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Resistance for introverts

June 19, 2018

It’s time to get serious about actively resisting the cruel and inhumane policies of this administration. But what if you’re not the kind of person who wants to be on the front lines, marching and phone banking? Is there a place for introverts in all this?

Hell yeah. Come on in, the resistance is fine.

I’ve jotted down a few ideas here, but this is certainly not a comprehensive list. See what you can do. Then read some articles about incarcerated babies as young as 3 months old who have been stolen from their families … and get angrier. And then do a couple more things.

Here we go:

Make a phone call.

Just kidding. Phone calls are terrible. I only speak to three people on the phone, and one of them brings me food. But if you DO want to make a phone call, use a script! The person on the other end will never know, and phone calls do make a difference — elected officials keep track of how many constituents care about a particular issue; one major gauge is how many phone calls they receive.

The ACLU has a great script here. Make it fun by pretending you’re an old-timey person who actually uses a phone to make calls.

Reach the Congressional switchboard at 202-224-3121. Or use an app like 5 Calls to streamline the process.

Fax someone. Seriously.

Have you ever wondered who has a fax machine anymore? The answer is Congress!

That hunk of equipment actually makes for a very easy way to reach your representatives. Resistbot will help you contact them via fax, and you don’t even have to download anything or use an app. In under 2 minutes, you can send a very real message.

Bonus: Imagine the halls of Congress going “Beeeeeep. Blorp. Blorp. ZZZZZZZMZZMZMZZ!!” all day long. #Satisfying

Sign a petition. They’re everywhere.

Write postcards to your elected officials. Sometimes I do this in bars because 1. It discourages people from talking to me. 2. It gives me something to do. 3. Alcohol makes it very easy to let the words flow.

Attend a rally on June 30. Find the closest one to you here.

If you are a person who can’t do crowds for whatever reason, it’s okay. Really.

My friend Karen was at a protest last year when she came across a woman having an extreme anxiety attack. Karen hoisted the woman on her shoulders and carried her through the crowd into an open space, where the woman could finally breathe and rest. But Karen is a 6-foot tall Norse goddess, and Norse goddesses are in short supply.

You don’t have to put yourself in a situation that compromises your own health. While I firmly believe that protests and demonstrations should make everyone a little uncomfortable —the purpose is to agitate, after all — it shouldn’t give you a panic attack before it even starts. There are other things you can do instead.

So marches aren’t your thing. Do you know someone who will be demonstrating on June 30? Support them. Pack lunches for people who will be going. Donate your babysitting services. Show up at your friend’s house this week with poster board and glitter pens and make signs.

Give money. Give as much as you can to organizations that are on the ground and doing the work we can’t. Here’s an easy way to split your donation between several worthy causes. Slate is also keeping an updated list of organizations that need support.

Give time. Maybe you don’t have money but you have some free time. Are there any organizations that are fighting for immigrant justice near you right now? They might need services or goods that you could provide.

Are you super talented at something? Of course you are! Trade your talent in exchange for donations to your favorite charity. It’s simple. Tell your friends that you’ll give a free manuscript consultation, edit an essay, walk a dog, embroider something, bake a magnificent cake, whatever, if they donate at least XXX amount to your charity of choice.

Reach out to others. I keep a stack of index cards and some markers in the glovebox, and sometimes I leave friendly notes on the windshields of cars with progressive bumper stickers. My messages don’t say much more than “Stay strong!” or “Keep up the good fight!” or even just “Thank you for supporting Hillary.” Resistance is exhausting. It helps morale to get a nice note every once in a while.

Shop at immigrant-owned local businesses and eat at immigrant-owned restaurants.

Refer someone. Do you know an immigrant who could use legal services? Direct them to this list here. Offer to drive them to the office or volunteer to stay with the kids while they go.

Read books and stay informed on the issues. The more knowledge you have, the less likely you are to remain silent during uncomfortable discussions.

Take a self-defense class. Of course I don’t advocate fighting anyone. But it is incredibly empowering just to know you could throw a punch if the situation should arise.

Vote.

2017 in summary

December 31, 2017

The world's cutest toddler, running along a beach

My focus word for 2017 was “abundance,” and I spent all year trying my darnedest to cultivate that.

And failing. I failed so hard, you guys. My failures were abundant.

