Dear Mr. President,
I'm sure you'll be getting no small amount of hell from the left over the tax-cuts-for-unemployment deal you made today with Republican leadership. I won't add to it. Not because I don't think this was a show of weakness, a terrible decision given the economic climate and a bad political move to boot, but because I wasn't in the room.
I actually wasn't in any number of rooms, as I'm sure this negotiation took place over many days on many levels in many, many rooms. I don't know what was said, what was offered and what was threatened. I can say I'd have done it differently, but I don't know, for sure, that my solution would have worked any better than yours.
I won't add to the criticism, I will say only this; I am disappointed. I feel let down, I feel ignored, I feel as though you caved in to demands you might have stood up to. I, and other liberals who voted for you, are owed an explanation. Who are we to hold accountable? What blue-dog democrats backed down? What possible justification do so-called fiscally responsible Republicans have for this massive increase to the deficit? Where were we beaten and where were we just too afraid to fight back?
It's been a long week for me, already, and it's only just Monday. Taking a break from finals week madness, I tried to follow some of the reactions to this deal. The usual name calling is all around, as is plenty of voter's remorse and more than one "I told you so" from fellow liberals. One comment came from a man whose unemployment insurance is going to be extended because of this deal, and all he had to offer was gratitude.
Maybe it's because I'm tired, maybe it's because I can accept the limits of my own knowledge, or maybe it was the gratitude of this man, but I just can't share in the fury on the left tonight. It was a bad deal, a bad day. All I can do is tell myself that tomorrow will be better.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Monday, December 6, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Day 329- Thankful
Kelsey --
When Michelle and I sit down with our family to give thanks today, I want you to know that we'll be especially grateful for folks like you.
Everything we have been able to accomplish in the last two years was possible because you have been willing to work for it and organize for it.
And every time we face a setback, or when progress doesn't happen as quickly as we would like, we know that you'll be right there with us, ready to fight another day.
So I want to thank you -- for everything.
I also hope you'll join me in taking a moment to remember that the freedoms and security we enjoy as Americans are protected by the brave men and women of the United States Armed Forces. These patriots are willing to lay down their lives in our defense, and each of us owes them and their families a debt of gratitude.
Have a wonderful day, and God bless.
Barack
Dear Mr. President,
Happy Thanksgiving. The e-mail you sent out to all of your supporters this morning made me think about the people in my life that I'm grateful for. Today seems like as good a day as any to thank them all.
I'm thankful for my family, who I don't see often enough. They are all wonderful and supportive and are doing/have done amazing things with their lives. They were my first and most important teachers and I love them.
I'm thankful for my friends, who are a part of my family. For my new coworkers, who, in making me love them, have made me love my new job. They are wonderful and unimaginably talented and so very welcoming. My friends around the world, especially those working with Peace Corps or the API and other volunteer projects, I appreciate them for spending thanksgiving away from home in the service of a better world. For all of my lovely, diverse, amazing friends in Seattle and around the country, who make my life so much better just by being in it (and who read these letters more than you do, Mr. President,) I am grateful. I am especially grateful for my roommates, my three adopted sisters who take great care of me and who prove that families come in many forms.
I'm thankful for all of my teachers and professors, the uncompromising courage of those academics who have inspired, encouraged and pushed me to be a better and more intellectually curious individual. From the elementary school classrooms of RuthAnn Wilson to the university lectures of Isam Ali, Keith Feldman, William Smaldone, and many, many others along the way I have become the person I am, have been shaped most significantly because of their guidance.
I'm thankful for those activists who are putting their lives and their safety and their freedom on the line to stand up for what is right. Marcy Newman, Diane Gee, George Rishmawi, every one at the US Boat to Gaza and so many others around the world who are fighting injustice at immense personal risk and cost. Too many of us are content to sit at home and hide behind our computer screens and blog angrily about injustice, while few among us have the courage to do whatever it takes to stop it.
I am thankful for those in the GLBTQ community, friends and strangers, who continue to struggle for basic rights to marry and to serve our country openly. I believe that one day our country will do the right thing by these men and women, but until then, I am grateful that they have not lost hope (or just moved to Canada.) Our country is better for our GLBTQ citizens and ought to do better by them.
