point behind WALLE is brilliant.

Yet, as I ponder the question of the future, I can’t help but see a fork in the road. Certainly human kind growing fat and lazy seems likely. But, just as technology is used to make life easier, it is also used to make life longer, safer, and more idealized. Medicine, gyms, diets are all created based on scientific principals with the basic goal of making human life longer, better, and healthier. In addition, medicine and science has also been used to promote a specific form of beauty based on outer appearance and weight. I can foresee in the future  humans completely encased in metal, much like Ironman. But instead of the metal being used as a weapon, it is simply used as a shield, designed to keep people safe from guns, knives, and germs. It would also keep people from the eventual saggy breasts, laugh lines, and other various signs of aging that are associated with growing older, and therefore closer to death.

The market would explode once these protective metal casings are created and marketed to the masses. People would buy them at lightning-fast speeds, believing it would make life safer. It would also give them a measure of control over what other people saw. The metal outer layer could be altered in any number of ways to look attractive. Of course, people who could not afford this protective barrier would be left vulnerable. Vulnerable to violence, to natural laws, and to time. Perhaps, overtime, these people, the poor people, would disappear as they are killed by illness, age, and bullets.

All in all, I’d say more films need to be made about the future, if only to remind us of the dangers inherent in near-sighted thinking. People at the forefront of technology, medicine, and other sciences need to contemplate their experiments and products with far more wisdom than perhaps the average admission counselor. Contemplating the ways our actions now could lead to a better, or far worse, future is the only way we can ensure a far more happier world than the one depicted in WALLE, 1984, or any other futuristic story.

My Father’s Ethics: A guide to fulfillment in a wage labor economy

I remember very vividly sitting in a class titled African American Diaspora wondering how to escape the rat race of capitalism and consumerism. The intersection of the Protestant Work-Ethic, the American Dream, and Consumer Debt seemed overwhelming in its sound, inescapable structure. As a college student about to graduate, it was startling to realize my whole concept of a successful life was actually built upon the abuse of a wage labor system that was successful only if it limited the number of people who rose to the top. This didn’t necessarily lead me to Communism, but it did make me wonder about why we work, and why we need to work so hard, if it only creates a cycle of unhappiness and stress.

As one could probably guess, that thought process ended abruptly when I graduated and decided not to go to graduate school immediately, but to work for a few years. All I really thought about was making enough money to live, which thankfully, after just getting out of college didn’t have to be very much. I worked for a non-profit for almost no money and then went back to graduate school. Life, however, threw a few curve balls and in my second quarter I had to drop out. Now I am back to working full time, but with a full salary to match the amount of work I do.

However, working full-time has it’s price. Rising gas prices, the cost of cable and Internet, and then the college loans and unexpected bills add up to suck any extras out of my pay check. Added to that is the frustration over co-workers. Seeing people come in late, take extra days off, and having to cover other people’s work loads just so they can twiddle their thumbs is frustrating. I ask myself the age old question: why do they get paid the same, if not more, than I, when I do more work than them? Thankfully, Father’s Day was this weekend.

Talking to my dad this weekend was like calling God. He always has something to say that I can learn and benefit from. This time, however, as I sat on my couch complaining about work, the advice he gave me was anything but revolutionary. He did not advocate for “telling” on my useless co-worker by reporting the behavior to my boss. He did not urge me to challenge the system by being open and honest and confrontational. Instead, he told me to work the way I know how to work, which is with integrity. He urged me to do the best job that I can do, but to also take pride in it. To recognize that I am doing the best I can, and to continue to derive some sort of personal happiness from my own work ethic.

However, he also told me to bide my time. To wait and have faith that I would, one day, get the opportunity to be validated. If not by my bosses, then by an opportunity to change the structure, to set the rules and standards, and to reward true merit. While my career goals aren’t necessarily to be the “boss,” I do pride myself on having my peers recognize my work. And for now, it is enough to keep me happy and content at my job.

Now, to some, my dad’s advice may seem counter to my initial thoughts in college. It is exactly my dad’s way of thinking that feeds into and supports our capitalistic economic system. Yet, what I value about my dad’s advice is precisely that: it is a way of being happy within a system I cannot change. Sure I could be a revolutionary and advocate for change. In many ways, I think I still am, as I firmly believe in human rights, fair trade, and social services. At the same time, I need to be happy now, in the current unfair way our world is organized.

