Day 354- Lunacy

Dear Mr. President,

On my way to work this morning I read a New York Times report on an increase in serious mental illnesses on college campuses and corresponding budget cuts which limit the amount of help students can receive. While my own college experience certainly corroborates this, at least anecdotally, my thoughts went first to a mentally ill man we'd recently caught shoplifting at work. When my coworkers and I stopped him he seemed docile enough (if completely delusional) but once in custody he apparently became quite agitated and made threats against the lives of the arresting officers. A man with a similar illness recently committed a murder in my neighborhood, and so the idea of this shoplifter being released worries me for the safety of those who might cross his path once he's released.

There is an old police superstition about the increase in crime and craziness around the full moon. I've heard it from my parents, from other cops, and from the family of law enforcement. I don't know if I believe this. There is a certain amount of mystery to law enforcement I suppose; there have been times when just looking at a person has told me that they're going to steal. I know my coworkers have experienced this, too. I like to think our brains are perceiving something-the aggressive gait, or the furtive looks- that our conscious minds can't identify. But, absent proof of this, I have to at least consider the possibility that maybe there is some small supernatural aspect to understanding when people are ill-intentioned or dangerous. Maybe the full moon means something. (If so, tonight's lunar eclipse is going to make the whole city nuts.)

I don't think that crazy people can be dismissed as solely a celestial phenomena. Our city (and our state, and our country) need to do more to treat the mentally ill-both to ensure public safety and to help individuals function in society. That this area seems to be the quickest to be cut during budget battles is unsettling. Reading this article about the struggle to keep students in crisis alive, I couldn't help but wonder what could possibly be more important than treating those who pose a risk to themselves or others. As I talk to my peers and appreciate how many of us are frustrated at living life constantly struggling just to get by, I can't help but sympathize with those seriously ill I encounter who aren't even doing that well. Because if it's the economy or stress or the full moon, if it's college kids or homeless schizophrenic shoplifters, we all have an interest in understanding, treating and minimizing the harm of mental illness.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 349- Undergraduate Woes

Dear Mr. President,

I really have to admire the students in the UK demonstrating against rising University fees. I don't support acts of violence and I do hope that no one is hurt, but these youth have a right to be upset by their government's decision. While petty and spiteful individuals with experience in the American system of higher education might get some satisfaction seeing our British counterparts forced to face the unreasonable burden of educational expenses that we've been struggling with for a generation, I don't think gloating is particularly productive for either nation. The fact is that American students should have been protesting tuition hikes decades ago. The British students taking to the streets now may not get their way, but at least they won't look back and wonder why they capitulated without a fight. Here, the system has failed us, continues to fail us, but we remain largely silent.

I'm lucky, this year. I qualified for excellent financial aid- not because of a drastic change in my financial circumstances, but because I finally became old enough for the government to stop expecting my parents to support me. A system such as this-one which willfully disregards the economic realities faced by most students and their families- cannot stand for long. A society is stronger and healthier when its people are educated. I don't think that making it more difficult for many and outright impossible for some to access higher education is a socially, fiscally or morally responsible policy.

I appreciate that under your administration paying for college has gotten easier for American students, especially those from low-income backgrounds. Unfortunately, economic conditions and the poor priorities of those who write the Federal and State budgets have led to decreases in funding for public Universities across the country, forcing staff and spending cuts that decrease the value of the education provided at these institutions even as tuition steadily rises. Britain is joining the US in our struggle to balance the desire to offer the best educational institutions in the world and the inability of individuals (or, increasingly, governments) to pay for it. A British friend and I were discussing this today and he pointed out that the money raised by the increase in University fees might help British Universities hire better educators and provide more resources for those attending. Some good might possibly come of this, but it will inevitably be at the expense of the poorest students who will no longer be able to access these resources at all. In the end we both sympathized with the angry, rioting students who'd just seen their educational hopes and dreams lost to the recession.

As I glimpse the light at the end of the dark tunnel that is finals week, I have to say I'm more grateful than ever for the assistance I'm receiving this year. I know I could not be in school without it. I can't say for sure that our country will benefit in equal measure once I get my degree, but I do know that without it I would feel stuck, lost, unable to live up to my full potential.

So as I watch the news from the UK and hope against hope that students there don't end up struggling the way I did as a younger undergraduate student to pay their expenses, I can't help but wonder if those of us who aren't struggling to pay our tuition ought to be doing more to help advocate for those at home and abroad who are.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 345- Family, Finals, and Tolstoy

Dear Mr. President,

I've been thinking a lot about family dynamics today. My aunt is visiting, and, especially with the holidays approaching, I'm observing the complicated way that my family and the families of those around me interact. This afternoon, as I returned from my final (by the way, can you issue an executive order forbidding Saturday morning finals? More on this later.) I was discussing college with a coworker and mentioned that as a younger person I'd dreamed of attending NYU. I lamented that, had I gone, my life would be different, I wouldn't be struggling as a 24 year old to finish my undergraduate degree and subjected to the indignities of Saturday morning final exams. It wasn't ultimately grades or distance or even money that kept me out of NYU- it was my father. And, while the wisdom of the intervening 6 years may have taught me that I likely would have made plenty of my own mistakes, or encountered obstacles and tragedies no matter what he decided about my college possibilities, I still resent him as the reason my life is what it is. It is a resentment that is wholly unproductive, of course, and no excuse for my own faults, but his discouragement mattered so much more at that stage in my life because he was family. I think of him more around the holidays, inevitably, but this year, at least when I'm not having my entire day thrown off by inexplicably scheduled exams, I'm not as troubled as I usually am. I have the love of those people who have supported and encouraged me, and that is so much easier to hold on to and so much easier to think of as family.

