Day 358- Ancestry

Dear Mr. President,

Tonight my family had our Christmas celebration a bit early to accommodate our various work schedules. Around a non-traditional (and largely gluten-free, out of respect to my mother and sister's new dietary guidelines) assortment of gourmet foods we kept up the family tradition of being, to a man, loud and incredibly opinionated. Asher, my 2-year old nephew and the only child in our immediate family, seemed to sense that this day was mostly for his benefit, and ran around happily watching cartoons and playing with toys while the grown-ups mulled over boring assessments of roast chicken, maple-glazed squash, mushroom quinoa pilaf and scalloped corn. Gifts came after dinner (but long before the dishes) and we gushed over beautiful new sweaters, intriguing new books and appliances that had the adults even more excited even than Asher at the sight of his giant stuffed dragon.

Spoiled by generous siblings and our mother who never fails to make Christmas just as magical as it was when we were Asher's age, I got a poker chip heart;



Beautiful new scarves and shawls and sweaters:



The tools to marry my two great loves:



even my macbook got a little something:



but the most unexpected gift was a simple family tree from my older sister, and photos of ancestors I'd never even heard of before tonight.









The men and women in these photos are strangers to me. If there are traces of my own features in eyes or noses or cheeks I see no evidence of it. My ancestors came from Germany, Bohemia and England. They married and bore children and died in Minnesota, Pennsylvania and Michigan. Some settled the west, some owned slaves, some arrived with the Puritans in Massachusetts. My sisters and I kept remarking in surprise at how shockingly American the whole story is. To know that these formally-attired, stiffly-posed subjects of photographs are connected to us is strange for me, especially in my urban tribe of familial bonds forged by forces stronger than blood. What significance, if any, do these lives have on my own? Staring at so much small-scale history makes me feel dizzy with the implications, so much more personal than the characters from my textbooks.

I hope that Christmases to come will feel this way, bright and warm and full to bursting with affection for the people near me. In a few generations, when my sisters, brothers and mother and I are all just tiny branches on some one else's family tree, I know they won't understand nights like this one. They won't know about the way we teased and laughed and talked too loudly as we passed around plates of food. They won't know that three cats and two dogs tread happily around our feet, or sulked angrily under beds. They won't know that my mother's Christmas tree had one string of lights in off-white instead of snow-white and why, exactly, that would bother her. They might see photos of me in my strange clothes and find nothing to connect them to me besides the sharing of some significant amount of genes. I think this gift, more than any of the others, reminded me to pay attention, to take in the details before they were lost in whatever next century's black and white photos will be. To look around at my family and feel connected to them, for all of our differences and for all of our faults. My ancestors' Christmas celebrations looked and sounded very different than my own and certainly meant something very different than this night means to our family now, but I hope that they felt a similarly overwhelmed by the love of those around them.

I hope that you have a good Christmas, Mr. President, and that even your job allows you a few hours of beautifully mundane moments like this to remind you of the sustaining love for and from your family.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 288- Lost

Dear Mr. President,

Tonight I thought about writing to you about Bill O'Reilly on The View, or a FOX news reporter claiming "all terrorists are Muslims" or maybe your own administration's heel-dragging on Don't Ask Don't Tell. I probably should write about one of these things, but I've been stuck feeling listless this week, and I just can't summon the inspiration to articulate what I think about any of these stories in an interesting way.

I'm not sure what's wrong, exactly. I seem to have lost the focus and drive that normally get me through. I don't know what it is I'm working for or what will make me happy. The suffering I read about in the news or see in other people is overwhelming. What kind of future can I hope to enjoy when so many people are going through so many bad things?

I've been prone to these moods my whole life. I call it my place of darkness. It isn't that I'm giving up, I'm just recalibrating, I think, trying to gauge what my priorities and needs and goals are, or what they should be. This whole letter-writing project was born out of a similar mood, a desire to speak to power even if my voice went unacknowledged in the cacophony of other voices. I may post these letters, copy them out and mail them to the White House, but I think we both know I'm writing for me more than I'm writing for you. I need to believe the world will get better, that we're all moving through these difficult times toward a brighter future. And maybe these letters are my way of whistling past the graveyard, the haunting fear of failure or of inconsequence that keeps me moving even when I'm not certain why or where I'm headed.

