Imagine a world with no war....

There was a fight tonight. Not huge and dangerous, but a substantial scuffle. Enough to unnerve me and drive me to cathardic blogging. Perhaps, I would do this more often if I thought anyone read this or even better subscribed to my thoughts, but whatever the case, here is the next entry in my internet diary...

There was a fight, and it was your typical situation, high school boys ruffing one another up cause somebody said something stupid. But the spirit, the tone of the fight, was much more sinister. It was as if a battle was brewing underneath tonight's full moon. The battle wasn't large or long, but it was indicative of the larger war that is being waged in our area. The war between gangs. Enough has been said and studied by people a lot smarter than me regarding societal structures and social norms which feed gang behavior, but this is the first time I have experienced it. 

I went to high school. I saw fights. But never have I felt such this intense, palpable hatred. For all I know, this particular situation may nothing to do with their respective gangs, but the rage, the fervor, the passionate hate behind their reaction was almost incomprehensible. And now, a place that once was safe and neutral ground has now been divided. 

Mostly I am sad about this. Sad that these kids don't know or care that there is a great, big world out there that doesn't consider if you are from the east side or the west side. I am sad because my 14-year-old friend is scared to go to school, and says that the war between students will never stop. Sad because some of my high school friends don't have health insurance, citizenship, or both parents living with them. But the thing that makes me the most sad is that they are brilliant, radiant kids hidden behind the stigmas and the struggles of being born on the wrong side of the tracks. 

So tell me how do we end this war?

The Ministry of Bumper Stickers

Lately, my life has seemed relatively directionless. In fact, on numerous occasions I find myself wondering if anything I do on a day-to-day basis has any real purpose. In choosing to make the move to California, I was looking for a sign from God to confirm that the path I was going to walk down was the right one. For a four day period, I did nothing but eat, cry, and pray about what I am "doing with my life." And my signs started to come in the unlikely of places.

I was driving which, you'll find in common with all my signs, and as I am driving I saw a car with a CSU (Colorado State) liscense plate and numerous bumper stickers. It caught my eye long enough to force me to think is "this a sign? Maybe I am supposed to stay here after all." This came just days after I decided that maybe moving to California was a bad idea, a beyond bad idea, a catastrophic decision that would haunt me for nine months. And the thought of being in that situation for enough time to have conceived and birthed a child horrified me. Enter: The meltdown. The Meltdown sent me into a tailspin as I tried to determine if I was just trippin' out or if I had some sort of legitmate calling/desire to stay in Colorado. 

A few days later, I was out driving around again and saw another bumper sticker. However, this one was more complicated. I saw a sticker that read "Santa Barbara" on the side of some trendy car (you know, the very LA-ish cars that look like mini-milk trucks). And I thought to myself "What the $&%# is that sticker doing on that car, in the middle of Colorado?" Enter: The Panic. At this point, I had decided that I was supposed to stay in CO. But this "sighting" was too hard to ignore as it is more unique to spot big foot than a Santa Barbaran in Colorado ! So after a lot of thinking and praying,  I re-evaluated the situation and decided to take a chance and make the move out California.

So today I find myself in sunny Santa Barbara driving to my dream job, in my dream car, after having left my dream house, having kissed prince charming goodbye on my way out the door. Well actually,...none of that is true, except the dream car part and let's be honest anything was an improvement from my old blazer. So really, as I am driving alone from the house that is indefinitely under construction and, extremely expensive, to my entry-level, unfulfilling job which requires me to walk 3.5 blocks to work every morning... I am thinking that I need a sign, a sign that what I am doing  is the right thing. And just moments after thinking this one gracefully appears on the back of a decrepit Honda accord. It says "Believe." So simple and yet so powerful...just believe. Believe that everything is going to be alright, believe that I will be with you always, believe that you are doing the right thing, believe in Me. So that's what I am doing and in the words of a classic 80's song, once butchered and transformed into a Spring Sing theme song, all I have to say is "Don't Stop Believein...'"

Imagination

I started this thing with the intention of regularly updating it. I had every intention of writing about every jot-and- tittle of my day, challenging myself to make the mundane, musings of my day reader-worthy. Instead, I have had a blank blog for over a month. 

This blankness requires a decision. Do I continue on and actually keep updating and writing or do I just forget this blog exists and act like my original post was a momentary indiscretion? The following was my inner monologue as my two alter-egos dialogued:

"wow, it has been a hell of a day"

"yeah, you should write about it on your super cool blog!"

"shut-up you are lame, blogs are lame, and no one reads this"

"i thought blogs were for your own personal development"

"whatever, everyone knows the function of the blog is to make people feel validated in the monotony of life."

"that's not true. there is a lot you can learn about life from bloggers"

"true, some of my best recipies are from blogs"

"its really unfortunate that you don't cook"

"yeah, its worse that you sustain yourself on a diet of cheese quesdillas and microvable Organics meals"

"So true"

"Back to the blog..."

"Ah, yes...what to write?"

"Why don't you write about life transitions, moving struggles, lagging community, the election, or some spiritual insight"

"Because, no one reads the deep blogs, they read the fun ones"

"I thought this space was for personal development"

"That explanation of blogging is as annoying as Sarah Palin's use of "you betcha" and "bless her/his heart" in national debates"

"you are being kinda of negative"

"yeah, that's how my desire to even write on this thing in the first place started. I am tired, semi-unhappy, and need the loving affirmation of an affection-less cyberspace"

"you should just go to bed"

"ok"

goodnight.

Imagine... being an Olympian

A week ago, my friends and I were returning from a baseball game determined to catch the final US men's relay race. Realizing we were going to miss the race, we made an impulse decision to jump-off a Washington DC metro 5 stops early and sprint through Ronald Reagan International airport! Finding the only TV available in the entire airport we begged the restaurant to stay open. The disgruntled man fixing the kitchen oven told us that the restaurant was closed while pulling down the metal security grate, mercifully, leaving the TV on.

The race began, and we strained to see through the 5-inch metallic peep hole praying Phelps would win and make history. Travelers paused to see the cause of the commotion and knowingly said, "Oh, it's the Olympics! Phelps is swimming!" That's all it took to explain why two sweaty Air Force officers, an unemployed college grad, an employee of the CIA, an Amish couple, and a handyman stood together their eyes glued to the TV.

It was in that moment, I discovered why I’d teared-up during the opening ceremony just weeks before, yelled obscenities about the injustice of Nastia's vault score, and was ready to deck THAT guy if he turned the TV off during the men's relay. American Olympians represent more than just America, they represent us all, that colorful fabric of humanity and the understanding that as global citizens were are more alike than different.

There is also a second and perhaps greater message for the youth of today. As one, who grew up watching the Olympics in 2000 because the women's gymnastic team was comprise of girls my age, and then continued to watch when 19-year old Michael (also my age) started winning golds, and then again in 2008 where Phelps has broken historic records. To We the Future the message is the clear: if you unashamedly, and with determination chase your dream, no goal and no record is too large when fueled by hope. Even that crazy idea about world peace.

*wrote this in hopes that Oprah will let me come on her show