Friday, October 29, 2010

Yes we still can

With the midterm elections just a few days a way I’m reminded of the passion and excitement of 2008.
I remember hearing Obama speak at Liberty Memorial shortly before the presidential election. My friend Tamra stood on my shoulders so she could catch a glimpse of the future president. Thousands of people stood around as Obama declared that he would fight for us regular middle class Americans.
“Yes we can!” the crowd cheered.
Two years later Obama doesn’t seem to tout the same audacious hope that he used to. In the midst of recession, and the long drawn out passage of health care reform, Obama seems more on the defensive.
Not surprisingly democrats and independents are not as enthused as we were in 2008. Tea Partiers have their base rallied, but honestly I don’t hear the same enthusiasm coming from the left. And my message to those of us who identify with the progressive movement is Yes We Still Can!
Obama’s message wasn’t “Yes I can.” It was “Yes we can.” His campaign’s success was its simple grassroots nature. I see the same strategies played out in the Tea Party. They aren’t just following a group of candidates; they are following a movement.
Whatever side of the political isle you fall on I believe that the majority of people have good motives and genuinely care. Maybe it’s pre-wedding idealism talking but I honestly think most people love their families and want to help make the world a better place. (Don’t get me wrong I know there are douche bags out there but I want to focus this blog on the rest of us.)
The political process is necessary for our democracy to survive but true change goes beyond politics.
Yes we can make a difference. Real change requires people connecting with others. Change can’t happen in Washington until it first happens in us. When you’ve worked in a third grade inner city classroom school finance seems personal. When you have gay friends you naturally want them to have the same rights as their heterosexual counterparts. When you know a senior on a fixed income you become concerned about the fate of Medicare.
The flame behind Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign wasn’t a charismatic politician from Chicago, it was us.
Yes we can be the change we want to see. And next Tuesday I urge you to vote for the candidate you believe will make that happen. For some of my friends I know that will be a Republican and that’s okay. Regardless of what happens Tuesday, lets remember the fervor we had in 2008. Let’s get out in the community, connect with others and become the change that we desire.
Because, yes we still can.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Music, momories and milestones

Well, it’s fall so I feel like I should write another blog, for the few readers I have out there in the blogosphere (you know who you are).

I went to a Waterdeep concert last Friday. Earlier that day I had visited my alma matter to interview Miss Rodeo Kansas, who happens to be a MidAmerica Nazarene University nursing student. The trip to MNU quickly turned into a venture down memory lane.

Needless to say, I felt nostalgic when I arrived at the Waterdeep show. I started listening to Waterdeep when I was 16-years-old.
16-year-old Arley and 27-year-old Arley are so different that it’s hard for me to even comprehend what’s going through teenagers minds when I talk to them these days. Although, having three teenage sisters, I certainly try my best.

In college I started going to as many Waterdeep concerts as I could. During high school my first two years of college I went through what I now call my assuredly-obnoxious-right-wing phase.

That phase concluded when spent a year in Philadelphia. During that time I listened to my Waterdeep CD’s whenever I got homeless. (I also listened to Garth Brooks to curb my homelessness.)

Waterdeep has been a part of my life for almost 12 years. During every phase of life Don and Lori’s music provides encouragement and support. The songs are like a friend who simply listens, without judgment or advice sprinkled with false hope.
The same Waterdeep songs I listened to at 16 still strike a cord. While the lyrics meanings continue to adapt and reach different levels, they provide consistency that I appreciate.

The Waterdeep concert reminded me of my belief in a God who doesn’t change, despite how frequently I do. There’s something profoundly comforting about a deity who finds delight in me- in all my quirks, moments of anxiety, times of joy and periods of utter confusion.

In this newest phase of life I’m entering, marriage, I realize that Logan will never know me completely or understand all the underlying issues that make me tick. Just as I will never fully understand him. The idea that there is a God who does, is a faith to which I still cling.

Friday, May 28, 2010

69th Street Terminal, making all stops

I am a fan of public transportation. I admit the only time I’ve ever ridden the Metro in Kansas City is as a shuttle in the Trolley Run. Never the less, when I travel I use public transit.

I went to Philly in April for the ACES conference (http://www.copydesk.org/). I arrived in Philly the afternoon before the conference with plenty of time to spare.

I planned to take SEPTA, Philly’s transit system, into Center City to get to my hotel. Seeing as how it’s been six years since my year-long stint in Philly, I forgot that the best method to get from the airport to Center City is the train.

I saw the bus stop before I saw any signs to direct me to a train terminal. With $2 worth of quarters in hand I boarded to bus to the 69th Street Terminal.

An hour later I arrived at the 69th Street Terminal, still 30 minutes from my desired destination. The hour long bus ride gave me the opportunity to remember how it feels to be the minority (I was the only white person on the bus until about six stops in and even then the white girl that boarded the bus looked sorely out of place). The scenic bus route also gave me a chance to see West Philly neighborhood by neighborhood.

