Chad Stokes has been haunting my mind since I moved to Cleveland. Since I live downtown now, I walk pretty much everywhere, and everywhere I walk I pass by a homeless man of woman on the street asking me to help them out. The other night Peaches was watching my friend's money exchange hands as hers shook "from the cold." Today I passed a man on a corner selling newspapers. I admire this, and these are the only guys I'll give change to. The newspaper is put out by a local shelter and some of the articles are written by the guys on the street. The sellers wear badges with their names on them and ask for whatever you can spare in exchange for the paper.
To make it easier on my conscience, and force of habit, I rarely care small bills or change, so when I tell them I can't help them out today, I mean it. I don't have change. and When I offer them a homemade cookie as consolation from the container in my hands, they shake their heads and so no thank you miss. I hear the repetition of the phrase "could you help me get somethin to eat" over and over as I walk to and from work each day and inevitably I too try to avoid eye contact as I meet the speaker. Enter Chetro. "he wasn't beggin' he was just keepin' time with his cup. You go on and believe that, and keep your eyes straight up." The lyrics to Gunship Politico haunt my mind, provoking questions.
"do you think if you don't look at him he'll go away?" "Do you think if you pretend to cough, or dial a number on you're phone he won't know you're ignoring him" "Why don't you help him?" "Do you think that just because you spent a week volunteering once you have any idea what HIS life is like?" "Do you really think that just because you don't have spare change, you don't have change to spare?"
The thing is, I know not to give them money, not because I assume they're alla boose hounds or that they wouldn't buy food with it. I know that places like the salvation army and rescue mission can help them more, and that the men who are going to them for help really want it and want what they cna give. Especially since you have to be clean to live at the mission. I have shared meals with these men, and stories. I have heard their testimonies and experienced their rejections and their baptisms. When I pass the men on the street I don't just see a homeless guy, I see Will, and Ace and the other men I shared breakfast lunch and dinner with for a week. I hear their stories in my head and it makes me want to know the stories of these new men in this new city. It makes my heart break that I look away just like everyone else.
It's hard to do anything else. Managers of shelters will tell you not to give the men money, that it's better to donate to the shelter so they can get the men what they need. But how many people do you think walk by these men shaking their heads and justify not reaching out to them because "they would just spend it on alcohol anyways"and never do anything else. I do it every day. I know the stories, I heard the lies first hand, and I adviced my team about them when we volunteered at the mission. But just because they lie to you, they tell you a story that either they think will make you help them, or that they wish were the truth, it doesn't make them any less needy.
So what do I do about the haunting voices of Chad Stokes and Jacob Dylan tormenting my conscience wherever I go? I write a blog post. I pray for the men, and I think that when I'm not living pay check to pay check I'll be able to do more for them. I remember that I've been told by people who work closely with these men everyday that I shouldn't give them money. I cut them off to save their breath and smile apolgetically as they say "thanks anyways sweetheart" and move on to the next pedestrian. and my heart breaks. and I hope that someone who reads this who can reach out, will reach out and buy a paper or give a donation to the mission or the Y or the salvation army. Or even better buy them lunch or dinner or a breakfast sandwhich and a cup of coffee.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Nothing
This is one of those nights when you want nothing more than to write but you sit staring at the blank page unable to commit yourself to anything of substance. Well not you, me. I'm staring it a blank page wondering why I can't think of anything to write and praying that whatever ghost inspired ginsberg would posess me and breathe life into my hands, into the keys. Wondering if I write about nothing long enough, will something come. Wishing I knew where to find inspiration and thinking of everything and nothing at once. craving sleep but yearning to do something more with my life.
The line keeps running through my mind: "I saw the best minds of my generation"... who are the best minds of my generation? where are they hiding, why haven't I met them, why aren't I one of them? could I find them and follow them around.