No life is simple enough to blame all struggles and problems and Saturday finals on one person or once choice. Mine certainly isn't. Surely one of the essential things that we gain from these experiences are the skills necessary to interact with other humans once we're old enough to be more selective about who we spend our time with. I think the news story that brought all of this rambling about families on is probably pretty obviously the tragedy of Mark Madoff's suicide on the anniversary of his father's arrest, but I sort of lost the nerve to write about it. For one thing, I don't want to read any more, it feels like a private tragedy for a family, the kind that shouldn't be headline news. For another, I can't judge any one in this story. Families are complicated and messy and maybe the one thing that unites all of humanity. I'm sure fathers are screwing up their kids in Afghanistan and Portugal and Senegal and every other country on this planet, and the fierce love and protectiveness I feel for my own current family (blood and otherwise) is reflected in every human in every culture. We're all differently damaged by our families, of course, but I don't believe Tolstoy for a second that this is only true for the damage. Happy families are not all alike. Our happiness, the way we love one another, is surely as varied as our humanity. So I will not speak about the Madoff family, or any family, when it is only mine that I can begin to understand.

My family is simultaneously small and sprawling, the product of choice and circumstance and happy coincidence. They put up with me when I grumble too much about finals on Saturdays. I am grateful for them and for all of their quirks and complexity. And while I challenge myself to put aside my resentful feelings towards the people in my past, it is the people in my life presently that make me appreciative of where I have been and what I have experienced. Perhaps it has more to do with the inevitable reflection caused by the end of this year drawing closer, but I am certain that, however different you and I may be and however differently we may feel about the events that brought us to our current lives, we're both experiencing our own gratitude for the presence of those we love right now in a perfectly un-Tolstoy-like way. So I hope that in the coming weeks you, too, have time to enjoy (and, more than likely at times, suffer through) the presence of family without worrying about anything bigger than that.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

PS

Please think about that Executive Order.

Day 327-Love actually

Dear Mr. President,

Classes were cancelled for me today, and all over the city, businesses, schools and bus routes were shut down in response to (generously) 2 inches of snow. I'll admit I love this about my city, our complete inability to function at the slitest freeze. It's a sad reality, but we don't often get weather like this, meaning that it is just more dangerous to be out. Drivers don't know what they're doing, the city doesn't have a particularly organized response, and the recognition of this danger by local officials and private employers is sort of refreshing. Instead of demanding that we brave the dangerous streets for class or work, they're just willing to put aside these interests for the sake of keeping more people safely at home. It's cute. And comforting.

My roommates and I are bundled up and trying to keep from turning the heat on as long as possible. (Being on the 5th floor helps this, but not much.) We've got both environmental and financial reasons for doing this, but, with temperatures heading to the teens overnight, I'm sure we'll have to give in before too long. We're watching Love Actually, a romantic comedy we've each seen dozens of times since it was released in theaters. (I'm still convinced this movie is the reason my mother suggested we spend Christmas 2006 in London, a trip I continue to be grateful for.) There isn't anything particularly special or profound about this movie; love conquering all is certainly not a new theme, and the cinematic wisdom of getting as many famous people as possible in one movie is questionable. But, no matter how many times we see it, no matter how many lines we quote at one another or how many songs Becca sings along with, we still love this movie. It brought us together, in a way, several years ago before we moved in together, when we gathered in their tiny studio to watch this movie and promise ourselves that particular Christmas would be good for all of us and our respective romantic interests. It was cold, the city teetering on the brink of what would later be called Snowpocalypse, a city-crippling storm that few Seattle natives had ever seen the equal of. But I remember that night and the intense, hopeful warmth that we shared as friends certain our lives could only get better if we believed hard enough.

The next day my life took a memorable turn for the worst, and snow began to fall. I can't help but associate my own downward spiral with the rapidly deteriorating weather. Even now, the very sight of snow and ice, the prospect of months of cold makes me fear another winter feeling alone and depressed. I have to choose to remember the good things- our store closing early and the staff having a snowball fight at Linda's bar. Trudging through snow to feed my mother's cats, only to have them cuddle with me by the fire in her freezing condo. Laughing with these girls before they were my roommates as we made light of the disastrous way things turned out. No matter how hopeless it seemed, it did get better. The snow melted. The city recovered. My heart mended. Getting through this winter may require that I remember this, and remember that no matter how bad things get, I still have my lovely friends.

With the country still suffering from economic depression and the prospect of the Holiday season too much for many families to handle, I hope that we all pull together and keep each other warm, keep each other sane and keep each other safe this winter. (With Republicans already set against extending unemployment benefits for those still struggling, this seems unrealistically optimistic, but whatever, Hugh Grant makes me think the world is not all selfish and terrible.) Putting others, especially those less fortunate than us, ahead of our own selfish concerns is really the kind of love that this holiday season is supposed to be about. I think that if we do that, we'll all make it through till spring in more or less one piece.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 321- A letter I will surely regret writing

Dear Mr. President,

This morning my American Indian Law class had a guest lecturer from our University's law school. He gave an interesting talk on local water rights disputes, and I asked several questions, trying to place the local issues in context with the international water disputes I study in another class. After the bell rang and students lined up to shuffle out, I thanked him for the lecture. My professor began speaking to him and, before I was totally out of earshot, began telling him about me. As much as my ego enjoys overhearing complimentary descriptions of my academic abilities, I hurried out, knowing exactly what would have to come next. This professor, who has encouraged me to consider law school and who has praised my engagement in her class, does have a significant reason to be disappointed in me. I'm often absent from class for no legitimate reason. Her class is not unique in this respect- I have skipped many of my classes this quarter (and over the course of my long college career.) While I have often formed a close bond with professors, or at least a significant rapport, all of the most encouraging and supportive instructors have had the same complaint about my attendance.

For years, for probably my entire life, I have struggled with anxiety and depression. I won't blame my poor attendance entirely on illness, mental or otherwise, because there have been plenty of times when I just sleep too late to make it to class. More often, however, the idea of getting out of bed, or leaving my apartment, or even going through the doors of the classroom has just been too much for me. I will stare at my ceiling, or the door, and I will give myself permission not to go. I will try to rationalize this behavior, claim that I'm not prepared, or that I don't need to go because I've done the reading, but the truth is I often just can't get past the physical anxiety or despair.

As it is now, missing class is pretty much as bad as it gets. There have been times in my life, especially as a very young person, when my depression got so out of hand that I was not functioning at all. I've tried therapy and medication, finding little success with either. One constant, however, has been my inability to discuss these problems frankly, even with professionals. I'm usually the type of person who can narrate the struggles in my life like they happened to some one else. I'm pretty comfortable telling a perfect stranger about my last awkward crush, (partially because it makes for such a good story) but I won't talk to my closest friends about the way depression can paralyze me, make me withdraw and unable to do something so simple as get out of bed.

