Dear Mr. President,
Today I brought in one of my Senior portraits to show one of my coworkers who'd asked to see what I looked like with dreadlocks. A trip down memory lane always is good for a laugh, (especially when recalling my 18-year-old self's somewhat eccentric fashion sense.) This week, reflecting as I have been on the very different paths so many of my friends from those days have taken, I can't help but wonder if the girl with the purple dreads and the pink satin thrift-store dress over bell-bottom jeans would be happy with the way she's turned out. My wardrobe is certainly more subdued, my hair less exciting, but would she be ok knowing what I've become? What I've failed to become? I may not miss much about being 18, but she had a faith in herself and in her own ability to achieve that's been lost in the years since this picture was taken, and today I miss that faith tremendously.
I've been struggling lately to remind myself that lives and accomplishments can't (and shouldn't) be held up for comparison. The decisions that have led me to my current state may haunt me in the evident joy of those who chose the alternate path, but I cannot evaluate my life against those of my peers. Our circumstances and struggles and goals are very different. It is ultimately the ways I've disappointed my own hopes, and not the ways the my life and accomplishments fail to measure up to those of my friends, that really bother me.
Do you feel like you've lived up to the goals you set for your Presidency? While it may be just as unfair to compare your own achievements to those of previous Presidents, this context is used by media pundits and fellow politicians alike to lend context to your achievements and shortcomings. This may be even more unfair than judging my own life against other 24-year-olds, as
we've come of age in the same era while your predecessors had very different social, congressional and economic situations. I reject the comparisons to Presidents Clinton, Carter and Bush (I & II) but I do wonder about the ways you've disappointed your own hopes and expectations. Today's tax compromise cannot feel like you'd imagined running the country would feel when you were campaigning.
I'm probably just projecting my own soul-searching onto you, but I think that such an ugly political defeat would have to make you reflect on the things you said you'd do once you got to the White House. I wish I had something cheerful or comforting to say, but I can only hope that both of us find the strength to face our reflections tomorrow morning. Our accomplishments, past and to come, mean nothing without it. And, be it because of the judgement of old photographs or the way we suffer in comparison to others, I think that there is some good, some hope, so long as we maintain the honesty necessary to feel our disappointment in ourselves.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Day 337- A different path
Dear Mr. President,
Today I caught a girl my own age shoplifting. She told us she's been using heroin since the age of 17. She has two children, who she no longer has custody of, and was visibly suffering the effects of her addiction. While I have no regrets about catching her and sending her to jail, I was a little shocked by how much sympathy I felt for her situation. I couldn't help but wonder how easily I might have found myself down a similar path. I can't imagine the life decisions that lead to an existence like hers, but, even after I clocked out for the night, her story lingered in my mind.
It reminds me that criminals, the anonymous numbers filling prisons around the country, are all stories and decisions and pieces of families. That they are not anonymous. When a friend pointed out to me that you finally got around to issuing pardons for non-turkeys, I was hopeful that you'd had a similar reminder, that your compassion for those who have wandered too far down the wrong path was guiding you to act.
Sadly, your 9 pardons all went to offenders who were not currently serving prison time (and a few who never received prison time at all.) Instead of using your Presidential powers to commute sentences and give worthy applicants a second chance at life, you seem to be on track to match Presiden't Bush's abysmally thin pardon record.
Mr. President, you have a difficult job. Getting legislation passed, appointees confirmed, or policies changed requires the cooperation of the near-useless houses of congress. You don't get to wave your hand and change the world, or even the country. But the pardon is one power that is left almost entirely to your own discretion. You could make a difference, change the lives of so many who have been unjustly punished. This is something you don't need the Republicans to agree to, something you don't have to negotiate through endless bureaucratic nonsense. You have the power to look past the numbers and the sentencing minimums and recognize the human stories behind the charges. I was reminded today how random and cruel life can be, how any of us could find ourselves years down the wrong path with no viable way out. If I had your power, I'd want to do whatever I could to help give people a second chance.
I hope that, going forward, you make better use of that power.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Today I caught a girl my own age shoplifting. She told us she's been using heroin since the age of 17. She has two children, who she no longer has custody of, and was visibly suffering the effects of her addiction. While I have no regrets about catching her and sending her to jail, I was a little shocked by how much sympathy I felt for her situation. I couldn't help but wonder how easily I might have found myself down a similar path. I can't imagine the life decisions that lead to an existence like hers, but, even after I clocked out for the night, her story lingered in my mind.
It reminds me that criminals, the anonymous numbers filling prisons around the country, are all stories and decisions and pieces of families. That they are not anonymous. When a friend pointed out to me that you finally got around to issuing pardons for non-turkeys, I was hopeful that you'd had a similar reminder, that your compassion for those who have wandered too far down the wrong path was guiding you to act.
