The First Step is Admitting There's a Problem: Why We Need to Build a New America

I'd like to share a scene from "The Newsroom" that feels just as relevant today as it did two years ago when it aired. This is the very first scene from the very first episode, and you can watch it at this link if  you'd prefer watching it to reading.

A student asks what makes America the world's greatest country, and Will dodges the question with glib answers. But the moderator keeps needling him until...snap.

Will
It's not the greatest country in the world, professor, that's my answer.

Moderator
[pause] You're saying—

Will
Yes.

Moderator
Let's talk about—

Will
Fine. [to the liberal panelist] Sharon, the NEA is a loser. Yeah, it accounts for a penny out of our paychecks, but he [gesturing to the conservative panelist] gets to hit you with it anytime he wants. It doesn't cost money, it costs votes. It costs airtime and column inches. You know why people don't like liberals? Because they lose. If liberals are so fuckin' smart, how come they lose so GODDAMN ALWAYS?

And [to the conservative panelist] with a straight face, you're going to tell students that America's so star-spangled awesome that we're the only ones in the world who have freedom? Canada has freedom, Japan has freedom, the UK, France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Australia, Belgium has freedom. Two hundred seven sovereign states in the world, like 180 of them have freedom.

And you—sorority girl—yeah—just in case you accidentally wander into a voting booth one day, there are some things you should know, and one of them is that there is absolutely no evidence to support the statement that we're the greatest country in the world. We're seventh in literacy, twenty-seventh in math, twenty-second in science, forty-ninth in life expectancy, 178th in infant mortality, third in median household income, number four in labor force, and number four in exports. We lead the world in only three categories: number of incarcerated citizens per capita, number of adults who believe angels are real, and defense spending, where we spend more than the next twenty-six countries combined, twenty-five of whom are allies. None of this is the fault of a 20-year-old college student, but you, nonetheless, are without a doubt, a member of the WORST-period-GENERATION-period-EVER-period, so when you ask what makes us the greatest country in the world, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about?! Yosemite?!!!

We sure used to be. We stood up for what was right! We fought for moral reasons, we passed and struck down laws for moral reasons. We waged wars on poverty, not poor people. We sacrificed, we cared about our neighbors, we put our money where our mouths were, and we never beat our chest. We built great big things, made ungodly technological advances, explored the universe, cured diseases, and cultivated the world's greatest artists and the world's greatest economy. We reached for the stars, and we acted like men. We aspired to intelligence; we didn't belittle it; it didn't make us feel inferior. We didn't identify ourselves by who we voted for in the last election, and we didn't scare so easy. And we were able to be all these things and do all these things because we were informed. By great men, men who were revered. The first step in solving any problem is recognizing there is one—America is not the greatest country in the world anymore.

Will's right - well, Aaron Sorkin is right. America is not the greatest country in the world anymore. The case could reasonably made that it never truly was. But he's also right that it can be. It has the potential. We have people who are smart, who are brave, who are compassionate, and we have them in droves. They just don't seem to align recently with the cardboard cutout of who and what our culture values. They don't seem to have the voice or the power they ought to, and in an unfortunately growing number of cases, they lack the energy to do anything but fall in line, to keep quiet and allow the status quo to persevere.

We have to be better. We have to pay attention, and we have to speak up when we see injustice being done. I'm getting really and truly sick of people who proudly say "oh, I don't care about politics" or "I don't watch the news" like these things are some passing fad. Believing that is a mistake, and a dangerous one. The only way to change things for the better is to participate, to care. These are the conversations and the elections and the stories that will determine what this country IS  for the duration of the time we'll spend here. Doesn't that merit at least a fraction of the attention we give to celebrity gossip or our local sports franchise?

Maybe I sound self-righteous, or judgmental. But that's because I've made a life of actively striving to not bury my head in the sand, and the way this country works, the votes of those who do choose ignorance carry exactly the same weight as mine. I love that about America, the idea that we might all - in theory, at least - get an equal say, but that doesn't mean I want to stand by and watch that opportunity be squandered.