I am thankful to live in such a great city, in a beautiful part of the country, full of artistic, adventurous, political people (who can't drive in the snow.)
I am thankful to live in a country where the kind of criticism I make of it every day don't land me in prison (or, at least, haven't yet.) Where I may speak out about the things we do wrong in hopes of making it a better, more just, place for every one. I am thankful to live in a country that can change, even if it it changes too slowly. I'm thankful to really every one who works for our country, for the military, the government, law enforcement and fire fighters and every one who tries to make this country a safer place.
I'm thankful for the Native Americans, who are too often forgotten on this day. Our country came about at their expense, at the cost of so many of their lives, and still they work to preserve the cultures, languages and traditions that many have tried so hard to wipe out. I'm grateful that they have not lost all hope in the face of overwhelming odds, and I am sorry that so many have forgotten.
I am thankful to you, Mr. President, and so glad that you beat John McCain. I'm thankful for the health care bill, for student loan reform, and other legislation you've passed, thankful for the political battles you've won and for those you lost (if not for those you gave up on without a fight.) I'm thankful that you haven't stopped trying, that you haven't lost faith, and that you continue to try to be a better President. I'm thankful that we elected you and I'm thankful that you serve our country even in these challenging times.
Thank you. (And thanks, all.)
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Friday, September 17, 2010
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:
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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
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:
.jpg)
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
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Day 189- Anonymous
Dear Mr. President,
After an inexplicable night of insomnia, I found myself awake at 5am. Bird song, and the early first light were too tempting to pass up, so I donned my running shoes and went for a jog. The city was empty. Skyscrapers on the horizon were just beginning to reflect the pastel light of the rising sun, which was still competing with street lamps for dominance. Crows dotted the wires of telephone poles, the lines of the intersection on the empty road, and scuttled away from me in the park. It was the perfect morning, warm, but only beginning to hint at the oppressive heat that would rule the rest of the day. After I got tired, I walked for a ways, read the newspaper on a bus bench, and watched the city begin to wake up. I've never been a morning person, so this voluntary predawn excursion seemed to signal something deeply wrong. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was an indication that I've finally overdosed on 90's sci-fi television. Maybe I was just restless for the expansive luxury of an empty city street.
Then I saw the interview you gave with an Israeli journalist. Your answer to the question about what parts of your old, pre-white house life that you missed, struck a chord with my strange morning excursion. You miss going for walks, being anonymous, experiencing the world in private. This freedom, which I take for granted, most days, is the steep price of your office. I am often overwhelmed and frustrated by my invisibility, my smallness, my inability to affect change. I have not often stopped to consider the benefits of this anonymity; the peace of insignificance. When one is as alone in the world as I often feel myself to be, it is hard not to envy some one like you.
You also spoke of Jerusalem, of walking through the streets of the old city. Even reading your words in the simple light of my laptop screen, I could almost see the affection that compels them. Every one I speak to, young, old, Israeli, Palestinian, American, every one I know speaks of Jerusalem this way. It is why I dislike hearing it referred to as "The Holy Land." It is not about the shrines or the churches or the mosques or the synagogues. It is not about the dead men who died so that others could die for it, or who died trying to take it away from the people who died to take it away from the people before them. It is about the living. The sounds of the old city markets, the smooth stones in the street, the punishing sun brought low at sunset, spilling a softer, more forgiving light across the palm trees and the balconies and the minarets and the satellite dishes. The clothes that dry on lines, the foods that cook on street corners, the hum of so many people in one place. It is the same beauty, perhaps, of every city, but made all the more precious by the great powers that have battled for it in the background of its entire life. The life in this city, not the history or the blood spilled, but the mundane, anonymous, boring life is what makes it so beautiful. These things that cannot often be found in briefing books, or, as you've sadly reminded me, practically anywhere in the lives of those in power. I am glad to know you still remember it, and while I am grateful that you've given up that part of your own life for this service to our country, I hope that one day you are again able to walk in the old city, or in any city, and feel anonymous, even if it is only for a moment.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
After an inexplicable night of insomnia, I found myself awake at 5am. Bird song, and the early first light were too tempting to pass up, so I donned my running shoes and went for a jog. The city was empty. Skyscrapers on the horizon were just beginning to reflect the pastel light of the rising sun, which was still competing with street lamps for dominance. Crows dotted the wires of telephone poles, the lines of the intersection on the empty road, and scuttled away from me in the park. It was the perfect morning, warm, but only beginning to hint at the oppressive heat that would rule the rest of the day. After I got tired, I walked for a ways, read the newspaper on a bus bench, and watched the city begin to wake up. I've never been a morning person, so this voluntary predawn excursion seemed to signal something deeply wrong. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was an indication that I've finally overdosed on 90's sci-fi television. Maybe I was just restless for the expansive luxury of an empty city street.
