My daughter has developed a brilliant coping mechanism for her tantrums. She takes a magazine (astonishingly politely, she asks if we have finished with it first), and begins to shred it up into tiny pieces.
I think of this and, compared to some less constructive “adult coping mechanisms,” I am proud of her. Eventually she becomes so engrossed in the task that she calms down and is able to cope again. Later, we can even talk about what it is that made her so mad.
She first created and demonstrated this skill on the floor of the back seat of the car a couple of weeks ago, where I still keep the huge pile of shredded magazine.
She did it again yesterday when she was mad about going to school. We gave her an extra copy of our latest Advocate.
I’m thinking that I should bring home a copy of the latest Rolling Stone, JUST so she can rip it up. Or maybe I should think about my own ability to cope.
There was much buzz today about the Twitter / Facebook relationship after @ev’s talk at the Churchill Club last night in San Francisco. But in the wee hours, my particular Twitter moments were a bit quieter. Maybe just a bit.
I had a passing fantasy sometime between the insomniac hours of 3a and 5a today (which I passed largely by catching up on the Twitter stream of my friends and colleagues from “Old Europe” — thanks @yojibee, @oliver, @jamesfarrar and others for the company!) that Twitter – particularly via its direct-message functionality, could eventually become my only email interface. Then it would be “goodbye” to my perennially heavy inbox and the respective perennial bad feelings at not responding as I should — a burden lifted, a liability reduced.
Because in the Twitter-as-Inbox world, messages just fleet by, and only what is happening in the moment matters. Direct message queue? Irrelevant — plus, 140-character-dispatches are much easier to respond to than the typical heavy tome that I myself tend to compose. Anything important flit by yesterday or last week in one of the countless unread tweets? No worries — If it’s important enough, it would be retweeted.
Only the moment matters. Peace is every step. What a gift it would be! I could concentrate on my breathing. “Breathing in, I calm my body. Breathing out, I smile.”
But then again, it would have been nice to be sleeping. Or maybe cleaning out my email inbox.
Much has been written and discussed since November 4, 2008 in the attempt to sort out why our efforts in California against Proposition 8 failed to actually beat the proposition. We should of course study hard and learn from mistakes, and above all move forward with this momentum. But what continues to impress me the most is the collective spirit of giving — of all of your stories — that has taken place as a result of this profound effort. I devoted myself for an all-too-short time to the No On Prop 8 campaign (big thanks to my friend Calla Devlin for that opportunity), and for the record, I am honored to have been a part of it. I believe it has forever changed me in ways I’m not even fully aware of yet. Every one of you who played a part in sharing your stories during the campaign — you have affected me deeply. And you still do.
No On Prop 8 on Facebook
Anthony shared how he was a “recovered homophobe” — and how he overcame it. Eric twittered about being alone with a sign down in Los Angeles. A Mormon woman from California reached out, against the formal advice of her community, to say I cannot in mercy vote to destroy the legal protections they now enjoy. Entire families worked on the hard conversations, overcame fear, attended weddings, and wrote about it to others. People sold out the signs and rallied by the thousands. People of any persuasion stepped up for the right thing, to vote no on Prop 8. Steven, a straight man from Utah, stood by us faithfully in support. And every day, Abby sent us a personal dose of encouragement and cheer via Twitter. Those are just a few stories, off the top of my head, and are all YOU. T’was the season of personal giving — and it still is.
No On Prop 8 on Twitter
You continue to share your stories in person, on the streets thanks to Join the Impact, and on various social networks: over 172,000 of you on Facebook, 3,200 of you on Twitter, 4,500 on MySpace, and 300 on LinkedIn — which is not to mention the tens of thousands of views on a YouTube channel that rivaled Obama’s in popularity in the days leading up to the election (with — in a first for any political campaign in this country — YOU submitting stories for the official channel) – and the countless blogs and blog comments. I salute YOU.
It is with that spirit that I’m impressed with the organizations involved in the campaign that are striving to bridge the gap between traditional and new media, with the ultimate goal of giving us all a place to be. Check out this page published by the NCLR yesterday:
No longer is it an official press release vs. a blog: it’s just you telling your story. Molly Tafoya recently shared this insight with me: the gift is not to tell people how to feel, but to help people talk about it. To help people share their stories: dare I say that this is the entire point?
Just at this moment @Pistachio comes in, as she is wont to do, with just the right lyric at just the right moment:
“I’m not being radical when I kiss you. I don’t love you to make a point. It’s the hollow of my heart that cries when I miss you.”
“Love is stronger than any words anyway” (Catie Curtis). Find a channel — any channel — but find a channel and, with your words, your pictures, your videos — share about who you are. Because in the end, the most radical thing to do is just to be — who you are.
On the day before the 30th anniversary of Harvey Milk’s death, I can’t say it a better way than this:
“There’s hope for a better tomorrow… And you, and you, and you have got to give them hope.”
Moya Watson 