The line keeps running through my mind: "I saw the best minds of my generation"... who are the best minds of my generation? where are they hiding, why haven't I met them, why aren't I one of them? could I find them and follow them around.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
SEO day 3
Hullo Dad, and anyone else who happens to read this. My humblest apologies for the delay in posts, but my life as been rather hectic lately.
For the inspiration on these verses.
On Monday I started a new job as a content writer at Rosetta, an advertising agency in Cleveland. This morning I got my first indepth introduction to exactly what I will be doing. Search Engine Optimization is structuring your webpage, and writing content for said webpage in such away as to increase the visibility within organic search engine results. (aka the ones not sponsored/paid for) I have a much better understanding of what this is, now I just need to figure out how to apply my flowery writing skills in order to dominate this task. It's my job to create a page that will drive search engines and therefore, users to it based on what I write, and how I write it.
This is still a relatively new method in the agency world and very new to me. We write for users first, but then optimize that content for search engines. My skills so far have honed in on writing for professors first and others second with little or no focus on what search engines want to see. If Gertrude Stein wanted Hemingway to quit his job as a journalist to focus on his writing, I shudder to think of her opinion of my chosen career. If Hemingway had spent time and energy writing in form and content appropriate for his paper, we would not have several great ex-patriot American novels. However, If Hemingway had not been a journalist, he would not have developed the sentence style which characterizes said novels.
While Stein felt he could not be a writer while being a journalist, Hemingway, truly, could not have been one without having first been the other. Part of being a writer is learning how to mimic the voices of others, the styles of others, and through this you discover your own voice.
SEO content writers are crafty, intentional, concise, and even, as those who disapprove of the ad industry in general might say, sneaky. Search Engines are not witty, they don't understand puns or double entendre, and they don't care if your English professor would have found your writing profound and insightful. That being said, you, or rather, I, do not need to eliminate these elements from our writing. We must write for the reader first, understanding that they will appreciate our slight witicisms, but prominantly focus our strategic keywords at the top-lefthand side of the page where both reader and search engine begin their scan. Stategically placed keywords will draw the search engine to the site without overloading the reader.
As consumers, you, and my colleagues in the English department, might find this underhanded. However, all we are doing is helping you find what you need, and our clients happen to have it. Without SEO content writers you would scour the internet looking for the right site, with the product you were looking for. We'd much rather do the work for you, it helps us, helps our clients, and we get all warm and fuzzy helping you too! So when you're looking to build your own watch, and you want to know who will let you do that, you go to Google. If you search "buils your own watch" Fossil is the second website that will showup in the search results. This is not just because we manipulated the website design, it's because that's what they do, and that's what you want them to do. It brings a whole new meaning to online matchmaking services.
All that to say, I'm pretty excited about this new job and the ability to do what I love share my gift with others. Who knows, maybe someday it will help me to write the next great American novel.
For the inspiration on these verses.
On Monday I started a new job as a content writer at Rosetta, an advertising agency in Cleveland. This morning I got my first indepth introduction to exactly what I will be doing. Search Engine Optimization is structuring your webpage, and writing content for said webpage in such away as to increase the visibility within organic search engine results. (aka the ones not sponsored/paid for) I have a much better understanding of what this is, now I just need to figure out how to apply my flowery writing skills in order to dominate this task. It's my job to create a page that will drive search engines and therefore, users to it based on what I write, and how I write it.
This is still a relatively new method in the agency world and very new to me. We write for users first, but then optimize that content for search engines. My skills so far have honed in on writing for professors first and others second with little or no focus on what search engines want to see. If Gertrude Stein wanted Hemingway to quit his job as a journalist to focus on his writing, I shudder to think of her opinion of my chosen career. If Hemingway had spent time and energy writing in form and content appropriate for his paper, we would not have several great ex-patriot American novels. However, If Hemingway had not been a journalist, he would not have developed the sentence style which characterizes said novels.