What my dad has told me, over and over again, is that I need to be happy within myself and not let other people or events bother me so much. This is especially true of work; the only way I can achieve a life of fulfillment and happiness is if my standards are internal. If I have goals that I can control and work towards and ultimately fulfill. If I look to the world to satisfy me, or create a system in which I can prosper or feel nurtured in, I would be setting myself up for disappointment.

Frigid, or my otherwise lack of passion

When I think of the most important people in my life, they are usually associated with their loves–love of children, love of baseball, love of reading, love of Star Wars. I have no such loves. Perhaps the most I’ve got going for me is I’ve read all of the completed written novels of Jane Austin. But even my co-worker’s wife beats me as she’s read biographies, critical analysis, and seen all of the movies of Jane Austin books.

My boyfriend is a wonderland of information about music, popculture, and movies. My co-worker is an avid James Bond, Indian Jones, Star Wars, and soccer fan. My friend from college is an artist and has nurtured his artistic nature with knowledge about art, art history, politics, popculture, and wikipedia. I have noticed in my life a strange lack of any consistent, or sustained interest in any one thing. Sure I have all three Gidget moves (on VHS), but I never watched the tv show and have no trivia knowledge of the history of Gidget. I don’t watch any tv show religiously, am not passionate about one music genre, and could care less whether or not the Lakers win the NBA Championships. I watch CSI the most out of all tv shows, but please, do not give me a CSI tshirt for Christmas, or the episodes on DVD because I will not wear it or watch them again.

What is wrong with me? I love lots of things! My facebook profile can attest to it: sunshine, moving, reading, jogging, cooking, clutch and throttle (a tribute to earning my motorcycle license), and of course writing. I used to think Africa was my passion. African history in particular and human rights in general were of the greatest concern to me in college. However, after life hit me over the head more than a few times, my interest was wandered much closer to home.

Instead of Africa I think about the homeless man I give change to and who takes that as an invitation to hold my hand. I think of how the public transportation system in Los Angeles is horrible, and am amazed I used it exclusively for two years. I wonder about politics, health care, education, and whether people with mental illnesses should have places they can live where they lead as independent lives as possible, without drowning in medical bills and losing themselves to the fog of mysterious voices and uncontrollable emotions.

These aren’t exactly interests that can win me a spot on Jeopardy, or Beauty and the Geek (the reality tv show I would most like to be in). Instead, I am contemplating a life ahead of me distinct only in its lack of all-consuming passions. While maybe this shouldn’t be as depressing as it sounds in my head, my lack of interest scares me because it means I will never be great. I will not be the next great yo-yo champion, or the premier expert on Haruki Murakami. Anything I will be, will be due to some accident of fate or stroke of good luck. That idea doesn’t make me feel good.

In defense of stubbornness

I have been accused of being stubborn for most of my life. I am pretty comfortable being labeled with this characteristic, largely because I don’t see much of a problem with it. It’s important to me that I say what I mean, that I can defend what I believe, and that I maintain some sort of consistency on political, social and moral issues. I want to be dependable, consistent, and reliable. However, I can’t shake the feeling that when some people call me stubborn, they are really putting me down; that somehow being stubborn is a bad thing.

My inclination is to think this has something to do with postmodernism. The idea that there is no absolute truth, that all experience is relative, is touted as a way of promoting peace and universal understanding. These ideas are heavily discussed in college and since I graduated from college I have become comfortable thinking about the world in such terms. Yet, postmodernism presents a problem when it comes to developing confidence in any one way of thinking or believing.  It is a fine line to walk, acknowledging the limits of the human experience and still holding on to beliefs whether they are religious or otherwise.

 For many people, postmodernism presents an opportunity not to choose sides, not to make a stand, and to change in any number of ways so as to bend to what is popular at any exact time and place. The people who use postmodern ideas to become chameleon-like are the people most uncomfortable with stubbornness. When I think back to earlier eras, being stubborn was a good characteristic. It meant you had some backbone. And while I can openly admit that being stubborn isn’t always a good thing, it’s not something I want to be afraid of either.

Now, I like to think that although I am stubborn, I am also the kind of person who can admit when I am wrong, apologize when I’ve hurt someone’s feelings, and revise an opinion as I grow and develop. In large part, I focus on cultivating those kinds of characteristics because they are necessary for building strong, authentic relationships. The people in my life are very important to me and I am not conceited enough to believe I am perfect. Change is certainly not a bad thing and if I can do things that can help me to be a better person, I am more than happy to do so. But I do believe that being a consistent, reliable person with known ethics and morals makes interacting with me easy. Here are your boundaries, trespass them if you dare, but do so knowing the consequences. It’s pretty simple when you think about it.