Part of my reluctance to talk about it is certainly related to cultural stigmas about mental illness. Once close friend who used to struggle with similar problems now works for the defense department and was refused a post outside of the US on the basis of her mental health issues, despite years of very successful treatment. Celebrities who come clean about eating disorders or suicide attempts are called brave, while a politician must carefully hide any hint of similar problems in their past for fear of being viewed as unstable or unqualified. I say I'll regret writing this letter because, even more than my radical leftist politics, revealing this aspect of my life to the unending memory of the internet is damning to any future in which I might wish to be taken seriously.

This isn't to say I feel I should be held to a different standard. Getting out of bed this morning may have been more of a personal victory for me than it would be for most people, but that's not all I'm responsible for, now that I'm awake. I have goals, and I have expectations for myself that have nothing to do with being depressed or not. I don't think that depression is an excuse for me to be satisfied with an ordinary life. Similarly, I think it is completely unfair that any one else would change what they think of me or my abilities because of it. As humans we all have our own struggles, our own challenges to overcome and our own disadvantages. If one of my challenges is to keep depression from affecting my academic performance, it certainly isn't my life's greatest, only the one I have been taught I must be the most ashamed of.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

PS

Our guest lecturer this morning mentioned that your administration, while more ambitious and better at communication than the previous administration, has failed to live up to your promises for improving Native American rights and addressing the social, economic and environmental concerns of many tribes. The Bush administration, he said, wouldn't give tribal leaders a meeting, flatly refusing most requests. Your administration shows up to the meeting, hears the concerns, and then says no. While this may represent a small kind of victory, it sounds to me like you're giving yourself too much credit for making it out of bed. Being better doesn't mean much when the bar has been set so low for so long.

Day 305-Man up for Midterms

Dear Mr. President,

I think if I read one more poll I will actually lose my mind. Whatever happens tomorrow is set in motion, and sadly I'm swamped with an entirely different kind of midterms. I can't read any more analysis. I can't consider any more predictions. If another Dino Rossi pop-up ad starts talking to me while I post this entry I will scream.

We're all going to get out of bed on Wednesday and go to work or school or breakfast. We will get through tomorrow and we will live with the outcome, no matter what. Or, at least, this is what I'm telling myself. Because Nate Silver might love numbers and polls and hypotheticals but he's making me crazy tonight. And the Huffington Post might be obsessed with absurd weather/natural disaster metaphors, but it won't do any good at this point. The most I can hope for tomorrow, is what my friend Ralph reminded me of earlier: that CNN has hologram people. Because an election night without hologram people on CNN is just not enough for me any more.

Seriously though, I've got essays to write and very little sleep in my near future or recent past. If any one who reads this hasn't voted yet, do so. (Also, why are you reading a political blog if you don't vote?) If you want my suggestions on who to vote for in Washington State, if you're in any way ambivalent about the Senate race, or if you actually don't care, please vote for Patty Murray. She's excellent, and Dino Rossi eats puppies and cheats on his taxes. If you're reading from out of state, I'm sorry you don't live somewhere cool enough to have mail-in elections, but don't let the weather, the lines at the polls, the annoying political ads, errands or apathy stop you from voting. Man up, America, and get out that vote.

Mr. President, I hope that we both survive our respective midterms tomorrow without too much of the suffering every one seems to be anticipating. Wednesday will come for all of us, and I think we'll probably make it there in one piece.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 302- Emotional and academic

Dear Mr. President,

A few days ago my class was visited by an Israeli guest lecturer. I tried to go in with an open mind, especially because I knew the professor places a huge importance on human rights and is sympathetic to the Palestinian struggle for self-determination. Throughout the lecture, I found myself getting angrier and angrier. His attempts at objectivity were so obviously colored with the comfortable, academic detachment that I find so frustrating. Reducing events and issues that represent tangible suffering, blood, death and disenfranchisement to abstractions might lead to calmer discourse, but it doesn't do justice to the people not lucky enough to pretend it's all just an academic exercise. At the end of the lecture, he opened it up for questions and was gracious, if a bit dismissive, about my views on the unsettling rise of the radical Israeli right wing.

I fully admit that, for all of my academic energies devoted to Palestinian issues, I have a much deeper and much more immediate emotional reaction. I don't apologize for or regret this; witnessing injustice against real people is an emotional and not an academic experience. But I also recognize that my emotional reactions may not be as useful to those who are struggling with that injustice as some one else's more detached and rational response. It makes it difficult for me to listen to people like this professor make statements about his optimism for the peace process, so long as people let go of the "irrational" idea of a right of return. I've been to Dheisheh refugee camp and seen the way that refugee status still affects the day to day lives of my friends who grew up there. The idea that they have no claim to the homes their ancestors were forced out of, that their future aspirations can be swept aside and dismissed as irrational gives me a visceral reaction to the callousness of this detachment.

I also have to constantly question my role in all of this. Can I help, at all? I have to question how much of my desire to work in Palestine is fulfilling a selfish need to belong and feel useful, and how much is actually a desire to be part of the solution, an honest desire to fight injustice. Do I have the skills necessary? Is it enough just to bear witness, or do I have a responsibility to do more? I ask myself these things every day, as I discuss, explain, argue or learn more. And I don't have any answers; continuing the peace talks without a settlement freeze seems like political suicide for Abbas. A unilateral bid for recognition from the UN seems like it would lead to war. Discussing a one-state solution is tantamount to anti-semitism in modern American discourse, and even mentioning the role that Hamas might play in the peace process is enough to undermine one's credibility with so-called moderates from Israel and America.

I can't discuss these options without thinking about the tangible, personal way they will affect Palestinian people. Maybe that makes me a poor academic. I think that losing sight of the human cost of political decisions costs us our humanity, and I would rather keep mine than perfect a more dispassionate debate style. I think that the academic and political spheres need more compassion and more empathy, not less. Even if it makes certain lectures more difficult to sit through, and certain articles more difficult to read. That difficulty is nothing compared to the struggle of actually living with the bleak reality of the facts on the ground. You're well-known for your calm, cool approach to heated situations. I appreciate this about you, even if it at times frustrates me. I'm certain that, no matter how cool your exterior reactions may seem, these issues must affect you on an emotional level as well. Do you feel like the sheer number of problems around the world, the overwhelming amount of suffering causes you to become desensitized to it all? Or do you keep your emotions in check in order to keep every one else calmer?