While Stein felt he could not be a writer while being a journalist, Hemingway, truly, could not have been one without having first been the other. Part of being a writer is learning how to mimic the voices of others, the styles of others, and through this you discover your own voice.
SEO content writers are crafty, intentional, concise, and even, as those who disapprove of the ad industry in general might say, sneaky. Search Engines are not witty, they don't understand puns or double entendre, and they don't care if your English professor would have found your writing profound and insightful. That being said, you, or rather, I, do not need to eliminate these elements from our writing. We must write for the reader first, understanding that they will appreciate our slight witicisms, but prominantly focus our strategic keywords at the top-lefthand side of the page where both reader and search engine begin their scan. Stategically placed keywords will draw the search engine to the site without overloading the reader.
As consumers, you, and my colleagues in the English department, might find this underhanded. However, all we are doing is helping you find what you need, and our clients happen to have it. Without SEO content writers you would scour the internet looking for the right site, with the product you were looking for. We'd much rather do the work for you, it helps us, helps our clients, and we get all warm and fuzzy helping you too! So when you're looking to build your own watch, and you want to know who will let you do that, you go to Google. If you search "buils your own watch" Fossil is the second website that will showup in the search results. This is not just because we manipulated the website design, it's because that's what they do, and that's what you want them to do. It brings a whole new meaning to online matchmaking services.
All that to say, I'm pretty excited about this new job and the ability to do what I love share my gift with others. Who knows, maybe someday it will help me to write the next great American novel.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
The mother of us all
If it weren't for this contraption on my lap and the fact that the fireplace is gas and not woodburning I would feel exactly as though I had gone back in time. It's quiet here in the lobby of my old college dormitory. You can see the beams in the ceiling and the detailed woodwork on the cabinets and chairs. I can picture students here years ago chatting about Lewis and Tolstoy as they sat around the fireplace with coffee and tea. Of course you can't do that now, no food or beverages allowed. Earlier it wasn't so quiet. The cleaning ladies were in, polishing furniture, vacuuming and gossiping complaints about their job or social life. It really terrified me as I read Kerouac's Dharma Bums that my first thought was "servants should be seen not heard" (or not even seen) I wanted to read (and later nap) in peace and that was not going to happen. What a snob I am. First, they are not my servants, I'm not rich enough to have servants, and even if I were I probably wouldn't because I like to do the work myself, generally speaking. Second, I don't even live here anymore! Who am I to complain that they are doing their work as they do everyday and I'm interrupting it with my presence. However, I kept my mouth tightly shut, chastised myself for such cruel and silly thoughts and went on to read a lovely chapter in Kerouac and promptly nap when the vacuuming had finished.
Now it's quiet. there are a few of us in here studying, speaking only in hushed tones, and some girls traipsing in and out as they go to and from their dorm rooms. The sounds here echo, something about the construction and the high ceiling in the adjacent room. It's actually a lovely feature if you aren't trying to nap. and I'm not anymore so it's grand.
I do wonder what's gone on in this room over the years, did a literary rebel such as myself sit here and read on a couch like this in front of this fire? How about a time when all the boys came visiting because girls couldn't even go over to their dorm rooms? Just through the doors two rooms away is the old cafeteria where only the girls dined, but the men would come over to serve them. I think that's a lovely concept. I'm all for liberated women, I don't think I could live in a time when it wasn't acceptable for me to wear jeans and a t-shirt out and about. I don't know how Ms. Alcott did it. But there is something to be said for chivalry.