I have to just give myself permission to feel lost. I try not to let hopelessness or aimlessness take over for too long. I'm going to find my sense of purpose again, in a few days or a few weeks or a few months. For now, I think a good night's sleep is better than another hour surfing news sights for some sign of hope.

I hope you have a good weekend.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 256- Back to school

Dear Mr. President,

In just over eight hours I'll be taking the most important test of my undergraduate life. I've spent the day in various cafes, a library and 4 different city buses trying to cram 15 chapters of the Arabic language back into the easily accessible parts of my brain. I tried to relax a bit by listening to my ipod while walking home, and found myself trying to translate "dirt off your shoulder" into Arabic. I'm starting to think about Maha and Khalid like they're my real cousins. My fear of the lowercase letter e is becoming concerning. I have consumed a truly unhealthy amount of caffeine.

For these reasons, I thought it advisable to keep my letter to you quite short. I noticed you gave a back to school speech in Pennsylvania today (proving, once more, that it never stops paying to be a swing state) and I thought I'd channel my test anxiety into a relevant comment on education. Foreign languages should be taught in primary education. You've already said this, and been criticized for it (naturally,) even expressing your own embarrassment at being monolingual. While it may be an unfair stereotype to suggest that Americans can't speak multiple languages, I think the mere fact that some people find it outrageous that you would suggest we ought to learn a second language as children demonstrates it certainly isn't a cultural value in America they way it is in many other parts of the world. This is more difficult to change, of course, but I think that Americans in general do want to see their children grow to be successful and well-educated, and multilingual graduates will likely also be more employable, should there ever again be jobs available.

Maybe I'm just saying this since I'm scared out of my mind that my whole life will be over if I don't pas my placement test tomorrow, but I feel like the ability to communicate with non-English speakers would go a long way toward easing the hostility that some Americans feel about foreigners. And we could certainly do with less xenophobia in our foreign relations and immigration policies. Even if I pass this test tomorrow and spend another year devoted to learning Arabic, my best hope is to graduate with the vocabulary of an overly formal third grader. Had I spent elementary school studying Arabic, or really any language, this might not be such a Hurculean task. At this point, having 100% of high school graduates fluent in English might still seem daunting, but I think an earlier and more consistent emphasis on a second language might help in that area, as well. At least more High school graduates would, in theory, know what a verb is.

While I was searching the internet to find out if you spoke a foreign language, I found the headline "Does Obama speak Arabic?" I was really hopeful that the answer would be yes, so that maybe I could write you a letter in Arabic at some point, but then I saw that the article was from The Weekly Standard. Our media does this country so proud. Anyway, I'm going to continue studying. It's too late for me, by the time you read this letter the die will be cast, my fate will be decided and my hopes of attaining a third-grade vocabulary in Arabic secured or dashed forever. But there are a whole generation of American children starting school this week who might still hope to graduate with the ability to communicate eloquently in more than one language. You're right, Mr. President, only speaking one language is embarrassing. I hope that the next generation are given a better shot at overcoming it.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 241- A reflective mood on a cloudy day

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Dear Mr. President,

The interview you did with Brian Williams was encouraging. Your calm indifference to the rumors about your birth and religion is pretty much the only respectful way to answer such nonsense. When Mr. Williams asked you what you saw when you looked ahead, you responded "as I look forward, my central focus is going to be be to make sure that I'm constantly communicating with all segments of this country about why I feel optimistic about our future." I think this is an excellent goal and I believe that more effective communication is essential to the success of your administration. Especially given the grim economic circumstances, conveying an optimistic idea of the future will be a full-time challenge.

This hope you have for us was what drove your campaign to be successful. When the markets were crashing and things were getting worse by the day, your campaign continued to calmly promise better days. Even if it is hard for me to feel that hopeful today, I am emboldened to hear you speak of it still. I, like so many Americans, have fallen time and again to the cynicism and the pessimism that do little good. I have despaired that the progress we've made is not enough. That it was too slow, that you and your administration are no different and no better than your predecessors; that your desire to win elections had beaten your desire to do the right thing. I have thought these things, and worse. I have lost my hope that I could do anything to stop what was going wrong. I have been chided by my friends from the left and the right for my naive faith, and I let it get to me.