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 294- Six more years

Dear Mr. President,

My throat hurts and I haven't slept for more than fifteen minutes in a row in almost two days. At 4:30 this morning my friend Casi and I boarded a city bus toward the U-district and gleefully informed the driver we were going to see the President. He laughed and told every passenger that he picked up after us that we'd be the first girls in line.

We were not the first in line. Defying cold and campus security, several dozen others were already waiting when we arrived. We huddled together and tried to sleep on the cold sidewalk but we were shivering too hard. We talked to one another, to the strangers ahead of us and behind us in line, about the rules, about the cold, about nothing coherent at all. We became B-roll. We were joined by other friends, we waited in the only open cafe for warm drinks paid for and abandoned before we could drink them when, unexpectedly, the line began to move forward. We waited longer, bemoaning the lost beverages and looking enviously at the the red-ticketed VIP line and, yes, even the ADA line. It was cold. We were tired. We had driven all night long to get back in time.

FInally the line moved inside. By the thousands we came inside, to the heat, to the light, to the comfortable seats. Volunteers herded us, heedless of our desire to sit together, asking only "can you stand for 4 hours?" We exchanged looks. On a good day? No problem. On no sleep in aching feet and still shivering? We took our seats in the stands, happy to settle in an unobstructed view of the podium. I folded myself in half, curling into a stadium seat to try and sleep a few more minutes. No such luck. The choice between making the whole exhausted row stand up to leave through the non-VIP exit to the bathroom or arguing with the indignant volunteers at the VIP door seemed hard at first, and then, no choice at all. A gospel choir took the task of warming up the cold, exhausted crowd. God Bless America. Beautiful words and voices made up for my usual discomfort with religion. We sang, we started the wave and the enthusiasm rolled around the crowd for more laps than any baseball game.

On stage, a series of successively more powerful leaders took to the podium and said the same things. Excessive references to Husky football victories (stretching back decades to justify the pluralization) made me wonder if Congressman Inslee believes college kids think of the whole world as a football game or if he does. Gradually, our governor and senior senator restored the gravitas we expected, reminding us how far women in our country have come and how well women in our state have done by comparison. The secret service took the stage to check the podium, their earpieces identical to the one I wear for work. We knew what came next.

My voice was already sore, but you took the stage and we didn't stop screaming for seven minutes. I've never been in the same room as the a President, before, and there you were, walking across the stage with Senator Murray's head bobbing just below your shoulder despite the help of 3-inch heels. I have written you every day for 293 days and, though you do not know that one of the fifteen-thousand voices is mine, I believe that when you look my way and wave, you see me. Every one in the auditorium believes that they are seen. You are seeing one shimmering swell of enthusiasm that will bridge any gap. It does not matter that we waited in the cold, or that attendance meant skipping the third day of classes in a row for some of us (classes we can by no means afford to miss; the price of free admission.) We are points of light too small for you to perceive the distances between us, the gaps that define us and make us individual bulbs. We are one bright shine, a stadium full of sound and waiving hands and the consuming emotion of the moment.

They said we can't elect a black man with a funny name. You shouted.

Oh, yes, we can. We shouted back.

And we kept our feet, we kept our voices raised and our hands clapping until my palms were purple and my throat was raw with the damage of sheer sound. Cameras flashed, hands of the lucky red-ticketed VIP were shaken, and, delirious with joy, I wanted to hug Reggie as he collected letters and gifts of goodwill. Elated, we tumble outside, a crowd no longer, and walk home, walking that path from the University to Capitol Hill, the same streets we flooded on election night two years ago, the same joy, the same calls from neighbors and perfect strangers asking for our account of your words.

A shift at work later, still sleepless, I am sobered by exhaustion and the return to my routine. Check in on my secret-service earpiece with the rest of the team. Blend in. Be quiet. Look for thieves. One foot in front of the other; tech center, fiction, main floor, basement. Repeat another staircase with the help of another Americano. It hurts to speak. It hurts to breathe. I have barely slept, I have homework due in less than 12 hours, and I can't afford to miss another class all quarter long. Casi has another 100-mile drive home.

And all we can keep saying to each other, to any one who asks, to ourselves is the same thing; it was worth it. I'd do it again. Let's do it tomorrow. Tangle traffic on Montlake and bring the commute to a halt. Re-assemble the metal detectors and get the secret service dogs back on their leads. I would do it all over again, to hear you speak. Even just to hear, again, the same old car metaphor, with the ditch and the mud and the keys. When you want to go forward, you put it in D.

I might be crazy and half-dead with joy and exhaustion, but you will have my ballot and you will have my vote and if I can help it, you and Senator Murray will have six more years and Seattle will have more happy floods in the streets.

Six more years sounds great to me.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 286- Get out the vote, Washington!

Dear Mr. President,

You're going to be speaking at my school on the 21st. I basically haven't stopped freaking out since I learned of this event a few days ago. To make the week even more exciting, Former Presidents Clinton and Carter, as well as the First Lady will all have events in Seattle that week. Unfortunately, I'll probably only make it to see you and President Carter, but having so many important Democrats visit my city in such a short time is still very exciting. I suppose this is the small upside of having an unnervingly close senate race.

At the risk of making you change your mind about visiting, I don't think you have to worry about Washington Democrats showing up this year. Patty Murray is well-liked and accomplished, and Dino Rossi has basically made a career out of losing the gubernatorial race and cheating on his taxes. I really never get tired of mocking him for his general sliminess, but I do wish he'd stop running for office and fade happily back into obscurity.