I was thinking the other day, after reading chapter 5, that perhaps we have liberated ourselves too far. In order to be seen as equals, to be taken seriously by men, I believe at times we have devalued ourselves and our sex. Men are free and easy about sex and women have over the course of time come to the belief that they as well should be free, and quite literally easy. Believing, as I think is part of Kerouac's point, (though I hate to be the type to put thoughts to a work which were unintended by it's author) that since a woman cannot be equal to a man physically, mentally, spiritually, we can at least be so sexually. And so we do what men want, thinking it's what we want and we lose our true selves in the process. We wind up naked, curled in a ball on the kitchen floor "just for nothing, just to do it." Kerouac writes over and over how she liked it, she really did, it allowed her to be "the mother of us all" to be on an equal playing field with the men, her sex allowed her to be a "Bodhisattva" (just the way the holy concubines were taken back in the day). I can't be sure if Kerouac wants us to believe this, or wants to demonstrate that his main character Ray is trying to make himself believe it by saying over and over how she really did like it...it seems he's protesting too much. Especially since Ray has doubts about the whole experience because of his belief that lust leads to birth and birth to pain and death.
I find it interesting we still expect so much of men when we are the ones who have lowered the standards. We laugh at the saying, "no man will buy the cow when he can get the milk for free" and yet so many of us live it everyday. and, we or society have convinced ourselves that it's what we want. We just want to be wanted and loved and so we settle, for less than our best and so drive our men to settle for less than their best.
I don't intend for this to be a treatise on the negative effects of the feminist movement (like I said, I love wearing pants) But I also question if we have let "equality of the sexes" go too far and what it's impact will be on the future of our society? I consider myself more of a feminist than many of the women here at a christian conservative college, but I suppose if you stuck me at Berkley I'd be a prude. I wish others of my sex could learn to revel in the strength, power and beauty of being a woman and try to be less like men. Though I suppose I'm the worst to judge on that subject, considering myself a "tom-boy" who would rather watch and play sports than watch a chick flick, or play with dolls. At college I discovered the power and joy of femininity and I wonder if we valued ourselves and our sex more for what it is, than try to be what it is not, if we couldn't make a more powerful impact on the world around us?
Now it's quiet. there are a few of us in here studying, speaking only in hushed tones, and some girls traipsing in and out as they go to and from their dorm rooms. The sounds here echo, something about the construction and the high ceiling in the adjacent room. It's actually a lovely feature if you aren't trying to nap. and I'm not anymore so it's grand.
I do wonder what's gone on in this room over the years, did a literary rebel such as myself sit here and read on a couch like this in front of this fire? How about a time when all the boys came visiting because girls couldn't even go over to their dorm rooms? Just through the doors two rooms away is the old cafeteria where only the girls dined, but the men would come over to serve them. I think that's a lovely concept. I'm all for liberated women, I don't think I could live in a time when it wasn't acceptable for me to wear jeans and a t-shirt out and about. I don't know how Ms. Alcott did it. But there is something to be said for chivalry.
I was thinking the other day, after reading chapter 5, that perhaps we have liberated ourselves too far. In order to be seen as equals, to be taken seriously by men, I believe at times we have devalued ourselves and our sex. Men are free and easy about sex and women have over the course of time come to the belief that they as well should be free, and quite literally easy. Believing, as I think is part of Kerouac's point, (though I hate to be the type to put thoughts to a work which were unintended by it's author) that since a woman cannot be equal to a man physically, mentally, spiritually, we can at least be so sexually. And so we do what men want, thinking it's what we want and we lose our true selves in the process. We wind up naked, curled in a ball on the kitchen floor "just for nothing, just to do it." Kerouac writes over and over how she liked it, she really did, it allowed her to be "the mother of us all" to be on an equal playing field with the men, her sex allowed her to be a "Bodhisattva" (just the way the holy concubines were taken back in the day). I can't be sure if Kerouac wants us to believe this, or wants to demonstrate that his main character Ray is trying to make himself believe it by saying over and over how she really did like it...it seems he's protesting too much. Especially since Ray has doubts about the whole experience because of his belief that lust leads to birth and birth to pain and death.
I find it interesting we still expect so much of men when we are the ones who have lowered the standards. We laugh at the saying, "no man will buy the cow when he can get the milk for free" and yet so many of us live it everyday. and, we or society have convinced ourselves that it's what we want. We just want to be wanted and loved and so we settle, for less than our best and so drive our men to settle for less than their best.