But I don't think that does any good. I don't think that hope or optimism does any one any harm. I haven't seen enough (or, perhaps, have seen too much) to know for sure that it does any good, but I know for certain it can't hurt. You have had it so much harder than me. You have seen friends turn on you, you have born the weight of every American life and home and job lost these last two years. You haven't lost your faith in us, or in this country. That makes me ashamed for my own capricious optimism. It comes down to this: I want to know that you're working for a better, more peaceful world. In your efforts to constantly communicate to this particular segment of the country (me), I hope that you do a better job explaining to me how you're doing that. Do this, and I promise to try harder to share your optimism for the future.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

PS

If any of you reading watched the full interview above, you probably saw the President and Brian Williams express their disbelief that what happened after Katrina could happen in America. I was struck by this, the implication that elsewhere that kind of devastation was to be expected. It is happening right now, and even worse, in Pakistan. I know that money is tight, but if you have anything to give, please donate to Pakistani flood relief. This shouldn't be acceptable anywhere.

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 230-Cars and ditches, or how I beat a metaphor to death

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Dear Mr. President,

As the last of the combat troops were pulled out of Iraq today I thought about the night the war began. I was driving home from coffee with a friend when I heard the news, still a junior in high school. A friend and I had been drinking chai tea at Starbucks, an activity that felt vaguely subversive in itself as the chain had opened only recently in our small town, and my father still didn't approve of us spending so much time there. I was too young to vote, but still, I felt responsible for what was happening. For not doing more to stop it. My best friend had gone to anti-war marches in Seattle- what if I had gone, too? Would it have made a difference? I'd had this belief my entire life that my opinion mattered, by virtue of being an American. A naive faith in the power of Democracy to ensure that my country would always act with good intentions. So much of that youthful hope was dead by the time I arrived home. Suddenly, instead of being an empowering, inclusive force for goodness and wisdom and justice, our government seemed hostile, unyielding and frightening. I don't know if my government changed that night or if I did. Lately I've heard you refer to the country as a car the Republicans drove into a ditch; for me, that was the night we lost control.

What I felt today seeing Operation Iraqi Freedom end was not happiness. It's what you feel when you've gotten the car out of the ditch and surveyed the damage. Grief. Anger. Self-reproach. Relief. I'm grieving for the lives ruined by this war- the lives lost, the families broken, the maimed and traumatized and homeless and broken on all sides. I'm angry that this was done in my name, under my flag, associating me with it forever. Still, I wonder, could I have helped? Could I have stopped it or made it less awful even for one person if I had been more involved? This is not a moment of joy, this is not a victory for the left. A mistake of this magnitude cannot be corrected, it can only be prevented from getting any worse.

When you mention this car and ditch metaphor what you are asking is for Americans to understand that the reason your legislative victories and accomplishments don't feel like progress is because they aren't. We haven't made any progress because you've been trying to repair the damage. Real progress, you contend, will only begin once the repairs are complete and we can drive again. The first 3 or 4 times I heard you use this analogy I admit, I rolled my eyes and brushed it aside as more talking-point nonsense. But today that all changed. In my personal life, I've been waiting for a long time for progress. I've been doing the hard work that has to be done and feeling like I'm in the same place I left off. Today I realized this is because I've been trying to make repairs. I've just gotten the car running again. I haven't gone anywhere, but it's ok, because at least it's fixed. I'm in the same place, but I'm not the same person. And all I've got ahead of me for miles and miles is road.