There is a reality that has taken hold in the United States of America in 2014 that the majority of us are flat-out ignoring, even though it's right in front of our faces. Equality, the kind the founding fathers dreamed about and the kind people from all over their globes risked their lives to come here seeking, is crippled, on the verge of extinction. It's slipping away, and for the most part we're letting it. We as a nation are content to wander around with our eyes closed and our hands down our pants, more concerned about this week's eliminated contestant on The Voice than the fact that innocent men and women are being killed by the people who are supposed to exist to protect and serve us. The knee-jerk reaction is to assume that the victim must have had it coming, or that there has to be a justification, because we'd rather not fathom the possibility that someone in a position of authority is capable of truly monstrous behavior.

I'm not going to debate the Mike Brown or Eric Garner cases here (though for the record I am appalled at the lack of even an indictment in either case), not because I think I'd lose or because I know I'd open an entire can of ignorance-soaked worms on my social media outlets, but because it isn't my tragedy. I am a white woman, and as such will never ever be able to fully comprehend the horror of what's happening to African Americans in this country, the terror that must exist in knowing you can be targeted at any moment and that the perpetrator will, in all likelihood, walk away without punishment. I'm an ally in this fight, and I stand beside the protesters and individuals who continue to lead brave and vital discussions on these topics; but I lack the authority of personal experience. I can say there is no question in my mind that we need some serious changes in this country, both in terms of race relations and in terms of establishing once and for all who watches the watchers, and ensuring they do their job in a manner that doesn't cost innocent lives.

Will said it in the speech above, and it's one of the founding principles of any recovery program worth its salt:  the first step is admitting that you have a problem. America, we have a problem.

A lot of people might think I lack patriotism, that I hate America and that's why I'm constantly criticizing it. That actually isn't true at all. I love America, but I love it the way Will McAvoy loves it - for all that it has the potential to be, rather than what it currently is. We can create a world in which equality exists, in which we celebrate our differences but don't allow them to overrule our comprehension of the basic rules of right and wrong. It's possible to do that, it really is. But we can't do it in one day (we haven't been able to do it in multiple generations, after all), and it'll be hard work. At its core, though, America has the tools to do this. We have the power to change our laws and to influence the way this country treats its citizens, no matter who they are or what they look like.

I'm not exempting myself from this. We have to tug ourselves out of this apathetic hole we've fallen into, and it's hard to listen to bad news day in and day out without feeling discouraged. I know it would be easier to stay at home under the covers finding out which Kardashian is getting divorced or pregnant this week, but I can't do that. I can't sit still anymore knowing that these kinds of injustices are becoming the norm in the country.

I guess this is my promise to stay awake, to pay careful attention and spread as much factual and helpful information as possible, and to do whatever I can to keep fighting the good fight. My congresspeople will be hearing from me - hell, I'll send a letter a week if I have to until something budges, and I will not be silent. If we can bring ourselves to care, and we can push ourselves to stand up and speak out, someone eventually has to listen.

Let's stop pretending America is the greatest country in the world when it clearly has such a long way to go, and instead force it to become that country, in reality, once and for all.

A Series Finale

I've finally figured out what this whole graduating/moving/leaving all my friends behind feels like.  It feels like the series finale of a television show, a quirky comedy perhaps, but one with a lot of heart.  The ratings haven't always been great but it has a loyal viewership who keep coming back, and now it's time for everyone to say goodbye.

No, we haven't been in a Sideways afterlife the whole time.  And no, no one is going to be chasing anyone to try and catch them at the airport, no one is grappling with life-altering career shuffling or relationship revelations.  But it's still an ending, and I think it's been a pretty great one.  This has been a week of "lasts", of visiting old haunts one more time, of drinking because we only have the excuse of college for a few more days, of spending time together obsessively because we're each afraid the others will disappear before we've gotten the chance to say goodbye.