I don't intend for this to be a treatise on the negative effects of the feminist movement (like I said, I love wearing pants) But I also question if we have let "equality of the sexes" go too far and what it's impact will be on the future of our society? I consider myself more of a feminist than many of the women here at a christian conservative college, but I suppose if you stuck me at Berkley I'd be a prude. I wish others of my sex could learn to revel in the strength, power and beauty of being a woman and try to be less like men. Though I suppose I'm the worst to judge on that subject, considering myself a "tom-boy" who would rather watch and play sports than watch a chick flick, or play with dolls. At college I discovered the power and joy of femininity and I wonder if we valued ourselves and our sex more for what it is, than try to be what it is not, if we couldn't make a more powerful impact on the world around us?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Few and Far between
I have been writing. Just not here. There's something about writing in my journal that just feels more true. It's as though when I open up my moleskin to a blank new page I feel connected with Hemingway and other great writers in a way that I just don't feel when typing on the computer. Granted right now I'm reading Dharma Bums for the first time and there is something about typing that makes me feel connected to Kerouac. (even if he had a typewriter, not a computer) There is a free flow to Dharma Bums which is similar to my stream of conscious writing on the computer. A disjointed, poetic drunkenness that is strong and beautiful. Sometimes I wonder what Kerouac would think of our modern interpretations of his works. If he would tell me nicely that I am an idiot (which I doubt since at the beginning of Dharma Bums he's all about kindness) or if he would just smile at my naivete and say nothing, or if he would think I actually got it on some level.
Point being (Dad) I have been writing. I suppose it doesn't do any good to keep it wrapped up in my journal. If you write to change the world you have to risk exposure and failure, something I'm constantly fearful of.
Silver webs shiver in golden shadows,
The fading glory of another day.
Naked bones stretch to the sky
Hungry, yearning to be made new.
The broken bark sticks hard in my back,
A harsh reminder of reality
As the golden orb slowly sinks
the horizon alters its hue
A crisp clear blue, burned off haze,
unhindered by chasing clouds.
I drink deep the cool fall air
sweetened by an early moon
Peace comes easily in Autumn.
Some days I think I'm a terrible poet. probably because I don't try terribly hard to understand all that rhyme and meter and scanning stuff Dr. Potter tries so desperately to teach me. I think I'm just more of a free verse poet, or as I like to say, a lazy poet. But sometimes, I write something that I think just brushes the surface of something beautiful and I'm almost proud. Proud enough at least to expose myself to the world for its caprice.
I will try to write here more often. until then.
Point being (Dad) I have been writing. I suppose it doesn't do any good to keep it wrapped up in my journal. If you write to change the world you have to risk exposure and failure, something I'm constantly fearful of.
Silver webs shiver in golden shadows,
The fading glory of another day.
Naked bones stretch to the sky
Hungry, yearning to be made new.
The broken bark sticks hard in my back,
A harsh reminder of reality
As the golden orb slowly sinks
the horizon alters its hue
A crisp clear blue, burned off haze,
unhindered by chasing clouds.
I drink deep the cool fall air
sweetened by an early moon
Peace comes easily in Autumn.
Some days I think I'm a terrible poet. probably because I don't try terribly hard to understand all that rhyme and meter and scanning stuff Dr. Potter tries so desperately to teach me. I think I'm just more of a free verse poet, or as I like to say, a lazy poet. But sometimes, I write something that I think just brushes the surface of something beautiful and I'm almost proud. Proud enough at least to expose myself to the world for its caprice.
