Le Mal du Pays

I’ve been kind of homesick lately.  Here’s the thing, though: I don’t really miss my life in the United States.  It was too easy for me to take things for granted when I lived there.  I was talking to a friend yesterday, and he said that he thinks living abroad can become kind of an addiction, in a way.  And it’s true.  Even when you’re going about your mundane chores, there is something about all of it that is interesting and challenging and requires you to celebrate small victories.  Calling a taxi or asking for chicken at the butcher’s counter (and getting exactly what you wanted) become huge successes in your day.  Most of my friends here speak at least two languages and can tell me great stories about countries I still want to visit.  And being a bit isolated from society (both the one you left and your new one) makes it easier to step back, look at all of the millions of choices people make because they think they have to, and ask why.  [Just a few examples: Why do I need to join a gym to be healthy?  I keep healthy here with all the things I do outdoors.  Why would you continue to pay taxes in a country where there is a private police force for rich people because it is assumed that the regular police won’t do their jobs?  Why would I want to eat something that smells like that? Why do I accept it as natural that doctors (and medicine) are supposed to be expensive?  Supposed to make a profit from my health?  There are plenty more questions.  Some serious, some incredibly not serious.]

Milwaukee from the edge of Lake Michigan at the end of winter.

Anyway, back to the point.  I’m not homesick for the lifestyle I had.  What I’m homesick for, quite simply, is people.  For one thing, I miss the sheer variety of people back home.  Poland has an interesting culture and a pretty incredible history, but they’ve somehow ended up with a country that is not particularly racially diverse.  (You’ve never seen so many shades of white.)  On top of that, you rarely seem to see someone walking toward you on the street who is tattooed and grungy and has purposely messy hair, or who thinks she’s a Japanese school girl, or that it’s 1966, and it’s ok to be barefooted in a flower-print skirt while walking down a city sidewalk.  You mostly see slim, fashionable women and muscular, conventional men.  I really do miss all the colors of the people in Milwaukee.

Much more important, though, are the people I love.  Starting, of course, with my family.  There is no doubt that families are tough.  No other people on earth will ever be quite so honest with you, quite so harsh.  But if you ever need anything, no other people on earth will jump through quite so many hoops to get to you, even if they’re angry with you at the time.  No one else will tell you they miss you even when you were a huge asshole the last time you saw them.  Also, no one else could provide you with a tiny person who runs to the front door when you come home for Christmas shouting, “Auntie Rachel!  Can you sleep with me tonight?”  And that feeling is worth more than every material possession I have ever owned or hope to own. 

And then there are the friends.  The ones who’ve known me for ages and seen me from every possible angle and somehow love me anyway.  I’ve got friends back home who had to drag me off the couch and force me into the shower after a bad relationship ended.  Friends who went roller-skating with me for my 26^th birthday and then sang karaoke (and sat through my rendition of “Pussy Control” again). Who will never say no to Mexican food, and who send me pom poms, glitter and a harmonica in the mail.  Friends who told my near-suicidal lawyer-self to stop whining and quit if it was really so bad.  Friends who are really really funny.  (I just have to remember Evie asking John if he thought she was Mr. Peanut, and I still laugh until I cry).  Friends who would never tell me to come home if I’m happy, no matter how much they miss me.  

Well, I may not be coming home, but I miss you, too.  And I thought you should know.

P.S. Happy birthday, Evie!

Happily 'Til the Next One

“When you tell [grown-ups] that you have made a new friend, they never ask you any questions about essential matters. They never say to you, ‘What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies?’ Instead, they demand: ‘How old is he? How many brothers has he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make?’ Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him… you might say to them: ‘The proof that the little prince existed is that he was charming, that he laughed, and that he was looking for a sheep. If anybody wants a sheep, that is a proof that he exists.’ And what good would it do to tell them that? They would shrug their shoulders, and treat you like a child. But if you said to them: ‘The planet he came from is Asteroid B-612,’ then they would be convinced, and leave you in peace from their questions.”  --Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

 I went for coffee with Kate yesterday, and we realized we were both having similar fears and doubts about what we should do with ourselves.  We talked about our attempts at making the "right" choices in our lives, and how when you're afraid of making the wrong choice, it's generally due to the belief that there is a right one - that just around the corner, there will be a decision that will set off the grand chain of events that is your real life, and it will define who you become.  Do I want to be a teacher or a writer?  Speak Polish or Spanish?  A traveler or a mother?  And poof!  That's what you are.  But if you make the wrong choice, then you are (forever) the wrong thing. 