I've got several friends planning on attending with me; I'm not sure how many will join me in linning up at 5 am, but I'm counting on the later arrivals to bring me coffee. I keep trying to talk myself out of getting my hopes up; I'll probably be too far away to see much, you'll probably give the same old stump speech with that long-past-tired metaphor about the Republicans and the ditch and the car keys. I probably won't get to shake your hand or get you to sign something. I'm ok with that. I'd rather be a fan of your policies than a fan of you as a person. (Plus, not to make it a competition or anything, but I'm sure President Carter will sign his book for me.) It's still going to be a once in a lifetime experience to hear my country's president speak in person. Just because I've sent you 285 letters already this year doesn't make me any more deserving of your notice than the thousands of other screaming, devoted UW Democrats who will also be there. Still, I feel like it's important for me to go, even if it means missing class and annoying the heck out of my friends and coworkers in the meantime.

I'm glad you're coming back to Seattle, Mr. President. I'll do whatever I can to make sure my fellow progressive Washington voters and I don't let you (or Senator Murray) down. See you in a few weeks!

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 272- A short note on the first day of school (because I need sleep)

Dear Mr. President,

Today was my first day of classes in over a year. While most nights at this time find me wide awake and worried about getting enough sleep, my chronic insomnia seems to be on hold for the evening, because all I want to do is crawl into bed and shut my eyes. It's a feeling I really don't want to discourage, so I'll make this brief.

In the coming months, you can be sure I will write to you about my classes and the subject matter we're covering, be it American Indian law or water security issues in the Middle East. But today was just the first day, and, for the most part, we just covered the syllabus and did introductions. My name's Kelsey. I'm a NELC major. I'm a senior. I'm in this class because I think it will help me understand the rest of the world. Etc.

One of my favorite professors suggested today that we could be optimists or we could be pessimists. Maybe being a pessimist was our right, and we could write our "ugly blogs about the sky falling" but it wasn't as productive, in general, as a positive outlook. And so, for the record, let me say that I do not think the sky is falling. Forgive me, but that is all I have for tonight.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 260- SMART Grants, napkins and sea shores

Dear Mr. President,

Today has been a great day. First, I'd like to thank you for a bit of good news I received today. Instead of taking out the small subsidized loan I'd been offered this year, I've just been awarded a National SMART grant. This is incredibly reassuring. The loan I was planning to take out this year wasn't huge compared to my total debt, but I'm still happy to avoid borrowing at all. I know I am incredibly lucky to be given this grant, especially when so many other students in my situation are seeing their debt levels continue to rise dramatically. I'm so grateful for the help.

Also today, I received a letter from my friend serving in the Peace Corps. I miss hearing her voice and seeing her every day. I miss our pancake mondays, our walks around greenlake and our heated political discussions that usually devolved into a general discussion about how much we want to marry Jon Stewart. I love reading her letters and hearing the details of her life in Burkina Faso, but I think part of her letter to me was actually meant for you:




It says: "I stole you a napkin from the embassy =) There is a sweet picture of Obama hanging in the embassy. It makes me so happy to see it. I'm still proud he's our president."

I don't think I could say it any better.

The last thing that made today great was this story a friend sent me on facebook about Israeli women helping Palestinian women sneak across the border for illegal day trips to the beach. A quote from one of the brave Israeli women interviewed struck me as particularly moving. "We want more Israelis to realise that there is nothing to be scared of. We want more people to refuse to accept the ideology that keeps us apart – and to just refuse to be enemies."

There is nothing to be scared of. I refuse to accept divisive ideology. I refuse to be enemies.

These are powerful, wise words. And the simple act of taking these Palestinian women and their children to see the ocean shows how ordinary citizens can fight injustice through simple acts of kindness. I think maybe these women should replace Netanyahu and Abbas for the peace talks. Something tells me they'd make a lot more progress.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 257- Failure

Dear Mr. President,

I don't often fail. I say this not to be arrogant, but to highlight the safe and even calculated way I have lived up until now. I was consistently an A student, one of the valedictorians at my graduation. I haven't always gotten A's in college, but I've never failed anything important. This academic success is partially to my credit, but largely due to an avoidance of any courses too far outside my intellectual comfort zone. My life isn't where I want it to be; I haven't been as successful or as efficient as I would have preferred, and all of this is due not to failure but to living in fear of it. Today I believe I finally experienced failure. I could not access and apply a skill I should have. I set my mind to a task I could not accomplish. I don't think this is more unsettling to me because of my relatively safe existence up until now. Surely every one feels this way when they find themselves unable to rise to their own expectations. I'm lost, shaken up, disappointed, and angry. I'm also dimly aware that this might have been good for me. Realizing that failure isn't the end of the world, feeling it fully and intensely and still not giving up will help me take risks like this in the future. I knew taking that test yesterday was a risk, which is why it's taken me so long. It's been four years since I studied Arabic and it wasn't going to get any easier if I waited any longer. Every time I had to take a break from college, I felt more terrified that I would one day return only to find I was no longer qualified to continue. So I took a chance, the worst happened, and now I have to figure a way out.

If I had not taken the test I might not have numeric, quantifiable proof of my failure, but I would still be afraid. I would still be just as far away from my goal with nothing to spur me toward changing. Maybe this is all consolation for a feeling I'm still not entirely sure how to manage. Maybe I'm making excuses for my own mistakes, but at least I feel less afraid than I did yesterday.

I know one test might seem small compared to something like an election. I hope that the midterms aren't a failure for progressives. I am sure that, should the Democrats fail, this is how the story will be told. They were too far left. They were out of touch with the values of the American people. These lies will be spread by the right and accepted as conventional wisdom. And maybe it will finally push Democrats past their fear and force us to stand up and say enough. Because the Grand Old Party of hate and fear might be better at claiming victory, but Democrats haven't failed until they've gotten too afraid to stand up for what's right, for what's important. I hope none of the chatter about the left's impending failure scares those running for office in 2010 away from making the right choices, or scares you away from asking them to. And, should we lose power on election day, let it only compel us to be braver, to take more risks. Failing might not feel great, but it sure beats the hell out of living in fear.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 233-Never-never land

Dear Mr. President,

Recently I've read several articles on my generation and our refusal to grow up. We're living with our parents, or relocating every year. We're working dead-end jobs, struggling under mountains of student debt, and working on our blogs. We're riding our bikes and living with our boyfriends with no intentions to get married or have babies. We travel, we volunteer, we hobby and create and use irony as an excuse to never be accused of taking anything, especially ourselves too seriously. While I'm glad that these (much older) journalists have no problem generalizing about 20-somethings like we're all the same, I am only confident enough to speak for myself. I can't answer these charges for a whole generation, but I think I at least ought to explain my own failure to achieve the socially accepted milestones for adulthood.