I will try to write here more often. until then.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
"I have never wished to cater to the crowd; for what I know they do not approve, and what they approve I do not know."-Epicurus
I should be reviewing Wall Street Journal Articles for class...but I'm not. Instead I'm frustrated and a little angry at the Grove City Theater Dept. I wrote a play last year and I've submitted it to be used in the One Act festival twice, neither time was it accepted. I also adapted Mark Twain's "The Diary of Adam and Eve" for the stage this summer and submitted it, it was also not selected. Now, certainly I have a bit of wounded pride at this, but that's not what this article is about. (Every writer should face failure and learn to deal with it) The thing is, the coordinators for the festival actually enjoyed my plays, though they found the one I had written too dark for a festival they wanted to be full of comedies (it has it's moments but it's no tragedy...) and they questioned Twain's theology and it's use on a Christian campus. Ok, I disagree, but ok. Until that is, they tell me they still want me to direct and I have my choice between two plays: one boring and not really suited to what I want to do senior year, and the second, which I chose, a slightly riske play about a husband and wife and the husband's ex-girlfriends visit (which consists of a big ol kiss and a sketchy backrub) <--The theology of this is not questionable? Sure Mark Twain has some unorthodox views of the first man and wife, he humanizes them *GASP* oh no! he humanized humans? but but but, that just makes my world crumble!!!
It seems that we are only concerned with differing theology when it is placed before us in a way that we cannot avoid questioning. A play that has no mention of God, but portrays action that flies in the face of his commandments, that's ok...but heaven forbid Adam say that wherever he went with Eve a part of Eden was with him...blasphemer. Likewise, we want a play that makes us laugh, not one that makes us think, or desire a relationship with Christ, we just want to laugh.
Well it's a week from the show going up, I'm frustrated, my coordinator just told me he thinks the way I'm portraying the backrub scene is sketchy and awkward....it's the way it's written! ("I just always pictured her sitting up" ...it says flops over on the bed!!)
Sure I could censor the script, I could cut out the scene (and the play would make a lot less sense) I could continue to edit words like promiscuous (already did that...apparently it's an inappropriate descriptor...) and other moments that make the audience understand why Wanda is such an odd character and an irritation to Marsha (Jim's wife) but then what would the play be? anything? I've already made edits I'm sure the writer wouldn't approve of, but that I have to make bc it's GCC. So Instead of asking me to edit the last line of the play I adapted, to make it a little less like Eve was replacing God (which I don't think was Twain's point) I'm changing a whole lot more of the play, and I'm still uncomfortable and stressed.
I don't want to cater to the crowd but I don't have a choice. Or do I? I'm only here one semester. I'm seriously considering an underground production of either the bus stop or the diary of adam and eve...
It seems that we are only concerned with differing theology when it is placed before us in a way that we cannot avoid questioning. A play that has no mention of God, but portrays action that flies in the face of his commandments, that's ok...but heaven forbid Adam say that wherever he went with Eve a part of Eden was with him...blasphemer. Likewise, we want a play that makes us laugh, not one that makes us think, or desire a relationship with Christ, we just want to laugh.
Well it's a week from the show going up, I'm frustrated, my coordinator just told me he thinks the way I'm portraying the backrub scene is sketchy and awkward....it's the way it's written! ("I just always pictured her sitting up" ...it says flops over on the bed!!)
Sure I could censor the script, I could cut out the scene (and the play would make a lot less sense) I could continue to edit words like promiscuous (already did that...apparently it's an inappropriate descriptor...) and other moments that make the audience understand why Wanda is such an odd character and an irritation to Marsha (Jim's wife) but then what would the play be? anything? I've already made edits I'm sure the writer wouldn't approve of, but that I have to make bc it's GCC. So Instead of asking me to edit the last line of the play I adapted, to make it a little less like Eve was replacing God (which I don't think was Twain's point) I'm changing a whole lot more of the play, and I'm still uncomfortable and stressed.
I don't want to cater to the crowd but I don't have a choice. Or do I? I'm only here one semester. I'm seriously considering an underground production of either the bus stop or the diary of adam and eve...
Thursday, September 9, 2010
why i run.