Financially, it was one of my driest years since I started freelancing. There were long and seemingly endless spans of time where nothing was accepted or published, even though I wrote, pitched, queried, and followed up obsessively. At one point I read an article that advised writers to aim for 100 rejections per year, and I cackled like a mad woman in a Brontë novel — I was hitting about 100 rejections (or non-responses) per month.

It was depressing. It felt like I was trying to climb a mountain, and even though I was doing my part, I couldn’t quite get there. I researched the trail, I showed up in hiking boots, I carried all the right gear, I had the motivation and desire to put in the work. Then mere steps from the top, I toppled for whatever reason, forcing me to start all over again.

Just when I considered calling it quits, I attended the Cambridge Writers’ Workshop in magical Granada, Spain. It helped recharge my batteries on just about every level, from inspiring me to write new things and look at my work in a different way to satisfying my itchy feet and proving I can still travel solo.

Soon after, I placed some of my favorite pieces, like this essay for LitHub about Silent Book Club, a piece about wildflowers and making my own roots in the desert for Palm Springs Life (the online version is a little wonky with some repeated paragraphs, but you can see it here anyway), and a funny/sad essay about a rat for Mutha Magazine.

I also started hosting a radio show about books with Tod Goldberg. I received an acceptance from an outlet that has been on my byline bucket list for decades. I registered for the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop, because I want to find my way toward humor writing again. I read 51 books.

Other good things happened: A road trip to Vegas, a quick jaunt to Portland, a terrific visit with my sister. I reconnected with old friends and made some new ones. As a family, Jason, Everest, and I slept in a tipi under the stars in Pioneertown, hiked through a couple of Canada’s spectacular national parks, and explored Vancouver, now one of our favorite cities.

Also Everest turned 3, and he has grown into someone I genuinely love to hang out with. He’s funny and weird and makes me laugh until I wheeze. We have dance parties, take silly selfies, and haven’t found a trail yet that we don’t want to explore.

In November Everest and I hiked 30 miles together, and most of those were quiet morning jaunts, clambering over rocks, scraping up knees, and listening to birdsong. I cherish every one of those miles.

Now we’re ending on a high note. We just finished a family road trip that was just about as perfect as those things get. We started by seeing the Yayoi Kusama exhibit at The Broad in Los Angeles, and stayed the night in Solvang, a quirky Danish-themed town. Then we spent a few easy days at Morro Bay, listening to seals bark, running on the beach, and sipping hot cocoa as the sun sank.

Our last morning in Morro Bay is a memory that I hope lasts, as it seems to sum up the whole year for me. It’s Everest, barreling down the pastel beach, gathering sand dollars by the handful. He carries them to me, holds these urchins to his chest, makes careful piles of them. He tosses some into the ocean; the rest he tucks into the pockets of my old college sweatshirt.

This is abundance. My pockets hang heavy with sand and salt and shells, and my heart is so full it’s buoyant. I am sand dollar rich, and I have all the things that matter.

Citizen journalism in the age of Trump

February 26, 2017

These are anxious times for free media. We have a president who systematically and deliberately delegitimizes the press, fears the truth, and views the First Amendment as a threat. At the same time, many newsrooms are lean and have limited resources.

There is hope, though. Thanks to social media, the Internet, and the proliferation of media outlets, there is an opportunity for anyone to become a citizen journalist – engaging, informing, and educating others.

Like it or not, we are the truth-tellers now. And this is how to do it.

Work a beat

It’s too easy to become overwhelmed by outrage fatigue. Instead, find one or two issues that you are passionate about, whether it’s gun violence, climate change, immigration, healthcare, LGBTQ equality, religious freedom, etc. Research those issues, and channel your energy in that direction. Become your own expert.

Be persistent

This is particularly important when confronting members of Congress who don’t value the voices of their constituents. When the voicemail is full, fax them. When the email goes unanswered, go to their office and knock on the door. Remember: When someone is evasive, that means you’re on the right track.

Greet the news with skepticism

Don’t be an impulse buyer of news. Read beyond the headlines. Find primary sources. Question numbers. Read transcripts in their entirety.

Be accurate with the news you spread

Confirm numbers. Look up facts. Make sure quotes are in context. Spreading falsehoods ruins your credibility, and other people will no longer take you seriously.

