Why I Love the State of the Union Address

Today I realized that the State of the Union Address is like my Superbowl.  I look up the date far in advance so that I can save it on my calendar.  The day of, I wait in crazy anticipation.  When I live at home, I make my family stop what they’re doing and come sit on the big green couch to watch, comment, applaud, and question with me.  This year, I am in India so text message and email reminders had to do. 

Because I’m in India, the address was at 7:30am. I woke up extra early so I could get my workout in and shower before Mr. President started speaking.  When I walked to the gym, it was still pitch black, the stars were still twinkling, and I couldn’t help but think that I should probably win the most dedicated SOTU viewer award.  I burst through my apartment door at 7:28 and didn’t even wait for my water to heat up but jumped into a cold shower so I wouldn’t miss the opening remarks.  I prayed all morning that my internet would work and the times that it stopped I begged God to help it buffer quickly.  I chatted with my live stream, commenting back to the president’s remarks.  The net cut out before he could say “God bless America”, and I felt like I missed the buzzerbeating basket in game 7/7 of the NBA Finals.  I quickly looked up the speech so I could read his ending, but it just wasn’t the same.

My computer couldn’t handle watching the responses, so it was on to Twitter.  It’s kind of an awkward moment when you get so distracted following the #SOTU @Twitterfeed and fact checkers that you end up realizing its time to leave for work around the time you’re supposed to arrive and your boss calls as you’re unlocking the office door 20 minutes late.  But all day long I was on cloud nine; SOTU had absolutely made my day.  It was all I could do to not keep up with the aftermath while I was at work, and I couldn’t wait to get home to reread the speech and some more reactions.

Why do I love the State of the Union address so much?  I think it started back in 10^th grade, when Mr. Cwodzinski scared me into paying attention into current events.  If I didn’t know what was happening and was called on in class, he would most likely shame me into feeling unworthy of being an American citizen.  He taught the ideology that if the president of your country – who may also perhaps be the most powerful person in the world – is addressing the nation, you should listen.  I was scared into listening 10 years ago (WOW I’m old), but I vehemently agree with him; even moreso than I did when I was just watching so I could be “Student of the Day”.

The president of your country is addressing your nation.  You should probably listen.  My sister got mad at me because I told her she should move her basketball game; that there shouldn’t even be campus basketball games scheduled during this time because the president of your country is addressing your nation.  This is important.  Should there even be other options on TV?  Regardless of whether you like him or not, regardless of your political affiliation, regardless of the fact that each and every one of us find the standing ovations to be incredibly annoying and a fantastic waste of time, the president of your country is addressing your nation.  We should prioritize it.  We should teach our children to be involved.  We should be involved ourselves.  If we want the government to be even close to “of the people, by the people, for the people”, we should probably pay attention to what’s going on.

I’m not saying that this is the only day that you can do this.  But it is a big day, the one day that the president addresses, well, the state of our union.  Yes, it’s a  grand summary.  And yes, there’s an agenda (especially during election year…ahem).  And yes, it’s generally over-zealously patriotic, aiming to reassure Americans that everything is ok – great, even – and that America is still the greatest nation on earth.  But the president of your country is addressing your nation.  It’s a chance to hear what’s going on – from his perspective.  A chance to discuss all the important issues in the same place.  It’s a chance to ask questions and to think critically.  A chance to be inspired to research an issue further or to double check some statements that are made.  A chance to learn something about your country…and to talk about it with others.

And that, my friends, is why I love the State of the Union Address.  I wonder if the date for 2013 is published yet…?

New Day, New Start

Ever since the first of January, I have been reveling in the meaning of a new year.  A new year – a new start.  I have also rejoiced in recognizing that we don’t have to wait 365 for another fresh beginning.  Instead, “New day, new start” has more or less become my motto.  The first 19 days of this year haven’t been easy by any means, and believe me – I am more than thankful that every day is a new day.

Even though I was fully awake when my alarm went off this morning, the fact that it was still dark outside tempted me to stay in bed just a little bit longer.  Something about waking up before daylight reminds me of standing outside waiting for my high school bus in a Minnesota winter, and believe me, that is not a pleasant memory.  But it was time to go to the gym.

I walked through my neighborhood, congratulating myself for getting my booty out of bed and feeling uncharacteristically fresh.  I turned the corner.  There in front of me was a glorious sunrise.  Brilliant, I tell you.  Orange, pink, neon yellow.