I walked into the house with my heart beating everywhere but inside my chest where it belonged. Head, arms, knees, feet, every inch of my body was pulsating. I was drenched in sweat and my face was blood red. The pain in my knees was closing in on unbearable. I went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap. I gulped it down and filled up two more. Walked into the living room and collapsed on the floor “stretching.” I had just run 8 miles. The farthest I’ve ever run. You distance runners out there are probably thinking “psh that’s nothing, I can run 8 miles in my sleep.” But I’m a sprinter, I run hurdles, and in practice I never run more than 4 miles, tops. And this year I sprained my ankle going over a hurdle so I wasn’t even running that. So to go from 2-3 miles “a day” to 8, well that’s huge for me.
That’s not what this is about. This is about the sentence in that paragraph you probably read over without thinking, taking it for granted. Guess which one it is? “I went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap. I gulped it down and filled up two more.” Here in America so many of us are blessed with clean drinking water right from the tap. Even more of us here live on or around the cleanest lake in New York State (possible all the U.S.) and can walk right down, dive right in and drink up as much as they want. This is a beautiful and blessed thing.
For people living in poverty in Africa, this is nearly impossible. They have to walk miles a day just to reach a water source that is not even clean and appropriate for drinking. They can’t just reach for the tap and fill a glass of clean, pure water that is safe from disease. Kids miss school because they have to make these water walks, and take care of their families.
That’s why I went for an 8 mile run. I’m running in the Skinnyman Triathlon in Skaneateles, NY with Team Active:Water. Active:Water is an organization that uses donations made to support their athletes to provide clean drinking water to impoverished countries. Right now they work with Blood:Water Mission and Seeds of Hope International, but as they expand, they will be working with more and more organizations worldwide to provide water to more countries in need. Athletes sign up to support the organization through the different events they participate in and then get donations to support them in the race, and all the funds go directly to Active:Water where they are used to give individuals clean water, families water filters, and even build clean water wells, providing clean water for entire villages.
Sure there is a story in my triathlon training without this, it’s hard and it hurts and it makes me feel great about what I can achieve, but it’s not the story I want to tell. I want to tell a story about other people, and how I was able to affect them. How other people were able to help me affect them. I want to tell how I was able to use my gifts to bring something wonderful to people. What story do you want to tell?
copyright M. Markley June 2010
That’s not what this is about. This is about the sentence in that paragraph you probably read over without thinking, taking it for granted. Guess which one it is? “I went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap. I gulped it down and filled up two more.” Here in America so many of us are blessed with clean drinking water right from the tap. Even more of us here live on or around the cleanest lake in New York State (possible all the U.S.) and can walk right down, dive right in and drink up as much as they want. This is a beautiful and blessed thing.
For people living in poverty in Africa, this is nearly impossible. They have to walk miles a day just to reach a water source that is not even clean and appropriate for drinking. They can’t just reach for the tap and fill a glass of clean, pure water that is safe from disease. Kids miss school because they have to make these water walks, and take care of their families.
That’s why I went for an 8 mile run. I’m running in the Skinnyman Triathlon in Skaneateles, NY with Team Active:Water. Active:Water is an organization that uses donations made to support their athletes to provide clean drinking water to impoverished countries. Right now they work with Blood:Water Mission and Seeds of Hope International, but as they expand, they will be working with more and more organizations worldwide to provide water to more countries in need. Athletes sign up to support the organization through the different events they participate in and then get donations to support them in the race, and all the funds go directly to Active:Water where they are used to give individuals clean water, families water filters, and even build clean water wells, providing clean water for entire villages.
Sure there is a story in my triathlon training without this, it’s hard and it hurts and it makes me feel great about what I can achieve, but it’s not the story I want to tell. I want to tell a story about other people, and how I was able to affect them. How other people were able to help me affect them. I want to tell how I was able to use my gifts to bring something wonderful to people. What story do you want to tell?
copyright M. Markley June 2010
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