Party Unity! (a scary thought)

I’ll openly admit that in a former life I voted for Ralph Nader. I was going to be damned if I let Michael Moore tell me who to vote for. And perhaps I was one of the many people who caused the Democratic Party loose the presidency to another four years of hell with George W Bush. But there is something that is distinctly undemocratic about the Democratic Party telling me to vote a certain way.

With this Presidential Election, I am enthralled by the two Democratic candidates. Hillary Clinton, potentially the first woman President of the United States, is a strong, capable, pragmatic, and smart woman. She represents a hope that surpasses the daily degradation women still endure, both in this country and throughout the world. And yet, she also represents what can go horribly wrong. She has integrated into mainstream politics to such a degree that I question her integrity, her honesty, and her willingness to continue to fight for issues like health care, in the midst of overwhelming odds.

Which is why there is a halo shinning above Barack Obama’s head. Here is a man representing a whole other ambition for our society. It is a dream of a society united and strong both in its diversity and its idealism. But still there is fear. Fear that perhaps to do the most good, we have to bend in ways that may be unethical. Obama, if elected as President, would be the most dangerous experiement the United States has attempted since its founding; he would, if successful, show there is a better way of doing politics.

But after the first few months of this heady and exciting race, Democrats began calling for unity. We need party unity, they cried, because otherwise Republican John McCain will beat us in the general election. This is a very practical, very political way of running the Democratic Party. Consolidate power, subdue minority voices, and focus solely on winning. Great practical tactics for winning. But in my opinion, there is no “winning” in politics. When an individual is elected into office it is because a majority of those voting have put their confidence in that individual. The majority, in the case of the United States, should always “win,” even if I disagree.

However, I am concerned that the entire country is missing an important opportunity that the primary election represents. The primary election is a time when the Democratic Party can sit down and listen to the issues of the people. See where the candidates differ and figure out which issues are important to different people. This is why the presidential elections are so important. It give me a chance to get outside of my own little world and to understand what the concerns are of other Americas. I want to know what issues are affecting the lives of people I have not met and cannot talk to and I want to hear what the great thinkers in our country are coming up with in terms of creating positive, constructive solutions to these problems.

I hope that someone on Barack Obama’s staff is whispering thoughts similar to mine in his ear. I hope that there are people that surround him, support him, and ground him in the midst of this political frenzy. I am encouraged that he is no longer accepting donations from lobbyist. But I worry that this idea of politics has trickled down into the individual hearts and minds of the voting public. I worry that each person standing at the ballot box is trying to think strategically, trying to outmaneuver the person next to them. I worry that they forget about the issues each candidate represents, about what their own vision is of this country, and what their own hopes are for their children and their children’s children.

I don’t apologize for the way I voted in the last Presidential Election. The saying “history repeats itself” is another way of saying people are not good at learning from their mistakes. Perhaps I have not yet learned from my mistakes. Perhaps my philosophy on voting and my ideas about politics will never win.  I’m not sure if I’m okay with that yet. But I do know, that I, for one, will never demand another person to vote any other way than their conscience. That is how I believe a democracy should work–people voting according to their conscience.

Self-examination, self-indulgence, and the dangers of blogging

This is my second attempt at a blog. The first was started years ago due to peer pressure. It is easy to imagine why it was quickly forgotten. However, the idealism which surrounds blogging still attracts me. To have my words read, and perhaps even thought about by other people, is exciting.

I am conceited enough to believe I have important ideas, some perhaps even groundbreaking. This desire to share is driven by a need to examine not just the world around me, but myself. Yet, I would be foolish not to admit that this blog is also a form of self-indulgence. The number of people reading my blog, the type of responses my words provoke, and of course the fame and glory the comes with blogging is vastly appealing.

However, I am also intensly afraid of blogging. In fact, I have thought of blogging on and off for many years. I love reading and writing, but technology leaves me cold. To read someone elses words is intensly personal. Contrast that with the impersonal nature of the internet and an internal debate begins. Should I allow strangers glimpses of myself? Should I reveal the deeply personal problems that plague my thoughts when I hesitate to tell even my closest of friends? And what, as the world judges my thoughts and words, would I do if I fail? Opening myself up, not just to criticism, but the hurtful responses of callous individuals is scary.

All the same, here I am. Blogging, perhaps seriously, perhaps not. But I am driven by the words of e.e. cummings. To damn the one-eyed son of a bitch and eat flowers. Perhaps I will regret this in a year. Perhaps in as soon as a few hours. But I need to get over the idea of failure. It’s not failure, it’s life.