Demand answers

If you’re talking to an elected official, assert your power. They work for you. If you receive a response that isn’t adequate, call them on it. Ask what they’re going to do about the problem, how will they accomplish this, and when you can expect results.

Be clear

Communicate your message in a clear, concise way. We’re often talking about complex issues with a lot of nuance – we must cut through the noise to help people understand what is important and how it affects them.

Listen

A lot of people don’t post their politics on Facebook, tweet their issues, or write letters to the editor. They make their voices heard at the ballot box. It’s imperative we listen to their concerns now so we know how to best address them. We don’t want a surprise in 2018.

Ask questions

Find out why your friend, neighbor, or relative voted the way they did. Ask what they are looking for and what they hope to achieve. Why do they feel what they feel? Give up trying to find common ground; just find their ground.

Amplify the voices that aren’t being heard

The people who are loudest have an agenda, and their voices are already well represented. Find those who aren’t being heard and lift them up.

Look for new entry points into the conversation

I love novels because fiction allows us to address important issues at an angle. Fictional characters offer a distance we don’t get with the news, and it opens up valuable entry points for conversation. Find books, movies, TV shows that allow you to have difficult talks with other people.

Use the tools of storytelling

Legislation isn’t just a dusty document in some Congressperson’s office. These decisions affect real people, real families, maybe even you. Find the human story, as well as the significance and meaning of the story, and make the connection that policy is personal. Form a compelling narrative. Explain why this story matters.

Top 5 Faves in Magical, Mellow Yellow Springs

August 4, 2012

I grew up down the road from Yellow Springs, Ohio. My household was fairly conservative and military, so Yellow Springs was always referred to as That Place.

That Place with the hippies.

That Place with the freaks.

That Place where people write poetry and eat tofu and smoke the pot.

As a kid I went to That Place a few times, mostly field trips and a sixth-grade trip to the nature preserve. Whenever I returned home, my parents examined me for signs of corruption by That Place, the same way they scrutinized my dog for ticks every time she wandered off too far in the woods.

But, of course, my parents couldn’t see what That Place had done to me. They didn’t know my stomach grew tingly and warm each time I reached village limits. They couldn’t see the way Yellow Springs made both my head and my heart expand. Over the years, my strong love for the place only increased the more time I spent there.

I won’t go so far as to say Yellow Springs is perfect. But it was perfect for me. It is a challenging, creative place, and I found my way there during the most impressionable time of my life. I don’t know if I would be the same person today if I hadn’t grown up seeing so many politically-active, socially-progressive, intelligent, artistic and fun people, all living together in 1.9 gorgeous square miles.

Now that I live in California, I make a point of visiting Yellow Springs every time I return to Ohio. I still toy with the idea that I’ll end up with a home in Yellow Springs one day. Or maybe a simple cabin. Or a little artists’ retreat. Something. Anything.

Of course, I always come up with this plan in the summer, when Ohio winters still seem like a romantic notion. The reality of living there with slick streets, snowstorms and bone-freezing weather might not be that great.

That said, if you’re making a trip through Southwest Ohio — at any time of year — I highly recommend stopping by Yellow Springs. It’s by far my favorite place in the Midwest and ranks among my happiest places on earth.

Here are the five best things about it:

1. A bike path that promotes health and helps the environment. The Little Miami Scenic Trail, which runs from Yellow Springs to Xenia, is part of an 80-mile trail network that extends from eastern Cincinnati to Buck Creek State Park near Springfield. That means you can see a lot of Ohio on zero gas!

2. Beautiful local businesses. Yellow Springs makes a point to cultivate beauty in their community, which includes a network of unique shops and artisans you won’t find anywhere else.

3. Art is integrated into a way of life. Buildings are colorful, flowers are plentiful and yarnbombing is a way of life!

Check out some of the yarnbombers here.

4. Places where you can really get away from it all. Nature lovers can get their fix at Glen Helen Nature Reserve and John Bryan State Park. Both places are perfect for walking, wandering, getting lost and getting found.

If you spend too much time in front of a computer, here’s your antidote.

5. A variety of flavors are represented and respected. Where else can you get samosas, lomo saltado and vegan soft serve ice cream — all within one block?

World-class architecture in … Columbus, IN.?