A new day with a beautiful beginning.  I stopped, I smiled.  What a reminder.  Thanks, God.

Setting Goals

When working on a college application workshop for high school students today, I wrote the question, “What are your life goals?”  It gave me pause, and my mind went rambling.

Those of you who know me well know that I love setting goals.  Every time I hit a crossroads in life, I look back at my goals, make new goals, and see how the paths may lead to achieving these goals.  I make birthday resolutions of goals for my new year.  I have a “dreams and desires” notebook that I’ve kept since my freshman year of college which holds just that – dreams and desires – as well as a 6-year-old Dove dark chocolate wrapper with the ‘promise’ “Make a list of your dreams”.  When mentoring youth, the first thing I challenge them is to make a list of their goals, dreams, and ambitions.  It tells you a lot about who you are, how you were made, and what you were made for (sorry for ending this sentence with a preposition; it’s the Minnesotan in me).

So I thought about my goals.  And I realized that it’s time to seriously reevaluate…because I have achieved most of them.  Yeah.  I’m not bragging or anything, but I feel kind of at a loss.  I’m not even 25 and I’ve achieved most of the goals that I listed: Live abroad: check.  Go to graduate school: check.  Write a book: check.  Go white water rafting: check.  Learn Italian: check.  Learn recycled breathing: Well, I haven’t really started working on this one yet…

But seriously.  Apart from a few adventure goals (explore the Amazon), the funny dreams (be in a Narnia movie), and the very intangible (make a difference), there’s nothing left.  Except to run a marathon, and I’m pretty confident that this won’t happen while I live in Bangalore because the pedestrian safety of this city (aka the walkability of its streets/sidewalks) is .46.  Not sure of what scale that’s on, but I am pretty confident that it is over 50% less than walkable.  Not to mention that every time you try to run, you get chased by a dog. Or two. Or three. Or more.

So. perhaps its time to write more life goals. 

Or maybe, just maybe, my life has taken the turn into an era where I don’t have SMART goals, I don’t have a timeline of my life and of what should happen where.  Rather, I have overarching themes which I want my life to follow – always seek to know God, be known by Him, and make Him known.  Prioritize relationships.  Never stop learning, questioning, contributing.  Love what I do and make sure I am always striving to make a difference.  Live creatively.  Laugh a lot. 

The thought of a life without concrete goals scares me a bit; I really like crossing things off, looking at the list of goals with a little tickmark and a date next to it.  And makes me more than a little bit aware that I don’t want to live aimlessly; without definite purpose.  But there is a strange freedom in the ambiguity of themes, and it’s a freedom that lets me hold onto my life with hands wide open.  A freedom that reminds me to love what I do and do what I love, to never settle for anything that drains me instead of energizing, and to be good to and real with myself at all times.

Hmmmm…

Gross but Beautiful

I recently got an email from a friend that included the text "I've never been to India, but I hear it's both gross and beautiful just a few blocks apart."
This made me stop and think.  and I've been thinking ever since.
Yes, this could be right.  In fact, I think it's the idea that most people have of India - they get it from the media, from others' experiences.  India is colorful, rich in culture, beautiful in people and architecture, but at the same time is dirty, impoverished, loud.  India is ripe with contradiction, and one lives in the midst of disparity.
Every morning I walk through the slum on my way to and from the gym.  I love this area - there are vivid colors, children laughing, a pure simplicity and vibrancy of life and community.  It is beautiful.
But as I walk, I pass babies toddling around naked.  I pass children squatted on the sidewalk, on the side of the street, taking care of their morning business.  I pass men standing on the other side of the wall, urinating.  Some may consider this gross; I can imagine some people I know turning their head, repulsed, saying something like, "Oh thanks, I really needed to see that."  And I am very conscious of the fact that the puddle on the ground aren't from last night's rain.  Yes, it may be gross, but I consider it injustice and  a lack of dignity for these human beings.  I pass fathers bathing their children, mothers washing clothes, both rationing water carefully.  I look at my water bottle and realize that what I take for granted, consider a right, even, is a privilege. (Not to mention the fact that I am on my way to the gym.  Where I pay money to exercise.)
When I walk through the slum, I am invading lives.  But I have no choice; they have no choice.  I'm embarrassed, try to avert my eyes, but everywhere there is life; life that is not mine, life most would consider private, life I should not observe.  And it is hard.  Every morning, my heart breaks.  Every morning, I ask why.  And every morning, I wonder what I am doing that makes any difference.
I have even found myself anticipating the day I have a two-wheeler so that I can ride through without looking.
But then I chide myself.  Just because I don't look doesn't mean it doesn't exist.  I don't ever want to become so unaware or calloused that I don't look.  And, even more, I don't want to live my life looking without seeing.

Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. (Mark Jenkins) 

Children's Day

Today is Children's Day in India, a holiday that we don't commemorate in the U.S.  Why?  I don't know.  When we celebrate children, we celebrate their innocence.  Their joy.  Their laughter.  Their potential.  We want to encourage them.  Empower them.  Learn from them.  Treasure every moment with them.

 Precious.  Precious is this child, and precious is her life.  She is an Adivasi child, living in a small cement house in the clearing of the jungle in Wayanad.  She is the majority of India.  She may fight many odds, but she is the future of India.  She is precious.

 Deepa.  Deepa means light, and her smile brings just that.  

When I see this photo, I can hear the laughter.  Feel the trust. The attitude is carefree; I want to capture that feeling and their love and have it with me always...and then I want to jump into the picture and play, too.

One Year Later

Tonight my house became a home.
Although my little apartment isn't "finished"
and there are still things I want to do -
hang my clocks on the wall,
buy a rug,
turn my maintenance room into an inspiration room -
I knew that in reality it would never be "finished"
and if I didn't have a housewarming party soon,
I never would.

I had 10 people to my humble space
and it was full of warmth, laughter, and conversation
until 1am.
As many of you know, I have a weird memory thing
that allows me to remember
exactly what happened on what day
in days gone by.
It's my "special gift",
as a new friend just named it.

What happened on this day last year?
Read the blog entry from November 6, 2010.
I said goodbye to dear friends,
faced the reality that in no time I would be saying goodbye forever,
and bawled like a baby, holding my girls.

One year later,
I live in Bangalore.
Goodbyes are no longer forever,
I see my girls often,
and one of those dear friends is sitting on my couch.

Life is funny,
God is sovereign.
It only makes me wonder with a smile
What a year from today will hold...

Bob Dylan Across Cultures

Today I heard a beautiful story.

I was at a live poetry night at a local café, so clearly the question, “Who is the greatest cultural figure to come from Minnesota?” wasn’t unexpected.  During my time in India, I have learned that the correct answer to this question is (clearly) Bob Dylan.  The guy I was talking to (We’ll call him D) had a lightbulb “aha” moment where he said, “Yes! THAT’s why I know Duluth Minnesota!  You know, Bob Dylan inspired me to write.”

After the poetry readings, I asked him about his Bob Dylan story.

When he was young, 15/16, he worked at an office.  Work started at 9, but he always came early because he liked to watch the day begin – the maids washing the floors, the flower man bringing flowers, the chai guy setting up outside, a fresh start to a new day.  This was during the time that personalized music ringtones were coming out in India, and they advertised them online.  They advertised simply by playing the song to a screen that said “If you want this ringtone, dial this number.”

It is safe to say that the majority of these busy bees preparing the office for the day to come were of a lower caste, and most didn’t speak a lick of English.  I imagine them simply sharing the space, sharing the morning, being comfortable in each others company.  One day, D had fought with his girlfriend and was especially glum.  One of the workers, a guy from Pune, noticed his demeanor and asked why he was down.  Upon receiving the answer, the worker picked up the phone, dialed, handed D the receiver, and said, “Listen.”

It was Bob Dylan’s Tambourine Man. 

When the song was over, they redialed and listened again.  D was calmed, brightened, cheered.

D asked, “But how do you know this song?”

The worker answered, “I just hear it on the television, and I liked it.  Anytime that I am down I just call the number and listen to this song.  It always makes me feel better and makes my day a little brighter.”

He had merely heard the song on TV.  He didn’t know Bob Dylan as an artist.  He didn’t speak English and therefore didn’t understand the song.  But this didn’t matter – what matters is that the music soothed his soul…so much that he wanted to share it with another in need.

And that, my friends, is the beauty of art.  It speaks across languages, across cultures, across class.  While this worker may not have understood the words of the lyrics, he still understood.