Then I saw the interview you gave with an Israeli journalist. Your answer to the question about what parts of your old, pre-white house life that you missed, struck a chord with my strange morning excursion. You miss going for walks, being anonymous, experiencing the world in private. This freedom, which I take for granted, most days, is the steep price of your office. I am often overwhelmed and frustrated by my invisibility, my smallness, my inability to affect change. I have not often stopped to consider the benefits of this anonymity; the peace of insignificance. When one is as alone in the world as I often feel myself to be, it is hard not to envy some one like you.
You also spoke of Jerusalem, of walking through the streets of the old city. Even reading your words in the simple light of my laptop screen, I could almost see the affection that compels them. Every one I speak to, young, old, Israeli, Palestinian, American, every one I know speaks of Jerusalem this way. It is why I dislike hearing it referred to as "The Holy Land." It is not about the shrines or the churches or the mosques or the synagogues. It is not about the dead men who died so that others could die for it, or who died trying to take it away from the people who died to take it away from the people before them. It is about the living. The sounds of the old city markets, the smooth stones in the street, the punishing sun brought low at sunset, spilling a softer, more forgiving light across the palm trees and the balconies and the minarets and the satellite dishes. The clothes that dry on lines, the foods that cook on street corners, the hum of so many people in one place. It is the same beauty, perhaps, of every city, but made all the more precious by the great powers that have battled for it in the background of its entire life. The life in this city, not the history or the blood spilled, but the mundane, anonymous, boring life is what makes it so beautiful. These things that cannot often be found in briefing books, or, as you've sadly reminded me, practically anywhere in the lives of those in power. I am glad to know you still remember it, and while I am grateful that you've given up that part of your own life for this service to our country, I hope that one day you are again able to walk in the old city, or in any city, and feel anonymous, even if it is only for a moment.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Day 185
Dear Mr. President,
Happy 4th of July. Here in Seattle, it's gray and raining, which is neither surprising not particularly disappointing when you consider the beautiful green life it supplies. I hope that you're having a relaxing day in a more july-appropriate climate. Yesterday I wrote about my conflicted emotions regarding independence day, and today I'd like to keep things short, to enjoy the assembled company who, friend and stranger alike, remind me that there are plenty of things about Americans with celebrating.
So, I'm sorry for the short letter. I'm grateful, especially tonight, for all the Americans who are working to serve our county, making this lovely, relaxing celebration possible for me. Thank you, Mr. President.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Happy 4th of July. Here in Seattle, it's gray and raining, which is neither surprising not particularly disappointing when you consider the beautiful green life it supplies. I hope that you're having a relaxing day in a more july-appropriate climate. Yesterday I wrote about my conflicted emotions regarding independence day, and today I'd like to keep things short, to enjoy the assembled company who, friend and stranger alike, remind me that there are plenty of things about Americans with celebrating.
So, I'm sorry for the short letter. I'm grateful, especially tonight, for all the Americans who are working to serve our county, making this lovely, relaxing celebration possible for me. Thank you, Mr. President.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Day 177- Warner Brown
Dear Mr. President,
My Grandfather passed away today. He was almost 89 years old. He served his country in World War II, raised 5 children, lived to see his first great-grandchild, and, even just a few years ago, could beat my sister handily on the tennis court. His ashes will be scattered in Florida, the place he was undoubtedly the happiest, and, if there is any afterlife, he is happily reunited with my grandmother. Theirs was the family's one love story, a brief courtship followed by a wedding and a long deployment. When the war ended they were together until her death, six years ago, and my Grandfather never loved anyone else.