July 20, 2012

I first heard about Columbus, Indiana from a boyfriend. He said it was the greatest non-city he’d ever seen — a rural town stocked with extraordinary architecture, fantastic public art and some very cool shops. However, that boyfriend also snacked on dried cuttlefish, had a pill-popping habit and stretched out my skirts by wearing them while I was at work. We really didn’t have all that much in common, other than that we both liked sleeping with men. When the relationship dropped off my radar, so did Columbus, Indiana.

That was years ago.

This summer, I traveled to Indianapolis with The Husband, a man who doesn’t eat any variety of dried fish or delve into my closet. Looking for fun things to do with him and my mother-in-law, I suddenly remembered Columbus and suggested a day trip.

“Why Columbus?” The Husband said. It was the same tone of voice someone might use to say, “Why eat deep-fried horse poop?”

Since he grew up in Indianapolis, sure, he’d heard of Columbus before. But he’d never actually gone there, and he certainly didn’t know it was supposed to be something remarkable.

I rattled off the facts about the place: Columbus has a population of just 44,000 but is ranked sixth in the nation by the American Institute of Architects for innovative building designs. Only Chicago, New York, San Francisco, Boston and Washington D.C. rank higher. “National Geographic Traveler” magazine ranked Columbus as number 11 on their list of 109 great historic destinations in the world. And it was less than one hour from where we were standing.

For our day trip, we didn’t create an itinerary, do any intense research or sign up for the official bus tour, though I’m sure it’s very nice. We simply hopped on the highway and drove straight to the Columbus Area Visitors Center, 506 Fifth St., located in downtown Columbus.

There we got a map, downloaded the Columbus tourism iPhone app and put the two together to create our own custom tour. First stop was the Large Arch by sculptor Henry Moore. It stands immediately in front of the Bartholomew County Library, designed by I.M. Pei, the same architect who created the glass pyramid in front of the Louvre.

Across the street was First Christian Church, 531 Fifth St., a buff brick and limestone structure designed by Eliel Saarinen in 1942. The light hit it in the most perfect way.

The Bartholomew County Veterans Memorial, 200 Washington St., is one of the most effective memorials I’ve ever seen. Twenty-five limestone columns, rising 40 feet into the air, are engraved with the names of those who gave their lives — along with excerpts of selected correspondence.

Walking through the pillars is a meditative, intimate experience.

The Second Street Bridge, designed by J. Muller International, was completed in 1999 and is the first of its kind in North America.

The local newspaper, The Republic, has this gorgeous office building at 333 Second St. It was designed by Myron Goldsmith of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill in 1971, specifically for the newspaper. I love the openness and transparency of the building — just perfect for an office of communications.

This whimsical door (photobombed by The Husband) was at the Children’s Museum, 309 Washington St.

Columbus City Hall, 123 Washington St., has cantilevered arms to frame the two-story, semi-circular window wall of glass.

Even the Bartholomew County Jail, 543 Second St., is rather pretty. It fits right into the downtown structure and design.

First Baptist Church, designed by Harry Weese and completed in 1965, is covered in hand-laid slate, drawing attention to the dramatic, non-dimensional bell tower. Located at 3300 Fairlawn Dr.

This minimalist showpiece is First Financial Bank, 707 Creekview Dr. “Dwell” magazine said, “It may be the most refined bank branch in the world.”

Another First Financial Bank, 2580 Eastbrook Plaza. Another Harry Weese design. This one isn’t really my style, but it does nicely blend with nearby bridges and businesses.

And this is my favorite thing of all — North Christian Church, 850 Tipton Lane. I’m told locals call it The Oil Can Church. Designed by Eero Saarinen and completed in 1964, this church has a six-sided building, a sloping roof and a slender 192-foot spire, topped by a teeny-tiny cross. If the Jetsons were regular churchgoers, they would probably go here.

I absolutely fell head over heels for Columbus, and our day there was decidedly too short. I only saw about half the things I wanted to see. It actually made me regret not going there many years ago with the ex-boyfriend.

Though it was the architecture that drew me there, what hooked me went well beyond the bricks and buildings. Columbus just does so many things right, from plentiful, free wifi to chic bike racks all over town. It is a place that values creativity, art and originality, which is rare to find in many cities of any size, let along a small, Midwestern town.

Columbus has a small-town, friendly feel with many modern touches. Somehow they’ve managed to respect the past while continually moving forward. I can’t wait to go back.

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