Some weeks, when money is really tight, my mother still pays for my groceries. I live in a 2-bedroom apartment with 3 roommates. I work part-time, with no benefits, for about $10/hr. Student loan payments run me $250 a month, and I haven't graduated yet. It isn't that I don't want to grow up. I want my degree, I want health insurance and I want to make enough money to help out my family, instead of depending upon them. I want a house with a garden and I want a stable relationship. But I also want to travel, to keep learning, to help others, to find a way to live without adding to the destruction of the planet and the exploitation of the poor. The kind of experiences I still look for aren't always comfortable or safe or conducive to settling down and having children. But delaying the trappings of traditional adulthood for the sake of a better world (or at least a better understanding of it) isn't exactly cause for the kind of hysteria I see in these articles.

The traditional cycle seems to have gone off course, as young people remain un tethered to romantic partners or to permanent homes, going back to school for lack of better options, traveling, avoiding commitments, competing ferociously for unpaid internships or temporary (and often grueling) Teach for America jobs, forestalling the beginning of adult life.

The New York Times might sneer at this as whimsical and immature, but I'm not convinced that the traditional model works particularly well. What kind of country have you left us? The environment is being destroyed and destroying us (and Pakistan) as a result. The rest of the world hates us for our consumption, our pollution, or the way we've manipulated the histories of their own nations to suit our fear-mongering of the moment. Our economy is collapsing, college costs are skyrocketing and divorce rates in our parents' generation left more than a few of us disillusioned about running down the aisle with the first person we want to sleep with.

Sorry, I seem to be falling into that dangerous trap of generalization. Again, I can't speak for any one but me. I may not do much more than write this silly blog and send you these naive letters but, to be frank, I don't know that you've left me a lot of better options. Maybe we are languishing in entry-level jobs, DIY-ing, blogging, painting and otherwise skipping through life like we're still kids at summer camp. Personally, I'm just trying to live the best way I know how. The world our parents left us is not sustainable. We know it, they know it, and you know it. I appreciate that your administration hasn't jumped on the bandwagon of lamenting my generation's everlasting adolescence, (perhaps because so many of us are fetching coffee for no wages while we teach your staff how to use twitter.) If you do come across these laundry lists of complaints your generation seems to have about mine, take it from this 20-something and don't try to help us live lives that look more like our parents. In spite of all your well-intentioned plans for us, we've got our own ideas about growing up and all you need to know is that we're a lot more likely to figure it out if we're not so wrapped up in looking and buying and earning like adults we lose sight of that hallmark of true maturity- concern for the condition of the world we're leaving to the next generation.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 175- Thank you

Dear Mr. President,

Thank you so much! I just got my financial aid letter from the University of Washington, and I'm going to be OK. More than OK, I'm going to be able to finish school, and graduate and, because I won't need to work full-time, I'll be able to do this with the concentration and devotion that my education deserves. This would not have happened without the expansion of federal pell grants, and, of course, without the generosity of my school, which ensures that lower-income students have their tuition paid for with grants. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

This has been my most important dream for so long; I, for the first time in a long time, am daring to hope that the life I have to look forward to will be one I've wanted and not one that my circumstances have forced me to accept. Getting my degree has been such a struggle, and I can't begin to convey how relieved I am to finally believe it might be possible. It is in my control, the responsibility for my success or failure is mine alone; my family's financial situation will no longer hold me back or give me any excuses. This is frightening, and it is exciting, and I will do everything in my power to rise to the challenge.

Since I just received the news, I am perhaps too exuberant to find anything more to add. Thank you so much, Mr. President, I promise I will make this experience count.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 163

Dear Mr. President,

Several Januaries ago, I was living in Washington DC, and I'd just begun training as a barista in my bookstore's cafe. Sometime during the week-long training process, the dress code's exclusion of pinstripe pants, the same actions and combinations of ingredients repeated drink after drink after drink, even the words we were taught to say started to bother me. I sat outside the store on my lunch break, ignoring the light snow, and cried with despair. I was 21, and convinced that, because I was not in school for the first time in my life, I was doomed to amount to nothing, that my life was broken beyond repair. My boss sat outside with me and asked me what it was in life that I wanted. He told me (perhaps in an attempt to boost my self-esteem and perhaps because he meant it) that I was too smart to be serving coffee, that I wasn't allowed to give up on my potential yet.

I'm 24 now, and I still serve coffee. I'm going back to school this fall, and, while I'm terrified that I'm no longer smart enough or somehow too old to be back in a University, I would not be doing it if it weren't for this belief that I have the potential to be more. That serving coffee is not my destiny. I want to be useful to people, to Do Good and to matter in ways I can't really articulate but I know can never be realized if I don't finish my education. I'm afraid that this is arrogant, that I might do a lot worse than to serve coffee and that I should not imagine myself to be better than any job, no matter how awful the hours or silly the dress code or mindless the work. I'm afraid that I will only disappoint myself if I try for more. Maybe my destiny is just as ordinary as I am now, and I should make the most of it.

I could not do this without the legislation you've passed to make higher education more accessible to people like me, and for that I cannot tell you how grateful I am. I think that the importance of education cannot be overstated, and I am so glad that my government recognizes this. You can't give me the answers, you can't give me direction or purpose or self satisfaction, but you can and have given me the assurance of knowing that the education I need to escape is possible, even for some one of my limited economic means.

I look back on the person I was, years ago, and I see that I have grown up enough to believe in second chances; that I am not so young as to think that 24 is too old to start over. I'm still plagued by the same fears and the same arrogance and the same self-doubt, but at least I have enough hope to try and improve my situation. I have had too much help from too many teachers and mentors and friends along the way to ever imagine I am doing this alone, and I know that it is their faith, more than anything, which has given me the audacity to try again. I hope that, when I am much older and, hopefully, wiser, I can look back at this summer and my restlessness and see that it was all for the best, that my growing out of my situation in life will lead to greater happiness for me and greater usefulness to our society. I dare to imagine that is exactly what you had in mind.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 124

Dear Mr. President,

Some days, I'll admit, I really don't know what to say. I read the press briefings, I read the White House blog, I read the news. Sometimes I'm upset or encouraged by things and I want to tell you. Sometimes I think I actually can offer a unique perspective. Most of the time, I remember that you're surrounded by advisers who know better than me, (and probably even a few who know better than you,) and you don't need another voice chiming in to tell you what you already know. These days, when I have nothing policy-related to contribute, I just want to give you a better idea of what it's like to be me, your constituent and supporter and fellow American.