I did not know him well, but I believe he was a good man. He lived a continent away, but when I look back on the crowd of hands that have held me up and gently pushed me onward, his is undoubtedly among them. He barely knew my sisters and I, but every month while we were in college he sent us $25, which he insisted that we spend, not on books or bills or anything sensible, but on something fun. (I confess, sometimes groceries were fun.) I was never as thankful as I ought to have been, but I hope he knew my gratitude. He was stubborn and funny and totally independent. He lived well, and I am glad, for his sake, that death found him before he suffered.
I don't feel particularly sad, to be honest. My Grandpa lived a long, respectable life, had a loving family, and died a quiet death. This is certainly more than is promised to any one. I don't think I've contemplated death much more or less than any other 24 year old, but I know it has never frightened me. It is all any of us is owed, without exception. As dazzlingly complex as life on this planet may seem at times, every one succumbs to the forces of entropy, and, at the end, we are all the same. Walking home tonight, I felt oddly close to every one, from the tired bus driver, to the tribe of punks drinking and smoking in their back yard, even to Presidents and rich oil executives, because I am reminded that when our unique stories end, when the trigger is pulled or the breaks fail or the organs shut down, the same night awaits us all. And I believe it is peaceful, and beautiful, and calm.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
My Grandfather passed away today. He was almost 89 years old. He served his country in World War II, raised 5 children, lived to see his first great-grandchild, and, even just a few years ago, could beat my sister handily on the tennis court. His ashes will be scattered in Florida, the place he was undoubtedly the happiest, and, if there is any afterlife, he is happily reunited with my grandmother. Theirs was the family's one love story, a brief courtship followed by a wedding and a long deployment. When the war ended they were together until her death, six years ago, and my Grandfather never loved anyone else.
I did not know him well, but I believe he was a good man. He lived a continent away, but when I look back on the crowd of hands that have held me up and gently pushed me onward, his is undoubtedly among them. He barely knew my sisters and I, but every month while we were in college he sent us $25, which he insisted that we spend, not on books or bills or anything sensible, but on something fun. (I confess, sometimes groceries were fun.) I was never as thankful as I ought to have been, but I hope he knew my gratitude. He was stubborn and funny and totally independent. He lived well, and I am glad, for his sake, that death found him before he suffered.
I don't feel particularly sad, to be honest. My Grandpa lived a long, respectable life, had a loving family, and died a quiet death. This is certainly more than is promised to any one. I don't think I've contemplated death much more or less than any other 24 year old, but I know it has never frightened me. It is all any of us is owed, without exception. As dazzlingly complex as life on this planet may seem at times, every one succumbs to the forces of entropy, and, at the end, we are all the same. Walking home tonight, I felt oddly close to every one, from the tired bus driver, to the tribe of punks drinking and smoking in their back yard, even to Presidents and rich oil executives, because I am reminded that when our unique stories end, when the trigger is pulled or the breaks fail or the organs shut down, the same night awaits us all. And I believe it is peaceful, and beautiful, and calm.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Thursday, June 24, 2010
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
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
Friday, April 30, 2010
Day 120- National Prayer day
Dear Mr. President,
National displays of faith, or national calls for prayer make me uncomfortable. I'm not a religious person and I generally feel excluded, somehow, as though these days of prayer are meant to distinguish "real" Americans with Judeo-Christian values from those of us who don't have an easy religious definition. But our country is overwhelmingly religious, and while symbolic displays of faith by our supposedly secular government might make me feel uncomfortable and alienated, it doesn't do any one any real harm. If I can ask religious voters to set aside their discomfort about abortion and gay marriage, I can put up with a National Day of Prayer.
While I don't think this is harmful, and I understand the political benefit of making religious Americans feel as though they have a voice in our government, I wonder at the kind of religious belief that requires support in national policy. I think of spirituality as an intensely personal expression; I do not need my government to reflect, encourage or express my religious beliefs. (I'd prefer that it didn't try to, because there is simply no way for a government like ours to express all the myriad complexities and contradictions of the faiths of its people.) But I've heard the outrage from many Christians at the perception of our government, and especially your administration, as being against religious expression, and I just don't understand it. If people want to pray today, they should do so. If they want some one to lead them in prayer, they should go to a religious leader. Why is that a role for our government? Isn't faith, by definition, an act of personal will?