Sadly, your 9 pardons all went to offenders who were not currently serving prison time (and a few who never received prison time at all.) Instead of using your Presidential powers to commute sentences and give worthy applicants a second chance at life, you seem to be on track to match Presiden't Bush's abysmally thin pardon record.
Mr. President, you have a difficult job. Getting legislation passed, appointees confirmed, or policies changed requires the cooperation of the near-useless houses of congress. You don't get to wave your hand and change the world, or even the country. But the pardon is one power that is left almost entirely to your own discretion. You could make a difference, change the lives of so many who have been unjustly punished. This is something you don't need the Republicans to agree to, something you don't have to negotiate through endless bureaucratic nonsense. You have the power to look past the numbers and the sentencing minimums and recognize the human stories behind the charges. I was reminded today how random and cruel life can be, how any of us could find ourselves years down the wrong path with no viable way out. If I had your power, I'd want to do whatever I could to help give people a second chance.
I hope that, going forward, you make better use of that power.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Day 336- In which everything goes wrong
Dear Mr. President,
Everything is going wrong today. I overslept and missed an important guest speaker in my morning class. I wasted way too much time reading internet news. I got a massive headache. A shoplifter at work got away and made me feel weak, slow and clumsy in the process (but at least got rid of my headache.) I'm an unacceptable level of upset about a boy, I'm terrible with money and I'm not even being a particularly good sister or daughter these days. I feel like an unqualified failure at just about every aspect of my life. So I can't write about tax-cut negotiations or human rights abuses or the death of the American Dream today. I'll probably be all over this by tomorrow, but tonight I have to write about positive things.
On the local level, the city of Seattle won National Novel Writing Month for the 4th year in a row. By 8 million words. (Not that I'm rubbing it in, or anything, LA.) Seattle continues to shine as a literary center for emerging writers, and while I did not participate this year (writing to you keeps me busy enough) I'm proud of my friends who did. Many approach November with more than a little disdain for the competition, which is won by every one who reaches 50,000 words by Nov. 30th, but I think that anything that combines charitable donations (Seattle alone donated $10K to youth writing causes) with a sense of community for the often solitary experience of novel writing ought to be applauded. Many great novels are born in these thirty days each year, and even those that will never see publication or fame or fortune will at least have the sense of such a tremendous accomplishment.
Nationally, NASA had me thinking they were going to announce the existence of extraterrestrial life, but I suppose an arsenic-based life form is pretty cool, too.
Finally, while this may seem a bit mean-spirited of me to count as a positive thing, Nigeria is pursuing a case against Dick Cheney for bribes paid to Nigerian officials by Halliburton. I don't imagine for a second that Cheney will actually ever see the inside of a courtroom, let alone be brought to justice, but still it's nice to see that sometimes that bad ones get theirs, too.
I'm in a better mood already. On a related note, a man walking two giant English Mastiffs just walked by the coffeeshop window, and I need to go pet them. The only thing that makes me happier than a city full of badass writers, an entirely new form of life, and a justice system (any justice system) with the courage to stand up to Dick Cheney is giant puppies. I hope you aren't also feeling like an abject failure tonight, but if you are, you should probably just play with Bo for a while. Trust me, it helps.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Everything is going wrong today. I overslept and missed an important guest speaker in my morning class. I wasted way too much time reading internet news. I got a massive headache. A shoplifter at work got away and made me feel weak, slow and clumsy in the process (but at least got rid of my headache.) I'm an unacceptable level of upset about a boy, I'm terrible with money and I'm not even being a particularly good sister or daughter these days. I feel like an unqualified failure at just about every aspect of my life. So I can't write about tax-cut negotiations or human rights abuses or the death of the American Dream today. I'll probably be all over this by tomorrow, but tonight I have to write about positive things.
On the local level, the city of Seattle won National Novel Writing Month for the 4th year in a row. By 8 million words. (Not that I'm rubbing it in, or anything, LA.) Seattle continues to shine as a literary center for emerging writers, and while I did not participate this year (writing to you keeps me busy enough) I'm proud of my friends who did. Many approach November with more than a little disdain for the competition, which is won by every one who reaches 50,000 words by Nov. 30th, but I think that anything that combines charitable donations (Seattle alone donated $10K to youth writing causes) with a sense of community for the often solitary experience of novel writing ought to be applauded. Many great novels are born in these thirty days each year, and even those that will never see publication or fame or fortune will at least have the sense of such a tremendous accomplishment.
Nationally, NASA had me thinking they were going to announce the existence of extraterrestrial life, but I suppose an arsenic-based life form is pretty cool, too.
Finally, while this may seem a bit mean-spirited of me to count as a positive thing, Nigeria is pursuing a case against Dick Cheney for bribes paid to Nigerian officials by Halliburton. I don't imagine for a second that Cheney will actually ever see the inside of a courtroom, let alone be brought to justice, but still it's nice to see that sometimes that bad ones get theirs, too.