When I planned my trip to Philly I scheduled time to visit with friends from Greater St. Matthew, the church I attended when I lived in West Philly. I was eager to see Pastor Johnson and all the ladies who became my surrogate grandmas during my year in the inner city.

I wanted to see my friends from my old neighborhood as well but I worried that I wouldn’t feel comfortable. When I lived in Philly in 2004, I proudly touted the label “light skinned” (the high school girls I worked with at West Philly High assured me that I wasn’t white) I now knew myself as a single white women, distant from the issues my West Philly neighbors dealt with on a daily basis.

I don’t hear gun shots in my midtown apartment in Kansas City, nor do I see drug dealers on the corner every time I come home from work. I don’t worry that my children, if I am ever blessed to have any, might get sucked into the lifestyle of the corner or bullied if they do well in school. I don’t worry about the houses next to me falling down or being looted for scrap medal. I don’t worry about these things that are constant issues in my former neighborhood on Yewdall. I don’t worry about these things because I no longer live there. And I felt like the distance I created might be too much for my former neighbors to welcome me back.

In a neighborhood where white people represent cops, social workers and teachers, I worried that I could no longer be considered a neighbor.

As I looked out the bus window at the West Philly neighborhoods filled with water ice shops, children playing in the streets and elderly women sitting on their porches, my desire to see my old friends surpassed my fear of being an outsider.

When the bus finally arrived at the 69th Street Terminal I hopped on the El and made my way to 13th Street. I smiled as I passed the 56th street stop. I hurried to my hotel, grabbed a cheese steak from Reading Terminal and then got on the subway to head back to West Philly.

I got off the 56th Street terminal with a confidence that said, “I belong here.” Logan assures me that despite my silver hoop earings I did not look like I belonged when I walked down the steps onto Market Street.

I walked down 56th Street to Vine and then headed to Yewdall. I looked down as I walked and noticed the litter. I’d liked to say that a smiling child’s face stood out among all the things I saw as I walked from 56th and Vine to my former street off Yewdall and Race. Honestly, I have to say the litter stood out the most. To be fair there didn’t seem to be many children playing outside at that time and I couldn’t walk an inch without stepping on some cheese curl package or empty artificial juice container. Where is the warm fuzzy moment I’ve been waiting for? I wondered.

When I stepped onto Yewdall I found my warm fuzzy. Her name is Miss Mary.
I saw Miss Mary as I rounded the corner in her usual spot on her porch.
During my year in Philly, everyday when I walked home from West Philly High I would stop and talk to Miss Mary. We talked about my day at work, the neighborhood gossip and Oprah. I really enjoy the older crowd, as in senior citizens, and Miss Mary ranks among my favorite.

I wonder if she’ll remember me, I thought as I started to cross the street toward her house.

“Is that my girl?” Miss Mary stood up and yelled across the street in her signature scratchy voice.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, with a smile on my face and a tear in my eye.

I jogged over to Miss Mary’s and she gave me a giant hug as if I was her prodigal daughter.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she said.

I stood on the porch as we caught up. She told me who still lived on the street, who recently had children and how our community garden was doing.

I promised Miss Mary that I would write her when I got back to Kansas City. I left Miss Mary’s and went on to Greater Saint Matthew where I met up with one of my all time favorite spiritual mentors, Pastor Gregory Johnson.

There are so many things in life that compartmentalize us and separate us from others. Black and white. Liberal and conservative. Believer and skeptic. Sacred and secular.

In that small block on Yewdall in West Philly those labels seem to melt away. When I ran to Miss Mary’s porch I didn’t feel like a white, social just do-gooder from the MidWest. I felt like Arley. I felt human. I felt like I belonged.

This is the Kingdom of God. Or at least it’s what I envision as the Kingdom of God- when our love for others breaks down our fears and misconceptions.

Pastor Johnson teaches this unifying faith. And describes God’s love in a way that’s both overpowering and real.

Sometimes I wonder if there’s a bus to heaven (figuratively, not theologically). I mean, on the highway heaven I doubt we’ll be sporting our separate SUVs. A bus makes more sense. If there is a bus to heaven I hope that I’m fortunate enough to sit by someone with as much love as Pastor Johnson and Miss Mary.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Next big move