As with any finale, we've had the essential moments.  The party scene, where everyone just gets drunk and miraculously nothing too regrettable happens.  Appearances from some old friends, guest stars now who've moved on to bigger and better things.  And many, many truly touching moments, moments of honesty and farewell, moments of hugs and tears, moments in which we acknowledge to ourselves that this could be The End, with capital letters.  There have been music montages, nostalgic conversations that always begin "hey, remember that time?", and major decisions that hang in the balance.  And there have been laughs-- lots of laughs, because no real comedy worth its salt can go out on a completely somber note.

Do I wish the show's run could've gone on longer?  Absolutely.  I could have been a part of this for the rest of my life, and it would have been enough.  But change is inevitable, and I knew one day this would conclude.  I don't know what's next, and I don't know all the tiny ways this experience will show its influence in the future.  What I do know, though, and what I'll always remember, is this time, now.  I'll remember this ending, and the knowledge that whatever the final lines turn out to be, it will have ended exactly the way it was always supposed to.  And I will be grateful for every moment of this experience, of every person whose name comes to mind as the proverbial credits roll.

Thank You Notes

My time in Seattle is rapidly drawing to a close, and this has been a time of copious reflection.  I've already penned a much more wistful post for tomorrow (the big day), but I also wanted to take the time to express all of the gratitude that I find myself so full of at this moment.  Naturally, I've decided to do it in the silliest possible format, with some "thank you" notes, a la Jimmy Fallon (incidentally, if you haven't seen said segment on his show, you are missing out).  Here goes:

Thank you, hipsters.  In my time here you have made it clear to me that I may be an elitist in some respects, but I'm not anywhere near as bad as I could be.

Thank you, Seattle Public Library, for never allowing my accrued fines to stop me from checking out books.  Your check is, as they say, in the mail.

Thank you, Housing Department of Seattle University, for giving me a taste of what living in a nice, three-bedroom apartment in a safe neighborhood feels like.  As a woman about to graduate with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing, I have a sneaking suspicion it's going to be a while before I experience this kind of luxury again.

Thank you, restaurants of Seattle, for having some of the most delicious cuisine on the planet.  My waistline and wallet dislike you immensely, but my taste buds do not.

Thank you, hills of Seattle, for the inevitable wave of laziness I'll be experiencing when I walk the flat streets of Chicago once again.

Thank you, Seattle rain, for teaching me that no, I cannot pull off the "casually drenched but still sexy" look.

Thank you, professors of Seattle University, for being pretty okay, but also showing me that in many cases, a doctorate comes with a heaping side dish of pretentiousness.  Additionally, thank you for either remaining ignorant or simply looking the other way when I've tried to pass off complete bullshit as an academic assignment.

Thank you, Blogger/Tumblr/Twitter/Facebook/StumbleUpon, for successfully distracting me from so much work.  I am sure you will continue to serve me well, even when I get a "real" job.

Thank you, Student Events & Activities Council, for compelling me to choose between putting 100% of my efforts into school or into extracurriculars and socializing.  I'm pretty sure I made the right choice.

Thank you, Seattle University, for giving me an education that, despite my lack of a plan, has left me feeling very much prepared for whatever comes my way.

Thank you Seattle, Washington, for being the home I've never felt I had until I came here.

And finally, thank you, all of my friends, for being the very best partners-in-crime a girl could ask for.  Thank you for putting up with all of my nonsense and endless stream of sarcasm, and thank you for teaching me so much more than you will ever realize.

What a Difference 4 Years Makes

In thirteen days I will be on a plane.  I will have gotten my diploma, a piece of paper that verifies how much debt I've accrued and how many dry dusty books I've read.  I will have said goodbye to the most wonderful people I've ever met, many for the last time.  And I will be closing this chapter of my life, stitching it neatly shut behind me without knowing what's ahead.