I think that believing in God should not require any action on the part of any one else. I don't believe the phrase "under God" has any place in our pledge of allegiance, which is meant to be a devotion to our nation, founded on the freedom to be any religion, or none at all. National Prayer Day does not do me any great injury, but I wonder if it does any one any real good, either. I think that any one who prays does so without prompting from their elected officials. In your declaration today you called upon "the citizens of our Nation to pray, or otherwise give thanks, in accordance with their own faiths and consciences, for our many freedoms and blessings." I am thankful for our many freedoms and blessings, and even for the goodwill that religious belief generates in people from all faiths. Maybe we look for too many reasons to complain. I'm certainly guilty of this, especially in the face of my relatively blessed existence, but I hope that you know how many of us are thankful to be spared government-imposed religious expression, as well.
I know you are a religious man, Mr. President, and so I hope that you found today to be helpful, comforting or inspiring. So long as you continue to defend the separation of church and state, I will put aside my discomfort at these symbolic displays of a faith that does not belong to me.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
National displays of faith, or national calls for prayer make me uncomfortable. I'm not a religious person and I generally feel excluded, somehow, as though these days of prayer are meant to distinguish "real" Americans with Judeo-Christian values from those of us who don't have an easy religious definition. But our country is overwhelmingly religious, and while symbolic displays of faith by our supposedly secular government might make me feel uncomfortable and alienated, it doesn't do any one any real harm. If I can ask religious voters to set aside their discomfort about abortion and gay marriage, I can put up with a National Day of Prayer.
While I don't think this is harmful, and I understand the political benefit of making religious Americans feel as though they have a voice in our government, I wonder at the kind of religious belief that requires support in national policy. I think of spirituality as an intensely personal expression; I do not need my government to reflect, encourage or express my religious beliefs. (I'd prefer that it didn't try to, because there is simply no way for a government like ours to express all the myriad complexities and contradictions of the faiths of its people.) But I've heard the outrage from many Christians at the perception of our government, and especially your administration, as being against religious expression, and I just don't understand it. If people want to pray today, they should do so. If they want some one to lead them in prayer, they should go to a religious leader. Why is that a role for our government? Isn't faith, by definition, an act of personal will?
I think that believing in God should not require any action on the part of any one else. I don't believe the phrase "under God" has any place in our pledge of allegiance, which is meant to be a devotion to our nation, founded on the freedom to be any religion, or none at all. National Prayer Day does not do me any great injury, but I wonder if it does any one any real good, either. I think that any one who prays does so without prompting from their elected officials. In your declaration today you called upon "the citizens of our Nation to pray, or otherwise give thanks, in accordance with their own faiths and consciences, for our many freedoms and blessings." I am thankful for our many freedoms and blessings, and even for the goodwill that religious belief generates in people from all faiths. Maybe we look for too many reasons to complain. I'm certainly guilty of this, especially in the face of my relatively blessed existence, but I hope that you know how many of us are thankful to be spared government-imposed religious expression, as well.
I know you are a religious man, Mr. President, and so I hope that you found today to be helpful, comforting or inspiring. So long as you continue to defend the separation of church and state, I will put aside my discomfort at these symbolic displays of a faith that does not belong to me.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Day 90
Dear Mr. President,
Caught up, as you must necessarily be, in the larger-than-life business of being President of the United States, you probably don't get to experience the strange and wonderful smallness of being an anonymous American. I've had a day that makes it difficult not to marvel at the goodness of humanity.
It started while I was grocery shopping today. As I walked by a bus stop outside of the store, a man came at me in an unsettling sort of way. It was nothing I could put my finger on; my instincts were telling me that something was wrong, that there was something hostile about his stare and his approach, but I easily would have forgotten it entirely if not for what happened next. After doing my shopping, I discovered my wallet was missing. I checked my pockets, the bag I'd already been carrying, the shopping basket full of groceries, it was nowhere. The clerks at Trader Joe's searched high and low, but found it nowhere in the store. I left my contact information and went out to retrace my steps, knowing I'd had it only a block outside the store. My wallet had my student ID, driver's license, credit and debit cards, bus pass, and $65 cash. As I frantically searched the sidewalk outside, a man who'd been listening to his headphones at the bus stop seemed to recognize me. He waved me over and told me that he'd seen the man staring at me take my wallet after it fell out of my pocket. He told me I should cancel my cards right away, and pressed $20 on me, refusing my attempts to return it, or even to take his name and number to be able to pay it back.