 But that's not the way it works, is it?  There is no final decision, the one that sets everything up.  One choice flows into another, and another, and another.  The most you can say, really, is that making a decision  is better than just letting things happen to you.  And that you really can't make more than one major choice at a time, make some master plan, and expect a good result.  Because the world you create with your first decision will change how you look at the second.  But despite all the pressure, does it somehow bring us comfort to believe that this majestic moment, this imposing decision, is out there, waiting for us?  That once we get it out of the way, we'll be all sorted out?  We'll know what we are?  Or to put it another way: Are we that ludicrous grown-up in our own lives who insists on knowing only the most inessential facts about ourselves? 

 For all I might say about not letting other people judge me, it has still been me, telling myself that I'm trying to become something that causes me most of my heartache when I try to slap some kind of label on myself and figure myself out.  Because even if I am a teacher, or a mother, or a traveler, what else does that say about me?  Does it change what my voice sounds like or what games I love best?  Or the fact that my best friend can still make me laugh so hard I snort?  Of course not.  Things change when you make any decision, but things change every day anyway.  A decision doesn't put me in a box where I have to be like all the other teachers, mothers, wives, single women or travelers in the world.  

Anyway, I guess my point is this: maybe it's not so comforting to think that I'll never quite be properly figured out, but it's more realistic and more forgiving.  And frankly, it feels kind of good.  I'm free to do whatever I want - I don't have to think about what it will make me, besides happier, or wiser, or at the very least, someone with a good story to tell.

Little Reminders

How many times do I have to learn the same thing over again?  I keep forgetting.  I've been stressed for weeks, trying to figure out what exactly I'm doing, where my life is heading, and how it's going to "turn out."  Then I was walking home from doing the shopping (and Spring has finally come to Szczecin, which brings me no end to joy) and I was listening to Iron & Wine, and I remembered the thing I don't want to have to keep learning the hard way:


Fuck happy endings.  It ends when you die.  
I'm gonna have a happy life.

Anyway, just thought I'd share, in case anyone else needed or wanted reminding.

A Guatemalan Summer

Casa Guatemala is a home and school for orphaned, abused and abandoned children.  The Children’s Village is located in the jungle on the banks of the Rio Dulce near the Caribbean coast in Eastern Guatemala.  It is accessible only by boat.  They care for over 250 children, relying on volunteers from around the world to do so.  Last week, I sent them a letter of application  to be a volunteer for the summer, and on Thursday I received a reply.  They want me to come.  I looked over their orientation guide for volunteers and today I wrote back, confirming with them my desire to go.  I will be spending three months there this summer, as soon as the school year is done here at the end of June.  It is an amazing organization that has been helping children for over thirty years in a country where many of the children desperately need help.

I don’t know for sure what my work will consist of, but probably I will do a variety of things.  They need people to do all of the things that parents usually do: wake the children up, get them ready for school, make sure they brush their teeth, eat, do their chores, etc.  They need people to help at the school.  They need help with their farm, and with the small hotel down the river that helps them to fund the Children’s Village.  I do know it won't be easy.  I’ll be living in the jungle.  Cold water, no electricity after 8pm, wild animals, simple living conditions.  Most of these children will have seen trouble I can’t begin to imagine.  And there are a lot of them.  But I think it will be incredibly fulfilling.  And even if it wasn’t, I’d still think it was important for me to do.

The decision to do this has been incredibly easy in some ways and incredibly difficult in others.  There has been no doubt in my mind about wanting to work with these children, notwithstanding the challenges I mentioned above.  But it’s not without sacrifice.  It will cost money to get all the way to the Rio Dulce from Szczecin.  It will cost very little to get by once I’m there, but I am also foregoing the possibility to make money this summer.  I’m leaving a comfortable flat, friends, and the relative safety of Poland behind for something unknown.  It might turn out to be better for me – I have been awfully skeptical lately about just how much “developed” society has truly done to improve the quality of peoples’ lives – but it will certainly require adjustment.   All of that in mind, I’m genuinely excited about this.  It feels right. And if you know me, you know that though it may take some time for me to make up my mind, once I’ve decided on what I want, it takes something awfully strong to get in my way for me to give up.  So I will do this, whatever it takes.

I once read an interview with someone who had done amazing things to rebuild a small village in Africa that had been ravaged by war. He was asked how he’d managed to do as much as he had, and he said that it was thanks to all the help he got from friends and family, from strangers, from all over.  They asked him how he got all these people to get involved, and he said, “I asked them.”  Well, asking for help hasn’t always been by strong suit, but this is really important to me, so I’ve decided to start.  

