the way he was

I am thinking about keeping this in my foyer with Rev. Al Green's "Let's Stay Together" in constant play. An eternal flame for the old Barry.

2008: Months of Lessons Learned

January: A rapid detox from Ethics class can be achieved with immediate lunch with the guys.

February: Sometimes you can feel very small while standing by the ocean, or anywhere in Dubai.

March: If a guy you are interested tells you that he knows all the words to Les Miserables, take it as a red flashing light.

April: A Masters Thesis is an invitation, not a bookend.

May: Never presume you are locked out when a door shuts unexpectedly; but if you drive over the river to get your key, enjoy the sunset on the bridge.

June: Haitians live by the hand of grace, at the mercy of a few individuals and a system with only gleans of redemption and hope.

July: Hoosiers love basketball. And for street signs? Not so much.

August: There’s nothing that can’t be cared for while sitting in an Adirondack chair on the porch.

September: Like life, the cholla cactus may at first appear to be one animal, but it is really another.

October: Even while dressed in Notre Dame gear, it is ok to start cheering for UW half way through the game: loyalty always surfaces.

November: The wealthiest county in the US, Fairfax County, can still be capable of great things - - such as being responsible for the first use of the words “President-Elect Obama!”

December: Unlike intestinal parasites, the gesture of hospitality can make you a victim of the host’s pathology, but in loving friendship all things can be conqured.

thoughts on 30 things, or two

My friend Lynnette and I were born during the same week in 1978. She messed with Texas while I threw off the equilibrium of the Keystone State. Savvier than myself, Lynnette recently made a list of 30 things she intends to do during her 31st year; one commitment is to take a photograph a day. I, a day late and a dollar short, decided to think about 30 things I would like to do during my 31st year.

Number one: I aspire to ask more questions.
As open and extroverted as I tend to be, I could use some improvement in the area of inquisition. Academia is driven by questions, and I thrive in that environment. But when it comes to my personal relationships, I think I tend to tell people how it is or ignore how it is rather than going ahead and asking how it is. Maybe that is a means of protecting myself. So, ok Lynnette, I will show your thirty things with one thing: As a thirty year old woman, I aspire to push myself to ask questions everyday.

Another thing I was thinking about, is the notion of accepting where people are, outside of any relation to me, really and truly. When my Dad turned 50 in 1992 he told me, “I no longer give a shit.” I am pretty sure that with getting older certainly life is getting easier. Of course, more problems seem to appear, and there are certainly moments of utter devastation, but I have to say, life is a lot easier than when I was, like, 22. But, still, betrayal is an animal without definition. And the world is full of peoples' pain.

According to Dr. Bart Ehrman, there are three sorts of premises in Christianity: 1) God is all-powerful; 2) God is a loving God; 3) There is suffering. In friendships and relationships, I think only one of these tenants reigns true: 1) Neither party is all-powerful; 2) Both parties are capable of behaving in unloving ways; 3) And well, yes, suffering plagues us all.

But what if we had a rapprochement, and what if we assumed - - about one another - - that even when unloving acts are committed that there is an intention to be ultimately loving. How would that help to inform responses to our own suffering? Would suffering built upon suffering cease? Would yielding one another a grace of real forgiveness - - even for that which is unconscious and unconfessable or inexcusable- - help with our own happiness? Is that what it means to no longer “give a shit”? Unconditional forgiveness? Is it better to just disappear rather than acknowledging – you’ve gotten too close to me – I’ve told you too much – you’ve hurt me here’s your bag in a punitive manner; here’s a formal email about the weather; here’s me disappearing. See, I have disappeared.

I’d like to think that any option is ok.

After all, people need to take care of themselves.

The world is broken and we must cope in order to live.

But I can’t think that way.

I just think it is much better to stay in the messiness. The only way out is through, and as I travel on my own path of suffering, my inclination is to stay in the mess with others.

But then again, I think my inclination is probably wrong.

Sometimes it’s ok to let people go away.

Sometimes that’s easier. Well, it is always easier.

My 30 years have at least taught me one thing.

30

In many cultures, I have already turned 30. And for the past year or so, I have gotten used to (although preemptive) referring to myself as “a thirty year old.” I remember after 2004 when my friend Bolla flashed a badge to me from her work in Ohio on the Presidential Campaign. She said casually to me as an Ohio Kerry alum- “here’s my street cred.” I think turning 30 this Tuesday is a bit of street cred for me. Maybe I should print myself a badge. And put it around my neck.

I think that I have I’ve survived a lot. So I am proud of turning 30. On the other hand, I do feel a death of a certain life. By no means do I expect my 30’s to be tired or without travel. Ethiopia and El Salvador are next on my list, and as spiritual pilgrimages. I do not expect to have less sex or become more conservative politically, I simply imagine that in this next age, I shall be better. I want to be kinder, and more empathetic. I want to wear lipstick regularly, and go by my nicknames more frequently. I want to find a good PhD program, and pour my heart into my research. I want to commit to a life partner whom I admire beyond words. I want to visit my parents more, because I miss them. And I want to love Luke in ways that I never imagined.