This war might be over, but you've still got a difficult job ahead. I think I was losing faith in you, for a while. I didn't like that feeling and, even if it turns out to be misguided, I'm glad to feel hopeful again. I'm sorry I had to feel it on a small, personal scale to understand and appreciate what you were saying. It hasn't been easy, and it isn't going to be for a long time. I think that you've got an important message, Mr. President, but your greatest challenge is returning a sense of control (and the responsibility that goes along with it) to people disillusioned by so many years feeling like we can't make a difference. Like we don't have the wheel. Finding a way to involve and empower the people of this country (to do more than just show up on election day) is the only way forward if your Presidency is ever going to be about more than just cleaning up your predecessor's crash sites.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 208- Home is other people

Dear Mr. President,

I was riding the bus back to Seattle from my hometown today, the air conditioning turned up so high that I had goosebumps, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. Arlington is a complicated place, or, I suppose, Arlington and I have a complicated relationship. I went to high school there, and the family that I knew there, the people who became my brothers and sisters, we all wanted to get out. We went away for college. We moved, and traveled and generally scattered. Arlington may not be my home, but this group of friends always will be. They still make me feel young, even as the remind me how responsible we've become. They inspire me with the choices they make, the lives they choose, the things they accomplish. They are not the type to overlook a person's flaws, and yet, they forgive me for being me. They are my feeling of home, wherever they might be.

The face of the town has changed a lot since I lived there. I still see the faded logos of local businesses that have been around since I was a kid, but now they're ducking behind towering Best Buys and Costcos and the roads are new and wide and dark. I feel so foreign in this town, these days. I can imagine what my life would be like still living there, needing a car, having wilderness and wildlife nearby, running in to old faces from high school at the grocery store. I just don't know when my life changed so drastically to make me so out of place here.

By the time I forced myself to take one deep, trembling inhalation I was well on my way back to the city. And the rest of the trip, I-5 rolled by, anonymous, while I relived days at my first job, school dances, fights with my parents, poker games played late into the night around a kitchen table. I thought of the boys who are still my brothers, how they are men now, how they will one day be husbands and fathers and professors and writers and engineers. How I will one day be, whatever it is I'm going to be. Are we becoming what we are because we left or because of where we came from? I had begun to doubt that I would ever feel as strongly about a place as I used to feel about Arlington, when my bus finally stopped in Seattle. I remembered why I love it, why the strangers that live here feel like home to me, almost in the same way my childhood friends do. I believe they will, for the most part, forgive me, too.

For now I am going to make dinner for every one and enjoy the feeling of having so many people I love so close. It won't be like that forever. A big part of home is over in Africa, and I'm going to have to go find her, before long. I wonder, does the White House feel like home? Or is it more like living in a museum? Is Chicago still home, or Hawaii? I suppose the list of places must inevitably grow longer with the transience of certain lives, but I wonder if these are places you could imagine returning to, or if, like me, you'll never know you belonged there until you wake up one morning and don't any longer.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 205- Face the (Netroots) Nation

“What I’m asking you is to keep making your voices heard, to keep holding me accountable. To keep up the fight.”


Dear Mr. President,

I don't think I count as an official member of the Netroots Nation, and I wasn't in Vegas for the convention, but, since I'm a blogger and I write you every day, I'm going to go ahead and tell myself that I'm part of your intended audience, anyway. I liked your video address, the promises you've renewed to repeal DADT and to close Guantanamo Bay. I hope that, this year, these are promise you can keep. I think the only aspect of this video that strikes me as disingenuous is the get-out-the-midterm-vote request, especially given the way so many centrist Democratic incumbents were given the support of the White House over their more progressive challengers during the primaries. Does it strike you as just a bit distasteful to ignore all of the progressive voices demanding better representation in congress and then ask those same progressives to show up on election day cheering for the lesser of two evils?

This being said, I think the New York Times' analysis of the speech as a "Pep Rally for an Uneasy Democratic Team" perhaps reads a bit too much into the fact that you used clips from Rachel Maddow's show to tout the administration's accomplishments. I think you know that the Netroots movement still has a tremendous number of loyal Obama supporters, even, (and maybe especially) those most vocal about our disappointment with the amount of compromise we've been asked to accept. However, as you so eloquently remind us in your speech, change comes from the bottom up. We've organized, raised money, marched, written and voted. We're asking for change. We're creating change. I think your administration could do a better job empowering and engaging the blogging community. The White House blog is great, but it could be developed into a more relevant forum for honest dialogue with the public. A press room without the press, or the spin, where questions are answered and discussion fostered. A blog that not only allows actual comments, but involves members of the communication department in responding to the discussions.