Here goes: I could use some help.  So far, nearly everyone has been really supportive and positive about this, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for that.  It’s probably the most important thing you can do to help me.  Honestly. 

But here are a few other things I’m concerned about:

• Airfare/living expenses:  This is probably my primary concern right now.  My plan is simply to save up money from work, and throw in my small tax return from 2010 to make up as much as I can, and make do with that. But you can help, too.  Maybe you (or someone you know) has airline miles you’re not using.  Maybe you know of the best website in the world for finding cheap travel deals.  Or where I can get some freelance writing or translating work on the internet (I can’t just wait tables here – my Polish isn’t good enough).  Or maybe you’ve always wanted to give me a birthday or Christmas present and never knew what to get.  Maybe you’d like to get me this year’s presents now, and have one less person on your list come December (I know, I know, it’s only March.  But I’m happy to forego gifts when these events come around in exchange for this opportunity.  There is nothing I am really lacking that can be wrapped up in paper and put under a tree.)  If you want to help me out with money, I have a paypal account under the email r.studinski (at) bellschools.pl.  Now, I know times are tough for everyone, especially in Wisconsin, right now, so I’m not expecting a lot of financial help, but I think it’s better to say this than leave it unsaid: in the event that your help (airline miles, money, etc.) allows me to come out of this with more than I need to get there and have my basic needs met, I will turn any leftover money into a direct financial contribution to Casa Guatemala.  It will not go into my bank account for beer or new shoes or whatever.
• Spanish lessons: I have exactly one year of junior high Spanish and a few months at a Milwaukee Community Center class.  I know at least some of the kids take English lessons, but they communicate in Spanish.  I’ve been working on brushing up (and learning new things), and my roommate Angela has been very encouraging and helpful, despite not speaking the language herself.  I know a few of you speak it, though. Maybe you want to write me emails in Spanish, or skype with me.  Maybe you don’t mind if I write you with random questions about the language.   Maybe you could come up with a list of useful expressions for me – you know, things like: “Give that back to him!” and “Take that out of your nose,” and “We don’t bite our friends!”
• A backpack: I will need to travel light, but I’m going to be in Guatemala for 3 months, and there are certain things I need to take.  I think a real backpackers pack is my best bet.  They are expensive.  I’m looking into buying one second-hand, but perhaps one of my readers has one I could borrow for the summer instead?  If you have to mail it to me, I can reimburse you for shipping, as it will still probably be cheaper than buying one.  I don’t mind if it’s not in brand-new condition or anything.  In fact, that’s probably better.  I don’t need to walk around looking like I have a lot of money.

OK, those are the main things I can think of right now that I have been concerned about. I’ll keep updating this blog as I make plans.  If you can help in any way, I’ll be forever indebted to you.  If you can’t, maybe you know someone who can, and you could pass this link on to them.  But as I said, the most important thing I can get from you is your support.  I'm sure this is the right thing to do, but it’s very different from anything I’ve ever done before.  So I'm a bit scared.  Maybe you have some experience that you think would be helpful for me to hear about, or you have some inspiring music for me, or you know of something that always makes you feel better when you’re nervous.  Maybe, somewhere along the way, you’ll just have a kind word for me when I get freaked out.  So far, you’ve been wonderful, and I couldn’t love you more for that.

So, thank you.  Again, and in advance, for helping me live my dreams.

Open Letter Home

Sat. 12 March 2011
I wrote this entry Thursday afternoon, just after I read the news from Wisconsin, when I was in the full swing of my rage about what's happened there.  As a result, it is full of anger and sarcasm.  I can think of one person I know who would almost certainly say it is downright bitter. 
Firstly, that's not necessarily who I want to be.  And secondly, I know a lot of my readers back home in Wisconsin are probably getting plenty of rage and hatred and spewing, both on the news and in personal conversations.  So I've considered taking it down entirely.  But I felt it, I wrote it, and a lot of you read it, so instead I'm putting it behind this warning: It's pretty angry.  
The end is hopeful, though, I think.  So, if you're up for it:

Llego a ser alguien

The last few days, I’ve been talking to people about my desire to go to Guatemala this summer to work with the orphans at the children’s village I’ve been learning about.  I’ve been congratulated, and I’ve been scolded.  I’ve been offered support and encouragement, and I’ve heard questions and suggestions.  Why Guatemala? Is it safe there?  You should try to find a safer country, a position where you’ll get paid to do good things.  Wouldn’t it be cheaper just to send them money?  I welcome these questions, because it is an  exceptionally difficult thing to do, and I should be damn sure I really want to do it before I get on that plane.  I should make sure I’ve thought of things that could go wrong.  I should make sure I know why I really want to do this.