When I left Chicago for Seattle four years ago, I was bursting with hope.  I'd been trying to break out of the place and the life I'd known for so long, and here was my chance, finally.  I was ready for anything, good and bad.  And I've been lucky, because most of it, the vast majority really, has been good.  No, good doesn't do it justice.  It's been tremendous, life-changing, and educational in more ways than I ever expected.  I took a risk and, in a rare twist of fate for me, it paid off.  It paid off and I am so grateful it did.

Yes, I gave some things up to come here.  But the things I gave up then were all maybes, all possibilities, all question marks.  I might have found what I was looking for if I'd stayed, but probably not.  People looked at me strangely, didn't understand why I thought I needed to leave, to strike out on my own.  Some days even I didn't understand why, I just knew it was something that had to happen.  I didn't want to spend my life wading among the question marks, and wake up one day with a whole lot of would-haves and should-haves.

What I'm walking away from now is much different.  There aren't any maybes here, not really.  There are certainties, and a lot of them.  I could be happy here for the rest of my life.  I would get to keep the friends who have become my family.  I would feel safe, surrounded by the amazing landscape that makes up this place.  I would get to continue being this version of myself.

But the restless part of me recognizes that for the disadvantage that it actually is.  The wanderer inside of me isn't ready to stop moving, to settle for what I've found at 22, even though I feel more alive here than I ever have.  There's an optimism in this next step, the biggest question mark I've yet encountered-- if four years here can change me so much for the better, who's to say I can't find even more in the next place I decide to call home?  And even if that's not on the table yet, that feeling of instability, of not knowing quite what's going to happen tomorrow, it pushes me to strive for more, to be better.  It's the reason I've taken so long writing my novel while I've been here-- I didn't need to use writing as my escape nearly as often as I used to.  But do you know what?  In the weeks leading up to my departure, I've been more dedicated to it than ever; some part of me feels like if I can just finish telling the story, everything will be okay.

And really, that's been the case my whole life, probably always will be.  As long as I can write, as long as I can keep telling stories, things will turn out all right.  That, at least, has never been a question mark.

Soundtrack Series, Part Three: Times of Change

 Well, here I am.  Less than 3 weeks till I'm a college graduate and till I'm on a plane back to Chicago, leaving behind so much of what I've gained over the past four years.  It feels like there's no good way to describe this rush of feelings, no way to truly encompass everything that's been going through my head.  Everything feels bittersweet and almost impossible to categorize-- every event, every outing and experience is fun and wonderful because I'm with the people I love most in the world, but everything also feels tinged by the ever-present knowledge that very soon I won't be.  Every conversation I have with someone from here on out could be one of the last, every time I visit my favorite haunts might be the time when I ought to be taking a mental snapshot, lest I forget the details of what it looks, sounds, and feels like.

Of course, this has prompted a shift in the music I've been listening to (but then again, it doesn't take much for that to happen).  The point is, I've been discovering more and more songs lately that seem to speak to this weird feeling in my chest, the overwhelming idea that something's ending and that I've got to grab hold of every second of joy that I can before that time comes.  These are just a sampling of the songs that have been my soundtrack during this time of transition, of goodbyes and attempts at making plans and new hopes.

Run -- Snow Patrol
One of my all-time favorite songs (and the all-time most played song on my Ipod, fun fact).  It's just such a poignant song about leaving, specifically leaving the one you love.  For me graduating and leaving Seattle doesn't carry quite the gravity this song does, but I can't omit it from this list because it is so wrapped up in the idea of change for me, of transition and of the power the people you love have over you. Also, there will never come a time when that epic instrumental portion just before the song wraps up doesn't blow my mind.