I returned home, canceled my cards, and bemoaned the loss of money I could barely afford, the groceries I'd been planning to buy, and my various ID cards. I felt stupid and irresponsible, angry at myself, but still moved by the kindness of this stranger at the bus stop. Less than an hour later, I got a call from a woman who'd found my wallet on the street by her apartment. She lived several blocks away from the grocery store, nowhere near where I'd been, and told me that, while my cards & IDs were all safe, there was no cash. I thanked her for going to the trouble of tracking me down, and set out toward her apartment to retrieve my wallet. We met only briefly, she came down to hand off my wallet and we exchanged first names. As I hurried off to the store, I looked inside the wallet, only to find $40 and note saying "For groceries. Enjoy!"
And so, on a day when everything seemed to be going wrong, strangers took care of me. These people may never know that their kindness meant so much to me, their unexpected generosity reminding me never to lose faith in humanity's fundamental goodness. It is easy to forget how well we tend to one another; not even the clerks at the store, when I finally made it in to pay for my groceries, would believe this story until I showed them the note, and then none of us could stop grinning. I hope that, even if your position in life precludes you from being the beneficiary of this kind of anonymous care, you're still able to take pride in the knowledge that strangers like the ones I met today are all around, giving what they can, even (or, perhaps, especially) in these difficult times, to guard against the cynicism and isolation we all fall prey to.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Caught up, as you must necessarily be, in the larger-than-life business of being President of the United States, you probably don't get to experience the strange and wonderful smallness of being an anonymous American. I've had a day that makes it difficult not to marvel at the goodness of humanity.
It started while I was grocery shopping today. As I walked by a bus stop outside of the store, a man came at me in an unsettling sort of way. It was nothing I could put my finger on; my instincts were telling me that something was wrong, that there was something hostile about his stare and his approach, but I easily would have forgotten it entirely if not for what happened next. After doing my shopping, I discovered my wallet was missing. I checked my pockets, the bag I'd already been carrying, the shopping basket full of groceries, it was nowhere. The clerks at Trader Joe's searched high and low, but found it nowhere in the store. I left my contact information and went out to retrace my steps, knowing I'd had it only a block outside the store. My wallet had my student ID, driver's license, credit and debit cards, bus pass, and $65 cash. As I frantically searched the sidewalk outside, a man who'd been listening to his headphones at the bus stop seemed to recognize me. He waved me over and told me that he'd seen the man staring at me take my wallet after it fell out of my pocket. He told me I should cancel my cards right away, and pressed $20 on me, refusing my attempts to return it, or even to take his name and number to be able to pay it back.
I returned home, canceled my cards, and bemoaned the loss of money I could barely afford, the groceries I'd been planning to buy, and my various ID cards. I felt stupid and irresponsible, angry at myself, but still moved by the kindness of this stranger at the bus stop. Less than an hour later, I got a call from a woman who'd found my wallet on the street by her apartment. She lived several blocks away from the grocery store, nowhere near where I'd been, and told me that, while my cards & IDs were all safe, there was no cash. I thanked her for going to the trouble of tracking me down, and set out toward her apartment to retrieve my wallet. We met only briefly, she came down to hand off my wallet and we exchanged first names. As I hurried off to the store, I looked inside the wallet, only to find $40 and note saying "For groceries. Enjoy!"
And so, on a day when everything seemed to be going wrong, strangers took care of me. These people may never know that their kindness meant so much to me, their unexpected generosity reminding me never to lose faith in humanity's fundamental goodness. It is easy to forget how well we tend to one another; not even the clerks at the store, when I finally made it in to pay for my groceries, would believe this story until I showed them the note, and then none of us could stop grinning. I hope that, even if your position in life precludes you from being the beneficiary of this kind of anonymous care, you're still able to take pride in the knowledge that strangers like the ones I met today are all around, giving what they can, even (or, perhaps, especially) in these difficult times, to guard against the cynicism and isolation we all fall prey to.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
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