And in all of this, it’s occurred to me that Evie’s been right all this time, going on about the self-esteem movement gone too far.  I think a lot of people in my generation grow up expecting that by the age of 30 they will either be Bill Gates or Ghandi.  So many people I know who can’t decide what to do with their lives – not even because they don’t know what they want, but because they can’t decide if it’s what they deserve, or what is the best use of their many talents, or if it’s “good enough.”  Like if they can’t do the exact thing they want to right now, they might as well not even try.  Myself included.  Maybe myself most of all.  But it’s pretty obvious to me when I see Wisconsin assemblymen and women holding meetings out in the freezing cold and snow,  or when I see how my grandmother cooks and bakes for her neighbors when they’re ill, or how my brother and sister (in-law…psh) have gone about raising my niece to be such a beautiful, caring person – and my young nephew well on his way – that there are so many ways to make a better world.  And these are only three examples of the many things we all take for granted.  Not just when other people do them, but when we do them ourselves.  I know sometimes each of these people I just described must feel like they haven’t done enough.  But if there are a million ways to make things better, we should do the one that feels right on us.  If we try to force ourselves to do it in a way that “looks” right, we’ll never be able to do it well.

So why do I want to go and do this?  Because if it’s about my perception of myself as “loving,” or “giving,” then I need to think harder, because that’s not going to get me through the tough days.  But I don’t think it is.  In the end, I really do want to do this because some very basic part of me believes in re-kindling the inherent trust and innocence of children.  Not just giving them concrete things like food and clothing and an education (though of course you can’t do much without those things. You must begin, as Lewis Carroll said, “at the beginning”), but also showing them that someone cares about them.  That they have worthwhile hopes, familiar fears, and achievable dreams.  That even as relatively powerless children, they have value and they deserve to be heard, and there is something in them to love.  That their best is nothing short of miraculous.  And there are a million ways to do this work.  The best way I think I can do it, with my temperament and my abilities, is to be there.  To look them in the eyes and be with them while they eat breakfast, get ready for class, do their chores.  To scold them when they lie, or fight, or steal.  To tuck them into bed at night.

Why does it have to be Guatemala?  It doesn’t.  But reading about this place struck something in my heart, and I haven’t been able to let it go.  Why three months?  Because it’s how much time I have away from my job.  And because kids need some semblance of stability.  Not just a week here and a week there.  And after a few months with the children (because you have to compromise, and I can’t live there full time) I will come back to my work for a while.  Be “reasonable.” Pay my bills.  Maybe save up for a chance to do it (or something like it) again next summer.  Is it safe?  Parts of Guatemala are, parts aren’t.  Like any country.  Also, see my last post.  I don’t have all the answers, and I know it will be hard, but my conviction gets stronger by the hour.  If there’s any way to make it happen by the end of June, you’ll know where to find me then.

And hey, don’t worry, Mom.  Maybe I’ll come home someday.  If Scott Walker gets his way, I’ll be talking about helping all the needy people in 3^rd world Wisconsin soon.

Too far?

But my heart told my head: "This time, no." *

The last time I wrote, I mentioned that I’ve been feeling like I’m allowing myself to coast by, being less than I can be.  Since then, I’ve been thinking a lot about what exactly I do believe in (for the record, it pretty much boils down to love, humanitarianism, and – of course – music).  About how to stand up for what I believe, and how to live a life that is worth a damn.  About the possibility of epic failure, should I try.  About what I risk losing if I make the wrong choices.  About things I’ve lost already in my life, and how to go forward from where I am instead of dreaming about what I wish could be.  I’ve been reflecting on a lot of difficult things, but most of them are both intensely personal and probably incredibly boring to anyone who isn’t…well, me.  So I’m not going to write about them here.  Maybe another time and place.  However, what I can write about are my thoughts (more specifically, my fears) about my desire to reach out to people our broken society usually ignores.