23 -- Jimmy Eat World
If I had to pick a song that most accurately sums up my feelings toward this upcoming transition in my life, this one is a definite contender.  This is just a fantastic song about the weirdness of being this age (I'm not 23 but I'm close enough, and I more than understand the sentiment), not knowing where things are going to go and feeling just a little bit out of control in the face of how fast life is passing you by.  It also has a great message about going after what you want:  "You'll sail alone forever if you wait for the right time/ What are you hoping for?"  That line just strikes me in a fresh way each time I hear it, and it reminds me of the need I have to evaluate what, exactly, I'm hoping for, and how I can reach it.

American Pie -- Don McLean
Not only is this a great story-song, but it expresses so much of what I think everyone feels on the precipice of a major life change.  McLean isn't excessively emphatic about it, but he's clearly devastated by the tumultuous times in which he finds himself, and regardless of whether you can appreciate the actual events he's singing about, chances are you can relate to the feeling behind it.  I know I can-- this is the kind of song that makes me wish I were a songwriter, so that I could encompass my feelings so flawlessly in such a versatile format.

I Must Belong Somewhere -- Bright Eyes
Love the catchy tune of this one, and the fantastic imagery.  It's a great commentary, but it also lets the listener establish his own sense of place in the world. I like this as a "change" song because there's so much in it about the way some things will inevitably remain the same.  

More Adventurous -- Rilo Kiley
I think the reason this song made the list (apart from the fact that Jenny Lewis is just downright marvelous), can be summed up in my favorite two lines:
"...With every broken heart we should become more adventurous"
"And [I] thought about how we are all as numerous as leaves on trees and maybe ours is the cause of all mankind-- get loved, make more, try to stay alive..."

In My Life -- The Beatles
"I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before/ I know I'll often stop and think about them..." This is one of my all-time favorite songs--short and to the point.  Reflect on your life, and remember all the people, places, and events that have shaped it.  This is a song that gives me motivation to move forward even into an uncertain future, because there are so many more memories to be made.  And even if it's all downhill from here, I'll be able to carry the things I've loved with me wherever I go.

Wild World -- Cat Stevens
This song just gives me a kind of warm fuzzy feeling.  It feels like a parent's kind-hearted, well-intentioned warning, filled with that distinct feeling of being cared for.  Not to mention, something about Cat Stevens just gives me the feeling like a friend is singing to me, like he knows how afraid I am of the "real world" and wants me to feel better about it. If that's not a good enough reason to put it on the "change" playlist, I don't know what is.

Somewhere Only We Know -- Keane
 This song is just fantastic.  If Keane had never recorded anything ever again, or if it had all been awful, this song would have been enough of a contribution for them to forever have my respect and affection.  There is something so beautiful about this song, about its imagery and its message, and it makes me feel better about damn near everything.  This song makes me think of community, and of the value of shared experience, and shared memories. 

Leaving Town Alive -- Bethany Joy Lenz
Little known song, but definitely a great little tune about the nature of change, and the little ways it impacts us.   There is a sense of how much life can wear you down, but there is also the shadow of victory, of being able to weather it all so long as you let your heart rule you.  It's about missed opportunities and letting those experiences teach you, guide you, so that you don't miss the next great chance that comes along.

100 Years -- Five for Fighting
One of several "life is short" songs on this list, because I think for me the notion of change and the idea of the fleetingness of time are very tightly linked.  Just as this song flies by, the years of your life that John Ondrasik is singing about can pass you by in the same exciting, wonderful, painful blur.  And if you're not careful, you might miss it. I'm hoping that when I'm "99 for a moment" I'll be able to look back on this part of my life as a time when I really did something, really put forth my best efforts and strongest energies to better the world around me.

Live Like We're Dying -- Kris Allen
I need to learn how to live the message of this song so much more fully.  It resonates with me so strongly every time I hear it, and I want to be that person who embraces every moment of my life to the fullest, yet somehow I find myself coming up short.  I know it's going to be especially tempting to just coast or kill time after graduation (particularly until I find a job), but I want to be very intentional about living each day with meaning, even if it feels like there isn't any.