I've always been a sensitive person. Even as a child, I harbored a deep sense of empathy and a strong sense of justice. I've attributed this trait primarily to my dad. He attended college during the Civil Rights Movement and I can remember him coming home from his studies and hearing his stories of injustice. I'm sure he didn't realize his 4-year old in the other room would be listening intently. He worked a full-time job and after getting off his shift, he would come home and shower, eat a quick dinner and head out for night school. He wanted to make a difference and be a positive impact on society, his dream was to be a school teacher. He made the necessary sacrifices to provide for his family while pursuing his dream and eventually becoming a teacher for a year at a small rural school with less than a dozen students, my sister and I among them.
I don't recall any of the specific stories he told but I can almost feel the conviction of his spirit even now. My mom was a patient sounding board, listening intently and offering him comfort. There were so many injustices in the mid-sixties, from the Civil Rights Movement to the Vietnam War that he was never at a loss for causes. He often talked about the importance of civil disobedience and peaceful assembly and even at my tender age I could comprehend the gravity of these rights. He strongly believed in the importance of having civil discourse and would quote Voltaire "I may disapprove of what you say, but I will fight to the death for your right to say it." That is pretty heavy stuff for a sensitive little soul and I think these early conversations cemented the importance of fairness and justice I've always felt.
Fairness and justice were sometimes at odds with my childhood memories. I used to love to go fishing with my dad. The night before a big fishing trip, we would liberally water the lawn and then bring out our flashlights to hunt nightcrawlers late into the evening. Those memories are suprisingly precious, standing alongside my family under the moonlight, flashlight in one hand and worm bucket in the other. It was.a source of pride to catch the longest and thickest worms, dangling them in front of dad like a prize catch, their skin wet and glistening under the glowing light. I never thought about the fact that I was complicit in sealing their fate. The next day, while we were traveling across the dessert, I would contemplate the fate of the worms and the fish to come. It was such a contradiction to feel so much joy in the planning and the journey but not in the destination.
There were many other moments across my childhood that made a big imprint. I remember writing an essay in junior high about the plight of baby seals hunted for their fur. I recall watching disabled people being ridiculed or belittled in school, too afraid to stand up for them and wrestling with that dissonance after the fact. Watching a documentary exposing men who hunted big game animals for sport and crying for hours over the inhumanity and injustice. Observing deer heads mounted and paraded on pick-up trucks through my home town during hunting season and being powerless to do or say anything to call out the barbaric behavior. I understood the need to hunt to provide food for their families but I could not reconcile the violence that demeaned the sanctity of these beautiful and sentient beings. All of these images formed a deep impression on me and made it impossible for me to just look away.
I have been heavily burdened by the divisiveness across the United States for some time now. It doesn't feel that civil discourse has a place in our culture anymore. Each side of the political spectrum seems unwilling to discuss issues respectfully and intelligently. Social media allows people to hide behind their words, pushing hateful and disrespectful opinions and misinformation that further divide. There seems to be little tolerance for the right to free speech and the importance of being able to "agree to disagree". I've had to limit my exposure to the news and social media to shield and protect myself. If I'm not doing something to make positive change, I am simply a passive bystander and am complicit by way of inaction..
"May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the Universe.
Tiny but mighty.” ~Mary Oliver
I've been lucky to have had a great career and the privilege of building skills and experience that can be useful. I have a stronger conviction now more than ever to be an example of positive change. When I feel overwhelmed by all the negative, I dig deeper to understand how I might leverage my skills and experience for good. I look for ways to spend my time to help my community and the causes I care most about. For instance, I serve on a local Board of Directors to build a pool in my small town. My intention is to help provide a space where children learn to swim and community members can participate in healthy social activities that enrich their lives.. I volunteer for economic development activities that can help bring propserity to rural communities. I've donated brand identity services to a nationwide non-profit that is helping fight injustice for animals.
I know that hope is not a strategy but it sure beats the alternative. My hope is that we can find a way to have meaningful and respectful conversations again. That we can share our differences in a way that honors and respects our differences and especially our sacred humanity. Until then I will strive to use my power for good, to stand up for the poor or the persecuted and to try to live up to the quote by Mary Oliver, "May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the Universe. Tiny but mighty". r
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I was inspired to create this illustration that is accompanied with a poem that I love about the importance of kindness and the impact we can make to the smallest creatures we share the planet with. All of which are here for a purpose. Just like you and me.