As inspiring as your address was, I hope the convention you were addressing, and the larger progressive blogging community, has not failed to inspire you, as well. The dogged pursuit of a wiser and more just government, a freer society, and a healthier planet is largely responsible for your election, and the Netroots Nation is only beginning to realize its potential. Now is the time to find the courage to keep your promises to us, Mr. President, not only because it is politically expedient, but because you know it is the right thing for this country and for future generations of Americans.

I guess what I mean is, please don't forget that we're asking you to keep up the fight, as well.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Hey all- speaking of the Midterms, here are some must-see midterm political ads. In case they've escaped your notice:










And, if you're in the giving mood, ActBlue

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 155-Hope & Change

Dear Mr. President,

Tonight a close friend, while we shared horror stories from our respective jobs, mused that, no matter how bad things got, he often cheered himself up by thinking, at least he doesn't have to deal with the President's job, or all of your problems. As some one who is frequently told by the very customers making it necessary for me to be at work at 4am how much they pity me for having to be up so early, I know this doesn't help to relieve the tremendous burden of your job. But I do hope you know we appreciate the magnitude of your struggle. On days like today, when I am so despairing of the ignorance and shallowness and petty crimes of so many, I like to remind myself of the people in this world who give me hope.

Emily Henochowicz lost an eye to the IDF this week, for daring to speak out against their attack on the humanitarian ship. She's 21. My best friend leaves in 3 weeks, giving up two years of comfort and delaying academic and professional success to work with community health clinics in rural West Africa. She's 24. My youngest sister supports her family working retail and living paycheck to paycheck, trying to ensure that her son has all he needs to grow up healthy and supported. She's 22. I am surrounded, daily, by examples from my life and from the lives of those I may never meet, of the hope you asked of us in your campaign. What could be more hopeful than giving up your time, energy, even your physical safety for the sake of the next generation and the world we will leave them? You asked us to hope, Mr. President, and I think that, despite all that would inspire only cynicism and despair, we are hopeful, yet.

In exchange for this, we asked you to change things. We asked that our hope be not in vain, that our country be remade in an image more of us could find reflective of our own features, our true nature. Your efforts have been honest, if the results have not always been as profound or as swift as many had expected. Right now it seems like, more than just oil, it is all of our political ambitions, our dearest hopes and grandest plans gushing out to be lost at sea. How will we fix this? Even after it is fixed, will the fallout consume your presidency? I am sure that no one feels this fear more acutely than you, sir.

I suppose the point of this letter is to remind you that, more than our relief at being able to entrust you with the most difficult job in the country, we share your struggles, too. That my generation will have ownership of whatever world you leave us is not lost on me. I am afraid, I am worried, I am angry; but I have not lost hope.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 147

Dear Mr. President,

I'm not sure what you could have done to please the people who are still complaining about your lack of involvement in the oil spill. Maybe you could have put on scuba gear and patched the leak manually? Anyway, I think that the horror of the situation is not that more could have been done, but that no one knows, exactly, what to do now.

My own world has been very small these last few days. My brother-in-law's father passed away, and so my sister has left her 2-year old son with his aunts and grandmother these last few days. Right now he's not too pleased to be with his aunty and not his mom, but we watched Star Wars together, so I think, on the whole, he's going to be OK with it. I love spending time with my nephew, but I couldn't take this on as a full-time job. This is why I'm so constantly amazed at his Dad, who is not his biological father, but who still has committed himself to raising my nephew as his own. I didn't know his father, who just passed away, but he must have been a good dad himself, to raise such a remarkable son. The kinds of patience and selflessness required to parent a young child are not often seen in my age group, (I certainly don't possess them,) and so I'm always surprised to encounter these qualities in people my own age.