Sometimes I think about going off the grid.  Bailing on everything and moving to some remote jungle society with no electricity, no running water, no corporations, no big government influence.  On a more realistic note, if I had no student loans to consider, it’s not unthinkable that instead of Poland, I would be in Africa or Nepal or one of the more impoverished areas in Latin America right now, doing the same job with different people for almost no pay.  Well, I do have student loans to consider. (And, of course, I love my Polish students, and lots of things about my life here.) But I’m trying to figure out if I can save up some money and go to one of those places this summer for a few weeks, or a month, or maybe three.  One consideration is the cost.  But to be honest, another reason I haven’t done something like this before now is that I’ve been afraid.  I was born and raised in central Wisconsin, and though we didn’t always have a lot, my family did fine.  I’ve been lucky enough to be accustomed to a level of comfort and, more importantly, safety that simply doesn’t exist in a lot of other places.

But I think for anyone who is truly thoughtful about their time on Earth, there comes a time when you decide that you’d rather try to fly – stretch out your fingers, reaching for something – and possibly fail, falling to the ground with a sickening thud, than to live out the time you have left in some imitation of life, just going through the motions.  Rather die trying than live a long healthy life staring out the window.  For some people, it’s a sudden click into place. Everything shifts, and it all comes together.  For me, it’s been coming on in steps: first, a few years ago, finally understanding that time is, in fact, limited.  Trying to appreciate that fact and live the “best” life I could with whatever amount of time that might be.  But still terrified of the possibility that it might not be as long as I’d like.  Still squirming at the idea that even if it’s another 60 years, it will go by in a blink.  Still convinced that there were some fears that I could try to protect myself against.

But I’m slowly realizing that, try as you might, you can’t protect yourself from life.  And even if you can, you shouldn’t.  Because the pain you risk is proportionate to the joy you venture. So (unless you’re prone to exaggeration) the only things that are ever going to cause such unbearable pain that you’re not sure how you’ll get through it are the things that first bring inconceivable bliss.  I’ve been thinking this ever since hearing what my incredibly courageous friend had to say about losing her unborn (but already deeply loved) child: that the memory of the pure happiness and meaning her life had during her pregnancy make it worth trying again eventually, even while still very close to the memory of the grief and terror of her heartbreaking loss.  And my own life experience (on a much smaller level) supports what she says.  Where I didn’t dare to care about something – or someone – it couldn’t  hurt me much.  But I didn’t get a chance to love it, either.  And those things that have had the power to completely shatter me - well, I wouldn’t trade them away for anything on Earth.

All of this said, believing in this kind of yin and yang doesn’t take away the fear.  It just puts it into perspective.  Fear feels huge, but it’s small next to what happens when you let it go.  In the words of one of the world’s great men, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: “We were discovering that life has a meaning only if one barters it day by day for something other than itself.” 

* From Mumford & Sons, "Winter Winds"

Walking the Walk

If you’ve ever met me, you’d know I’m highly capable of “talking the talk.”  I’ve always got an opinion about everything.  Usually a pretty strong one.  OK, you wouldn’t even have had to meet me – reading this blog is probably evidence enough of how utterly incapable I am of keeping my trap shut.  But I've been watching people all over the world stand up for what they believe in lately, and I've been thinking about the choices I make in my own life.  And a lot of things I’ve been seeing in myself have got me wondering: do I practice what I preach? 

Am I as compassionate as I like to think, or is it lip service?  How willing am I to make sacrifices to be the kind of person I want to be?  Of course it isn’t easy.  I’m constantly telling people they shouldn’t expect life to be easy.  But how often do I really make the hard choices for myself?  What do I really do to help others?  I used to talk about the Peace Corps, and I decided not to do it because I didn’t want any part of “Americanizing” people in countries that didn’t need to follow the Western model to do well.  And maybe this was a good reason.  But maybe I was just afraid.  Maybe I could have dug up another opportunity, or maybe I could have done it anyway, and done it my own way.  Maybe it doesn’t even have to be as big as that, though.  Do I make time for volunteering?  I started to.  But when it fell through, I let it.  I didn’t chase those opportunities down. I told myself I was too busy anyway.

I complain about big business, about wasteful Western consumers, about government, but I use more than I need, I shop at cheap chain stores more often than I should, and (I’m really sorry, Wisconsin – especially now) I didn’t vote in the mid-term election because an absentee ballot seemed like such a hassle, and I didn’t think it was really my problem anymore.  