Today was a challenging day. For the last few days I've been feeling angry and exhausted and anxious, and today I realized it's because I'm scared. I'm scared of looking the mirror and reconciling myself to who I have become. I'm scared that the life I lead now might be all I'm ever going to do; that the 8 years of my life spent in near-minimum wage jobs, working for hours on my feet has brought me nowhere closer to the life I thought I'd have by this age. I'm scared that if I do what I have to do to finish my degree that it will be too hard, or I'll have gotten too stupid, or I'll be just as lost and tired and poor on the other side of graduation. This fear chases me every day, and today, for no reason at all, it has become overwhelming.

There are so many harder things in life than fear of disappointed hopes. Today while riding the ferry I met a Filipino woman who wanted me to know that she was 73 years old. She was so adamant about this that she pulled out her driver's license to show me. She's lived in America for 53 years and she told me that, even though she's a senior citizen and doesn't have to pay for the bus, she still pays every time because she's "rich." After we got off of the ferry (an ordeal in itself when you're 73, 5' tall, and trying to carry an umbrella and a full, boiling hot, cup-o-noodle,) she spent most of our bus ride shaking her umbrella at the bus driver and scolding him for driving too slow or stopping too long at stoplights. I think she might be a little crazy, but after living 73 years, moving to a new country and learning a new language, having 4 children and 8 grandchildren and still taking day trips on public transit by herself to see the sights of the islands, I also think she's earned a bit of madness. (The driver seemed to agree, and bore her abuse with good humor.) What strikes me, as I reflect on our conversation, is the intense self-satisfaction she seemed to exude. She told me she's going to die soon, but that it's OK because she's been alive long enough. I wonder what enough will look like, for me. Will I ever reach a point where I feel like I've done and said and lived enough? Will I ever take stock of my accomplishments with the same pride?

When people ask me if I think you've read any of my letters personally, I always point out that you read 10/night, and even if I'm only 1 in 40,000 letters every day, I still have hope. Sometimes I have specific questions I'd like answered, specific complaints I'd like addressed, and sometimes I don't worry about getting a response at all. Tonight is one of those times where I don't imagine there's a form letter your office can send in response to this, (unless, of course, you have "keep your chin up, tiger" form letters, in which case I think I really will have collected them all.) There's no legislative agenda to address my concerns, no shift in public policy that would make me sleep easy tonight. I'm just scared; scared about the smallness of my life and the darkness of the unknown before me. I don't think that you can be plagued by this kind of self-doubt, but having the tangible evidence of your own significance that comes with raising a family, writing bestsellers, and holding high office must be its own kind of burden. I suppose if you can do those things, if the woman on the ferry today can live the kind of life she has, I can put aside this unproductive fear and find my own way to contribute something more.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 86

Dear Mr. President,

Thank you for the student loan reform passed by congress this week. This legislation will directly affect me and my ability to pay for my education, and, even more importantly, will ensure that future generations do not face the same difficulties I have in paying for school. I appreciate that you were willing to take on the powerful bank lobbies who opposed this, and in doing so have demonstrated to the American people the value their government places on higher education.

How we spend our money says a lot about what we value. As a student, one who'd been raised to achieve as much as I could and instilled with the belief that a college education was something I needed to succeed in life, I was prevented from completing this education because of my financial circumstances. It isn't that my family is poor, in fact we were comfortably middle class. The current financial aid system is largely base on financial need, and until I turned 24, that meant taking my parents' income into consideration. I was unable to pay for my education myself, my mother struggled with debt, and my father was unwilling to contribute to my education. When I came to this realization, I had to wonder if my parents, especially my father, valued my education as much as they'd claimed. If they had, why hadn't they saved for it? Why was my father unwilling to sacrifice, as so many of my classmates parents did, some degree of luxury for the betterment of his children? Why were they unwilling to back their words with tangible support?

I think the federal financial aid system needs to be re-examined in many ways. A student's eligibility for financial aid should not hinge so completely upon their parents finances and willingness to contribute. Even as a 22-year-old living across the country from my family, supporting myself entirely on a near-minimum wage job, I was ineligible for need-based financial aid because of the incomes of my parents. By this point in my life, I would not even want to depend upon their financial support, yet it is assumed by the FAFSA that I would necessarily do so. How is that fair? I'm not saying I wanted my education given to me, I'm more than willing to work for it, but easing the burden on students from middle class families, like myself, would go a long way toward demonstrating how much this country values higher education for all. For families that don't qualify for need-based aid, could there be an increase in merit-based federal grants? Or even a system through which students could gain designation as financially independent without having to marry, have children of their own, or be legally emancipated as high schoolers? You say that you want to increase the number of college graduates; I think that an overhaul of the way a student's aid eligibility is calculated must be considered if your goal is ever to be reached.

Thank you again for your work reforming the student loan system. When I do finally graduate, Mr. President, it will be in no small part due to the assistance of my government, and it makes me proud to live in a country that so tangibly demonstrates its commitment to education.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 72

Dear Mr President,

Revising the requirements laid in in No Child Left Behind, is an essential step to making students college and career ready. I think our system places too great an emphasis on standardized testing, but I recognize that, absent hard data, it is difficult to point to successes and areas needing improvement in our schools. As a student, I took the WASL, the ITED, the levels tests, the Hi-cap test, the PSAT, the SAT, 3 AP tests and the ACT. I don't mean to brag or anything, but I rock at standardized tests. Unfortunately, this skill isn't exactly something I can put on my resume. I also had amazing teachers; one took students interested in education and had us intern for a week in the classroom. Another created a scavenger hunt that took us all over town using GPS and practical cryptography. One had us pick books without cliff notes available and write our own. These were all experiences that helped me develop important skills, and used practical experience to give us a better understanding of the concepts we were required to learn. None of them appeared on a standardized tests.