Looking at the world from the perspective of my nephew, who won't even be old enough to vote until 2026, I realize how angry I'd be, if I were him. The world we're leaving his generation is in pretty bad shape, and, as appalling as our mistakes and failures may have been, sometimes its the answers we don't even know we need to look for that scare me the most. One of our uncles in Florida called last week to apologize to my aunt for not taking her diving in the Florida keys last time she visited. He knows now, because of the spill, it's unlikely that they'll be able to do so again in their lifetimes. I've never been to the Florida keys at all, nor have I been to Louisiana, but at least I got a chance to swim in the Gulf of Mexico once, several years ago. I still hold out hope that Asher will have that chance, too.

Anyway, Mr. President, I share your frustration at the lack of progress, and I believe that finding a solution is, for now, more important than finding out who is to blame. I appreciate your continued emphasis on the role BP has in this, as well as you ability to take responsibility for the mistakes of your own administration, and I hope that we take all necessary steps to ensure that this never happens again. My heart is heavy for the people who live in the region, and also for children like my nephew, who will grow up never knowing how it was before this disaster.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 142- Moonshine

Dear Mr. President,

The oil spill keeps coming up in odd conversations today. A coworker asked me if I'd written to you about it, after she'd learnt the extent of the damage. A customer, before driving off with his latte, asked if we'd heard about the 10-mile underwater plumes. My Aunt, visiting from California, brought up the ominous feelings she's been having about how much worse it could get. It's been on my mind all day, so perhaps it's understandable that when I saw the headline for Nicholas Kristof's op-ed, "Moonshine or the kids?" I thought it was a reference to the oil spill. The op-ed is actually about misplaced priorities amongst the poorest families in Africa who struggle with substance abuse problems. But it might as well be about the boomer generation.

It's not that I think they're bad parents. I think, for the most part, parents want to do the right thing for their children, to act in their best interest. But, be it cheap oil or lower taxes or wracking up credit card debit instead of saving for college, the generation that has steered our nation to its current state has been quick to trade long-term interest for immediate gratification. To keep drinking the moonshine.

The conversation with my coworker quickly devolved into a litany of things that are wrong with the world, things that scare us, if we think about them too much. The world is so messed up, I told her, and I just don't know how to fix it. Getting angry at those that brought us here, the generation that came before, won't help me fix it. I know this. I think you're a long-term thinker, Mr. President, and what many would call inaction is in fact a strategy that considers the next five generations and not just the next five years. I hope that this perception is an accurate one; if we do not change the way we think, start seeing our children's legacy as more valuable than our next fix, they will never forgive us.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey

Day 125- Why I'm still drinking the koolaid

Dear Mr. President,

Cults make me uncomfortable. I choke on the corporatespeak they feed us at work. I can't stomach the suspension of disbelief required for organized religion. I'm a skeptical person by nature and I can't shut off the part of me that constantly questions what I am told. I do not often fit in with ideologies, isms or cults of personality. And yet, I drink the Hope Koolaid better than almost any one I know.

It's not that I think you're always right; it's not that I think you always make the best choices or even act with the best of intentions. You're really my last hope, these days. I can't give up, believe the system to be hopelessly corrupt and refuse to participate; that would hand my power as a citizen over to some one else. I can't, honestly, envision a viable third party candidate, especially one who is more representative of my beliefs than you are. I have to believe in your wisdom and in your goodness, because if you're not the person best able to steer our nation right now, I'm at a loss for who the alternative would be.

This is not to say that my support for you is out of a lack of other options. Maybe it's just as irrational and just as naive as any other kind of faith, but it is more than blind loyalty. I do have issues with your policies and some of your beliefs, but I think, even among the Democrats, you're the person I respect the most because of the way you approach problems. I have a tremendous amount of faith in the people of this country; in my generation and the force of demographics to, slowly, move us closer to a fairer, freer and more just nation; I also know I can't change anything acting by myself. I believe that the change you promised us will come, probably long after you've left office, but we have to keep working toward it, more slowly than any one will find acceptable.