This is all I want.

Because I am so lucky, I have so very little to want.

virginia is for lovers (of barack)

On the evening of Election Day, Barack Obama spoke in front of half a million people in Chicago, while others all over the world huddled around radios or were watching on TV. At 4:30 pm in a cold garage in Fairfax County, Virginia I spoke to the final group of canvassers, many of whom had been out in the rain all day, all of GOTV weekend, or all election season.

The group was diverse. An elderly white woman stood next to a young black woman. The gay middle-aged man shared his umbrella with the pregnant immigrant. They were all neighbors in the precincts in which they were about to talk to voters for the final time in this election. I looked at these eighteen volunteers and thought about what they needed to hear. They eagerly looked at me for direction. Throughout my life, I have been part of the democratic process at various levels in different places. On Tuesday, with very little sleep, and while dressed in a strange Norwegian sweater donated to me by one of the canvassers, I rededicated myself to the bread & butter of the political process, and of this campaign: the effectiveness of neighbors talking to neighbors.

I told them that the 21 months of voter registration, identification, persuasion, financial donations, stress, and dedication in the field - would all be for naught if Getting Out The Vote failed. And the only way - the ONLY way - GOTV will not fail in Virginia, would be if we cranked it up and turned it out in Fairfax County. The next two and a half hours of their lives came down to the answer of one question: would there be a President McCain or a President Obama? Therefore, I told them, it was time to do one thing and one thing only, to get bodies to the polls. I told them not to come back to see me with any information until 7:00pm, and that I only wanted a number of people who had definitively delivered a vote for Obama. I said I don’t want you coming back here to tell me about how many yard signs or dogs a house has even though you couldn’t find away to get a hold of the people living inside. I want you to be married to your turf for the next two and a half hours because this is your last chance. This is not about ANYTHING other getting voters to immediately go and vote for Barack. The people on your list are your responsibility. And mark my word, we will lose Virginia if we do not turn out Fairfax County at a historical margin. If we win Virginia we don’t need places like Florida and Ohio. So, it’s all you. Keep your head in the game. You don’t get to redo these 2.5 hours tomorrow.

Before I knew it, it was 9:30 pm and I was at a fancy cocktail party at The Willard in downtown DC. The TV said we were losing Virginia, and I knew that Fairfax had not reported yet. When Virginia went blue for the first time in 44 years, I received calls and texts from a couple of those canvassers exclaiming things such as, “wow! You were right about Virginia! I am so glad I was out there this weekend!”

In my mind, the most invigorating thing about politics and of this campaign in particular, is that all the experts and operatives in that room at The Willard would be nothing without the labor of people like those whom I spoke to in the cold garage.

With hope,
Kate

my little green

Happy 6th Birthday to Luke on Wednesday.

inshalla

A couple of weeks ago, I called my friend Uzma for the first time in many months. While Uzma is someone I greatly admire and feel quite close to we do not speak frequently. She and I were catching up about all the things women talk about in these sorts of conversations. (And she always makes time for me when I call.) Uzma is going to be a Mom, so we talked about that. Having finished her Masters in Public Health at Johns Hopkins, she has a new job in North Carolina, so we also discussed that. During this conversation, I realized she was at the same time running errands for her husband, Nadim. First she went to the drug store to get him a prescription for heartburn. Then she went through the Arby’s drive-thru. Then to another place to retrieve a specific type of freedom fries. Nadim, a heart surgeon, was at home watching the Redskins with a friend.

Realizing it was about 7 pm on the east coast I asked Uzma, “Are ya’all breaking fast now or something?”

“Yes! And I am running all over the place to get Nadim what he wants!”

“Happy Ramadan, I guess?”

“Ha ha ha- thanks,” she said.

Today, I watched an A&E special on Queen Noor (Lisa Hallaby) of Jordan. And I remembered Uzma driving through the drive-thrus. And I also recalled Sarah from Austin in Bangladesh telling me of her arranged marriage and the early struggles with it as the commitment she and her husband made grew stronger - endured the test of time and ultimately celebrated an irreplaceable bond.

I envy these women.

In a day and age where my favorite Presidential candidate Barack Obama marches around asserting that he is “not a Muslim” I sometimes wish there was place for me in the Muslim culture. Islam means “surrender,” and at risk of sounding pathetic, I must say, as a single woman, I would love nothing more than to give, surrender, and love with all of my being, in choice and devotion like my Muslim friends do in their marriages.

I missed my friend Iram’s wedding in August, but she was gorgeous and I am sharing a photo.