Well, it looks like for the time being this blog will be quarterly rather than monthly, or even weekly as I had anticipated.
I travel to Philly in less than three weeks and the memoir is not quite as far along as I had hoped. Okay, I must admit that last sentence is a gross understatement. Truthfully, I’ve hardly written anything at all.
But with my trip approaching I have reminisced** on my time in Philly and my transition back to Kansas. My year in Philadelphia was the first time I’d lived more than on hour from home and the first time I’d ever lived in an urban environment. During that year, I often felt like Rhoda from the Mary Tyler Moore show when she first moved to New York to start a show of her own.
After I left Philadelphia I knew I wanted to live in the city after I finished college, I only had one year left at that point. I envisioned my self living in house full of hipsters, of course at the time I was unfamiliar with the term hipsters. But linguistics aside, I saw myself in an urban area surrounded by artsy like minded people who wanted to make a difference in the community.
Well, life does not always go according to plans. After college funds were low and I ended up living in a duplex in Olathe surrounded by introverts who liked Thomas Kinkade. This was not the optimal environment for an idealist progressive but I tried to make due.
That first year after college was rough. I did not make enough money to live on my own, I had serious health issues before my employer-based insurance kicked in and GW was still president.
After the lease expired in what I now refer to as the Duplex of Doom. I got a second job and found a lovely, quaint place in Midtown with affordable rent. I connected with some awesome friends, learned how to karaoke and swore off roommates all together.
Well, the time has come for me to renig on my anti-roommate policy. In June I will give up my home sweet home to move in with that special someone. I will no longer live in the city, with the ghetto just a few minutes away, and hipsters on either side of me. Actually, I moving to Lawrence, so the hipsters on either side of me will likely remain. And so will my passion for community involvement.
In many ways it seems like a chapter in my life will end when I move to Lawrence. And you could say a chapter ended when I moved back from Philly.
But I don’t think chapters in life end as much as they blend into one another. Look forward to more blogs from me as my narrative extends back to the awesomest side of the state line.

**Andy Marso’s recent blog post also inspired my reminiscing. (http://andymarso.blogspot.com)

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Beyond the New Year's resolution

Prompted by a Facebook status that said “What are your New Year’s resolutions?” I actually came up with some loft goals on Dec. 31- drink more water and complain less. You might notice the word blog appeared no where in my simple resolutions. While I’ve thought about starting a blog for some time I just didn’t want to resolve to do anything that I might not be able to accomplish. When it comes to resolutions I typically make them for the sheer purpose of boosting my self esteem. “Oh my goodness I drank 16 ounces of water today, how awesome am I?” I imagine myself saying by Jan. 15.

I did drink more than 16 ounces of water yesterday. And I do think that’s pretty awesome but I also realize how meaningless these annual resolutions actually are. Reading Donald Miller’s blog (http://donmilleris.com) reminded me that resolutions are just words on a page. And if those words don’t connect with the story you are writing with your life, they are empty.

So that got me thinking, what kind of story am I writing with my life? To be honest, this question has loomed in my mind since I read Miller’s “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years” this fall (http://www.amazon.com/Million-Miles-Thousand-Years-Learned/dp/0785213066/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1244329343&sr=1-7).

Too often the stories of my life are introspective ramblings created by my own neurosis and insecurities. In contrast, some of the best stories I’ve heard are told by my grandparents are other older people I know. When I’m 70 I hope I can have more to say about my life than recollections of when I said the wrong things or offended the wrong people.

When I grow old I hope it's the silly episodes with my sisters and cousins, the fun times with friends or the summers full of road trips and concerts that I share with my grandkids. And I also hope I can look back on my life and say that throughout my career as a journalist I served as a voice for the disenfranchised and told the stories that wouldn’t have otherwise surfaced.

Six years ago I took time off from school to try to figure out what I wanted to do after college. I spent a year in West Philly through a program called Mission Year (http://www.missionyear.org). My time Philly completely changed how I viewed the world. A few months into my time there two of my roommates witnessed a drive by shooting. While walking through a park near our house they heard gunshots and dropped to the ground. While they weren’t harmed the incident did leave a casualty. We were all shaken up. The next day I scanned the through the Philadelphia Inquirer and found nothing about the shooting or the death.

During the whole year it seemed like I had entered into a forgotten, lost segment of society. The schools where I volunteered did not have books in some classrooms and most bathrooms at West Philly High didn’t even have soap. We had to walk through drug dealers on the corner openly making transactions to get home. Every day felt like an episode of “The Wire” (http://www.hbo.com/thewire).

I hadn’t actually scene “The Wire” before I came to Philly. The truth was I entered the situation very naive to the conflicts of the inner city. I knew all about small town drama and meth addiction. But I honestly had no idea that there were schools in the United States where less than 3 percent of third graders are proficient in reading. I didn’t realize that there were communities in this country where men are more likely to go to prison than graduate high school. I had never knew third-graders could flaunt there sexuality for power.

In Philadelphia I collided with a reality that I didn’t know existed. In Philadelphia I came face to face with new stories every day. “This is what journalism is about,” I thought. At the end of Mission Year, part of me wanted to stay in Philly. But I decided to come back to Kansas, finish my degree and see where a career in journalism would take me. I knew I would never forget the stories I became a part of in Philly and promised myself at some point I would write them.

I want 2010 to be the year that I make good on that promise. Donald Miller says we should create “inciting incidents” to propel our stories into action. This year, I signed up for a copy editing conference in Philadelphia. I plan to visit my old neighborhood in Philadelphia and hope that the trip will help me as a work on my memoir about my time there. I also created this blog as an inciting incident.

I hope it inspires people to ask me how things going with the memoir, because the idea that people might ask me how things are going will motivate me to actually write. I also plan to share some of the stories about I’m writing about Philly on this blog.

In the mean time I still plan to drink more water and complain less. Happy New Year!

-Arley