I'm in a better mood already. On a related note, a man walking two giant English Mastiffs just walked by the coffeeshop window, and I need to go pet them. The only thing that makes me happier than a city full of badass writers, an entirely new form of life, and a justice system (any justice system) with the courage to stand up to Dick Cheney is giant puppies. I hope you aren't also feeling like an abject failure tonight, but if you are, you should probably just play with Bo for a while. Trust me, it helps.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Monday, November 15, 2010
Day 319-Another Dinner Party
Dear Mr. President,
Tonight I had an unusual group of friends over who mixed surprisingly well. As I watched them from my (admittedly, slightly tipsy) view on the living room floor, I felt the happiness that usually sets in when I've spent an entire day panicking about something that has finally come to pass. There was enough food. People seemed to like the food. My room was still messy but not completely shameful. My gracious roommates, who has been warned that I'd be having a couple of people over, were not upset when almost ten showed up. One particularly appreciated guest even helped with the dishes. For all of my rushing around and worrying all day, things went better than I'd ever have guessed.
My friends are lovely people, each of them uniquely intelligent, and sensitive, and fascinating. Some I've known forever, others I'm only just discovering, and still I can't hear enough of their stories. Being able to work and associate with people who constantly interest and challenge me is one area in my life that I'm constantly grateful for. I suppose there is something to be said for the argument that all people have stories, talents, intelligence; it is possible that I could invite any random assortment of humanity and find something to learn from and something in common with any of them. But I like to imagine my friends are particularly special in their own ways.
I often worry that I do not learn enough, and especially that I do not learn fast enough. I could spend months or years getting to know the people I had dinner with tonight, and that's just a handful of the people I want to understand. Similarly, I could spend a lifetime studying the Middle East and it is just one region of a whole world I want to learn about. The thrill of appreciating just how overwhelming a task life can be is one I never cease to enjoy. (Though it does make me seriously wonder if Eric might be right about how much time I waste re-reading books.) I wonder if this is analogous to the feeling of leading the country. You hear from 10,000 individuals every day, and you'll never have time to know or contact or help all of them. You've got more than a dozen issues you could devote your presidency to and never fully solve. It's exciting and frustrating and awe-inspiring on a scale I'll likely never experience.
I think this is why I write you. You'll never know me, really, but if you somehow manage to read one of my letters, you'll know enough. And I'm sure that each of us 10,000 is interesting in our own way, but you've got enough people to worry about understanding, and way worse problems than a dinner party. I hope that you have moments like these, where, instead of being overwhelmed by it, you just stand back and appreciate the beauty of it all.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Tonight I had an unusual group of friends over who mixed surprisingly well. As I watched them from my (admittedly, slightly tipsy) view on the living room floor, I felt the happiness that usually sets in when I've spent an entire day panicking about something that has finally come to pass. There was enough food. People seemed to like the food. My room was still messy but not completely shameful. My gracious roommates, who has been warned that I'd be having a couple of people over, were not upset when almost ten showed up. One particularly appreciated guest even helped with the dishes. For all of my rushing around and worrying all day, things went better than I'd ever have guessed.
My friends are lovely people, each of them uniquely intelligent, and sensitive, and fascinating. Some I've known forever, others I'm only just discovering, and still I can't hear enough of their stories. Being able to work and associate with people who constantly interest and challenge me is one area in my life that I'm constantly grateful for. I suppose there is something to be said for the argument that all people have stories, talents, intelligence; it is possible that I could invite any random assortment of humanity and find something to learn from and something in common with any of them. But I like to imagine my friends are particularly special in their own ways.
I often worry that I do not learn enough, and especially that I do not learn fast enough. I could spend months or years getting to know the people I had dinner with tonight, and that's just a handful of the people I want to understand. Similarly, I could spend a lifetime studying the Middle East and it is just one region of a whole world I want to learn about. The thrill of appreciating just how overwhelming a task life can be is one I never cease to enjoy. (Though it does make me seriously wonder if Eric might be right about how much time I waste re-reading books.) I wonder if this is analogous to the feeling of leading the country. You hear from 10,000 individuals every day, and you'll never have time to know or contact or help all of them. You've got more than a dozen issues you could devote your presidency to and never fully solve. It's exciting and frustrating and awe-inspiring on a scale I'll likely never experience.
I think this is why I write you. You'll never know me, really, but if you somehow manage to read one of my letters, you'll know enough. And I'm sure that each of us 10,000 is interesting in our own way, but you've got enough people to worry about understanding, and way worse problems than a dinner party. I hope that you have moments like these, where, instead of being overwhelmed by it, you just stand back and appreciate the beauty of it all.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Friday, October 15, 2010
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
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
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