I am subject to the system, as are you. The difference, I think, is that I have the capacity to shift it very little, while you seem to have accepted too much of the status quo as inevitable, without consideration of your own, considerably greater, power to change it. You don't have to accept things as they've always been; be it the wars you inherited, the legacy of American imperialism, our backwards and bigoted social policies or the same old blue dog incumbents in the Democratic party. Your campaign empowered so many of the disenfranchised of this nation; it isn't hubris to reject the trappings of the system that disenfranchised them in the first place. The 17 months of your presidency have seen no shortage of missed opportunities to bring about the kind of change you asked us all to hope for; but I'm raising a glass, and keeping the faith, for the two and half years you've got left.

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 89

Dear Mr. President,

The announcement that the US is going to resume off-shore oil drilling is truly disappointing. It is difficult to see this concession to the right as anything other than a political ploy to avert the 'disaster' of public discontentment at a coming rise in oil prices. Mr. President, you know that off-shore drilling will not change the basic reality that we use too much oil and that it will one day run out. We have to find viable alternatives and the majority of Americans will not support the endeavor to find such alternatives unless the price of oil goes up. We simply do not act unless it is in our immediate interest to do so, and I don't think it is unrealistically cynical to believe that the political will of much of America is more directly related to present economic realities than it is to our long term best interests.

If this move is, in reality, an attempt to demonstrate the urgency for energy alternatives by showing Americans that off-shore drilling won't alleviate rising oil prices quickly or significantly enough, or to preemptively combat the idea that your administration isn't exhausting all of our options, than I am sorry that the cost of such a strategy is so high. Instead of turning to a quick and simple solution (which, we both know, is no solution at all) we ought to be telling the hard truths; our current system in unsustainable. Our public works, agricultural and transportation systems are too important to depend on a resource that will not last. Either the systems or their dependence must be changes. This will be far less popular than continuing to tear through the Atlantic ocean in hopes of extending our fix a few more years, but future generations will never forgive us if we do not do these difficult things now, before it is too late.

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 77- the 5 year plan

Dear Mr President,

A few days ago my boss called me in for a conversation that should have been a simple 10 minute discussion and turned into an offer a promotion. I'm incredibly fortunate, especially in this economic climate, to be struggling to choose between the new job I'd resigned for a few weeks ago, or remaining with the my current company and be promoted. Immediately after talking with her, I sent out for advice from as many of my family and friends as I could. Their answers came back, begging more questions. "Where do you want to end up?" "What do you want for yourself in 5 years?"

This long-term planning has never been a strength of mine. I often feel as though I'm putting one foot in front of the other, taking one breath at a time, as though planning an entire day ahead is too much assumption. What do I want to be in 5 years? Happy. There are a number of concepts caught up in that; for instance, I don't think my happiness will be tied up in the amount of money I have, but I do think it will be directly related to how good I feel about my life. Am I helping others? Am I healthy? Do I have time for important things in my life? My head tells me that the quickest route to this is a high-paying promotion that will allow me the kind of freedom that financial security seems to promise; my instincts tell me that I need less stress, less chaos, that increasing my income will only increase my desire to make more money.

The more I considered this question, the more I realized I don't know, for certain, what happiness looks like. I've spent so much of my adolescence and young adulthood deeply unhappy for reasons I can't always access. I've been lonely and afraid and tired all the time. I've been paralyzed by big decisions, and avoid them as much as possible. I have lately looked around to take stock of my existence and found much of my behavior to be about survival, not happiness. Even my consideration for these two jobs is based more on how it will upset or please others, because I have no idea what will make me happy. How have I lost touch with myself so completely? I know I'm not the only one, and I know this because the self-help section of my bookstore is continuously full of bestsellers.

This can only lead me to believe that we don't, as a society, understand happiness as well as we should. Is it a matter of having lost sight of it, somewhere, or of having yet to find it at all? I don't know. I know that nothing I can earn or buy or consume or even vote for is going to secure my happiness. I know that whichever job I choose, I will wonder long at what the other would have offered, and will try to continue to make myself question what the future I want looks like, so that I'll know it, should I ever have the opportunity to choose it.

For now, I think a good night's sleep is the best choice I can make, with the hope that morning brings with it a small measure of clarity. I know that the next few days will not be easy for you, Mr. President, and I hope you know that the support and best hopes of so many Americans will be with you.

Respectfully yours,

Kelsey