Am I even as loving as I ought to be to my own friends and family?  I think a lot of the relationships we have with those we love are easy to get clouded by things like pride, our own insecurities, our fears.  This is a manhole cover outside my building.  The quote is from the Bible.  Not historically always my favorite book, but it reminds me of how I want to treat those I love:

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

My one saving grace, I think, is that I think about these things.  I want to do better.  I am always trying to try harder.  I've made some positive changes in the past year or so.  But I need to make more.  So today I’m turning over a new leaf.  Starting now.  I'm sure I'll have some stumbles and false starts, and I'm sure some parts of this process will be painful, but I’m putting on those walking shoes.  That's a promise.  Please hold me accountable for it, though it may mean some big changes.

P.S. I must be getting even more sentimental and emo as I get older, because I really really like this Mumford & Sons album.

On, Wisconsin

I am in Gdańsk for a few days with my parents.  This is the city where Solidarność was born in 1980 after workers at the Lenin Shipyard went on strike to demand the right of the people to form unions.  My knowledge of this is somewhat limited, but what I know is this: the strikers posted 21 demands on two wooden boards – among these demands, the acceptance of free trade unions, the guarantee of the right to strike, the observance of the constitutional rights of free speech, press and publication, the release of political prisoners, salary increases to complement inflation, and many more.  The government finally reached a compromise with the strikers and the union was recognized.  For 16 months.  Then it was declared illegal when Poland was placed under martial law.  But some believe that it was the 1980 Polish Solidarity movement and the subsequent 1989 Round Table talks, re-legalizing Solidarność and providing for free elections, that resulted in the downfall of the communist regimes all over Eastern Europe.

Yesterday we visited an exhibition on the Solidarity movement – Drogi Do Wolności, or Roads to Freedom.  In one of the rooms, they showed a video of the leaders of Solidarność  making speeches about what they wanted.  One of them said that he believed that it was crucial for unions to exist because the workers have a right to be heard, at least, whether they are right or wrong.  That if the people have no voice, they are not free.

 

5000 miles away from here, in Wisconsin, my home state, 35,000 people have poured into the capital to protest the new Governor’s “budget repair” bill, which is essentially designed not only to cut salaries and decrease benefits, but – most importantly – to kill the unions that represent public employees in the state.  His bill would eliminate their right to bargain over some of the most essential aspects of their contracts, or to strike.  And he preemptively threatened them with the National Guard (smart guy) if they decided to protest.

The stakes may not seem very high in Wisconsin compared to Poland in 1980 – we aren’t looking at martial law, and so far (knock on wood) the protestors haven’t been met with violence.  But we are talking about essentially the same issue.  And yet again, it comes down to control of wealth and manpower.  Ask yourself: if Scott Walker’s Republicans and the Tea Party are such a freedom-loving people, why would they want to remove the right of the people to discuss their contracts, or to protest? 

Even if you’re one of those people (and I know a few of you) who think that unions take things too far and ask for more than they “should” get, I still don’t think you would say it’s a defensible position to argue that they shouldn’t exist.  Unions came into being to prevent workers from being exploited the way they were during, and immediately following, the industrial revolution, working endless hours under unsafe conditions for almost no pay.  Until the people joined together and demanded to be treated like human beings, the rich factory owners could get away with it because any one person demanding change alone was disposable, and everyone needed a job – any job.  And now, with unemployment up in the U.S. again, Scott Walker and his rich industrial financiers are trying to cripple the unions.  They’ll start with government workers, but you can bet your boots they’ll move right on to the next thing if they get their way on this one. 

I am so proud of my home state.  If you had asked me a month ago if I thought 35,000 of you would have stormed the capital to stand up for your rights – no matter how angry you were– I would have said absolutely not.  I underestimated you. I’m happy to say I was wrong.  Evie told me that Scott Walker was giving an address on the radio, and the protests were so loud that he couldn’t even be heard.  Stay angry, Wisconsin!  Keep fighting.  Unions are important.  They have been at the core of overcoming tyrannical corporations and governments in almost every part of the world.  Free speech is crucial, and the force of people, coming out together in large numbers, is the only thing that can keep the tycoons and power-hungry politicians from climbing to the top on your necks.  They can only do that if you let them.  This isn’t just about the salary or the benefits of a few people.  It’s about standing up for your right to be heard.  Don’t stop.  And don’t just go to the protests when it’s convenient, either.  Skip work, if you can.  Keep going back every day.  Prove that you mean what you say.  Make the most of the opportunity.  I wish I was there.  It sounds amazing.

Oh, and keep sending me photos and videos, too.  I’m loving them!

New Dictionary Entry

Perspective (n.) /pərˈspɛktɪv/
The mental state that follows when you're bitching about how much work you have to do (on your day off, even!), and your friend asks you if you'd rather go back to being a lawyer.