I suppose my point is that we can require testing in reading and math skills every year, but my guess is we're going to do more to improve our test-taking skills than anything else. And, don't get me wrong, having test-taking skills is not a bad lot in life. But I think, rather than being tested every year, my educational experience would have been most improved by a longer school year, teacher who were more adequately compensated (and, in some cases, better prepared to teach their subjects,) and a community that recognized the value of higher education. I don't think that all of those are things the Federal government can necessarily provide, but certainly steps should be taken in this direction. The preliminary suggestions from your administration for improving education look promising, and I hope that they are better received by the public than health care reform has been.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 61- 21st Century Education

Today's letter is in response to the question posed by the White House to the public, What does 21st century education mean to you?

Dear Mr. President,

As the 21st century was beginning, I was only starting High School. Sadly, I feel my own education was more a product of the previous century, and I think this has impacted not only my ability to compete for jobs, but also to feel comfortable moving in circles with those who have been properly prepared for the current educational demands. Education in the 21st century must, of course, include competency and even fluency with modern technology; it must expose students to cultures, languages, and lifestyles other than their own; the educational experience ought to include strong emphasis on science and math, without sacrificing any of the liberal arts foundation.

Computers are such an integral part of our daily lives that no student educated in this country ought to leave school without being familiar, comfortable, and confident using computers, the internet, word processing and document presentation, and even basic programming. Ideally, this would occur well before college and high school. I don't feel that my own educational experience failed to prepare me for a world that requires computer literacy, but I owe that almost entirely to the Gates foundation, as my school benefited from the generosity of Mr. Gates's commitment to his home state. I'm not sure that this is true for all of my generation, especially those who come from families unable to afford computers in their own home, or who lived in school districts unable to afford new computers or the instructors to properly utilize them.

One area where I was not so fortunate was exposure to foreign languages. Most students have the option of taking Spanish, French or German in High School. If they are very lucky, Japanese or Russian are also options. Mr. President, we may be lucky enough to live in a time where the entirety of the rest of the world clamors to learn English, but this does us more harm than good if we allow it to make us complacent about educating our children in other languages. Spanish ought to be taught from a much earlier age, along side English in elementary and middle schools. In high school, students should have a wider variety of languages to choose from, and an incentive should be offered to encourage schools to offer languages more relevant to the modern economy. (While it is impossible, even incorrect, to argue the merits of one language over another, it is difficult to deny that the modern student would have a wider variety of career options with a working knowledge of Arabic, Hindi, or Chinese, rather than German.) Multilingual students will not only be better able to communicate with and understand non- Americans, they will posses the skills to more easily learn new languages in the future, making them more adaptable.

Education in the 21st Century must be about more than just learning about other cultures and lifestyles, it must include practical exposure. I feel a greater emphasis should be put on travel and exchange programs, as well as service learning. Students should be required to do service work in their communities as a part of their education. Volunteer work is a great way to gain experience for later careers, but it also fosters a sense of responsibility for one's community. Tying volunteer work closely to education can illuminate areas of study in ways that classroom learning alone cannot.

Math and science are another area in which early exposure- well before high school- will help our schools produce more competent graduates. Liberal Arts educations provide essential critical thinking skills and ought not to be devalued, but practicality demands that we increase our emphasis on math and science if Americans are to remain competitive in the Modern economy.

In my view, education in the 21st century must be about connectivity. Our world is getting smaller and we must eager and enthusiastic about the things that allow us to connect to others- common languages like math, science and technology, as well as empathy and understanding, a willingness to learn new languages, to experience and adapt to the cultures of those who are not like us, wherever they may be found.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 10

Dear Mr. President,

Tonight my best friend and I are having an African-themed dinner. She's preparing herself for a 2-year trip to Burkina Faso for the Peace Corps. Don't get me wrong, the idea of eating goat is pretty appalling to both of us vegetarians, but we recognize that she's probably going to have to adjust to it, somehow.

When we were seniors together in high school, our AP English teacher had us write letters to our future selves, which she promised to mail 5 years after graduation. At the time, I had my life planned out well enough to tell myself exactly where I should be. One year into my peace corps service, graduated from college, best friends with my best friend, and, preferably, still dating my boyfriend. As you can imagine, 5 years later, my future self has disappointed her high school past on all but one count.

My best friend and I have gone to school on opposite side of the country, spent a semester on different continents while she was in South Africa, and have stayed close through it all. Will two years apart change that? Since high school I've at least learned enough not to say for sure. But I wouldn't have her stay. I'm so proud of her willingness to give two years of her life to helping others, and inspired by the way she embraces the unknown. It is comforting to think that, even if I haven't lived up to my own expectations, she has.

I think most of my generation graduated High School and planned on changing the world. It seems daily I read or hear something about our generation being apathetic, uninformed, disengaged. Where did we go wrong? What happened between high school and real life that kept so many of us from living up to our own expectations?

For me, it was money. It's not that I feel like every one should just be given a college education. It should be a challenge. It should be something I invest enough of myself in to make it worthwhile. When I get my degree (and, mark my words, I will) it will have been hard won, and it will mean something to me, more than it will ever mean to the people reading about it on my resume. But, between trying to save to go back, and pay off the loans I already have, trying to choose between the benefits of a full-time job and the demands of a full load of classes, I wish going to college in America was just a little bit easier. Would a degree make me happy? Yes. Would it make me the person I thought I'd be by now? Probably not.

I'm still enjoying your book. At my age, you were more successful and more ambitious, but you were, in many ways, just a lost as I feel now. This gives me hope. Not so much that I could be elected president, but that I, too, could wind up a successful, well-adjusted adult with some idea of what my purpose ought to be. I'm looking forward to discovering how you pulled it off.

For now, I'm going to enjoy African food and the last few months with my friend. She's got a two-year plan, at least, and it will be interesting to see where we are whenever we meet again. I hope that in two years' time, I'm more like her, and more like the person I'd hoped to be in high school. For what it is worth, it is comforting to both of us to think that you'll still be in the White House, and that our country will, in all likelihood, be two years better off because of it.


Respectfully yours,

Kelsey