This is a Guest Post by Matt Brotherton, part of the BIG QUESTION series: “What does America Want?“

–

I don’t know that I can speak for everyone out there. I’m not sure anyone can define what an entire nation of people really want. The differences between people can be like night and day. Everything I believe that is good for the country, for myself, my friends, and my family, might be in direct contradiction of what my next door neighbor thinks is best for us all. The question seems both simple and yet, more complex than anything I’ve ever thought about before.

My entire life, I’ve been told that I need to find what it is that makes me happy and pursue that. Watching my parents, what they’ve done to provide and care for all of us and more, has instilled in me something more, though. The day in and day out struggles of keeping a family safe, comfortable, fed and content seemed like what it was we’re all supposed to do. My parents worked hard to make sure that we had everything we needed, and even a few things we just wanted.

I don’t want to make the impression that there was no one out there more badly off than we were. I know that even in my own extended family that just isn’t true. Yet, still, it seemed like every time we took one step forward, we were taking one step back. I know that’s not entirely true either. I can look back on my life and see how far my parents actually climbed, through hard work and determination. How far we’ve all come because of it.

I think if there was any one thing that Americans want, it’s for that burden, that struggle, to be a little bit easier. I don’t think the majority of us are actually asking for a hand out. I think we just want some of that oppressive burden to be taken off of our shoulders. It’s been my experience that when one person’s burden gets a little smaller, a little lighter, they in turn will help the next person down the line. We aren’t asking for a hand out. Most of us aren’t looking to be given something for nothing. We’re willing to work ourselves to the bone to get ahead, to advance. All we need is the opportunity.

I’ve seen a lot of rhetoric about redistributing wealth or putting the debt on our kids. I can’t help but think about who those statements are targeting. They aren’t targeting the top 1% of the Nation. They are designed to make people like me, sitting comfortably in the middle-class be afraid that I will fall down into poverty.

They truth is, that if we don’t do something to create the opportunities to advance — if we don’t find a way to lift a little bit of that burden from the people below us — than we will fall. Without a solid foundation, no building can stand. I’m afraid all the weight at the top of the building that we call America is starting to show signs of strain in the basement. The least we can do is add a few support beams.

–

Matt Brotherton is a doodler, writer,  and part time philosopher. You can find more of his rants and dreams at http://www.mabrotherton.com or follow him on Twitter.

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I agreed with myself that I would write a small stone for Fiona and Kaspa on their wedding day, which was June 18.

What with the whirlwhind of (fill in list of excuses here), the entire weekend disappeared somewhere.

I didn’t realize that I’d even forgotten until today, driving, I heard Mary Chapin Carpenter singing “Late For Your Life:

No one knows where they belong
The search just goes on and on and on
For every day that ends up wrong
Another one’s right
Call it chance or call it fate
Either one is cause to celebrate
Still the question begs why would you wait
And be late for your life

So here I stop to fulfill my promise.

Dear Fiona and Kaspa:

Peace and love on your wedding and the days that follow.

My to-do list keeps running through my mind as I look around on June 22nd for a small stone for two beautiful newlyweds.

So in honor of your fourth day of marriage, I skip this thought to you.

bullet points remind me

Of the thousand bits of

nothing to do today–

run my finger down this used envelope

and imagine your skin

waiting for me in evening’s dusk.

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On Everyday Charity and 9.0 Earthquakes.

One day on Facebook I asked my friends: “What can I do to help you?”

It was one of those days when I had some unexpected free time.

I sincerely hoped that someone would ask me to make dinner for them or watch their kids or juggle their seven balls for them so they could lie on the ground and watch the clouds. Sure, I am busy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help out my friends in return when I can.

I got many responses, but they were mostly in the non-specific range of  ”how thoughtful!” to “what? You don’t have enough to do right now LOL?” No one asked for anything in particular and I clearly didn’t know WHAT to do, so I gave up.

I ended up watching “America’s Next Top Model” instead.

The Problems We Share

My 16-year-old niece Shona, this weekend, was laying with her head on her Nana’s lap, listening to her elders discuss the disaster in Japan. She broke in: “It seems like a lot of this kind of stuff has happened in my lifetime. Is there more distasters now, or have these bad things always been going on?”

Her family was quick to reassure her that the light-speed of our media has made it much easier to internalize other people’s suffering, and to make that a part of our own everyday experience.

“In the past,” I said, hoping to sound like a proper old auntie, “before telegraph and texting, we only shared such news with our neighbors… A five-mile radius might have been the extent of our reach.”

It’s a good problem to have…

… to have the time and the resources to help. But I know as soon as I have the time, I often find myself tangled up in questions about:

• what to do
• how much to do
• who am I missing
• what is appropriate
• who have I forgotten
• will my company match the donation
• why bother

So, then, I often just end up watching, well, “Desperate Housewives” and thinking: “I’ll send my $80 to NPR in the next fund drive.”

The Quality of Help

I want to be more cognizant of others and their needs. It’s on my “I Don’t Ever Plan To Empty This Bucket List.”

So I found this great list from Zen Habit’s Leo Babauta called “25 Ways to Help a Fellow Human Being Today” that I think is a good guide for when I am feeling generous, or just all-around conflicted about charity.

Leo notes that: “what we must guard against is the tendency … (of) individuality to have us focused on ourselves to the exclusion of our fellow human beings.”

He gives a wonderful argument for the improvement of MY life, based on the improvement of yours.

A few of my favorites from Leo’s list are:

8. Comfort someone in grief. Often a hug, a helpful hand, a kind word, a listening ear, will go a long way when someone has lost a loved one or suffered some similar loss or tragedy.

We don’t allow ourselves to really grieve in our culture. So if you meet a friend who has lost a loved one or a pet, I think it is so important to listen to them, to nod and to touch them, and to tell them “it’s ok to cry.”

11. Lend your ear. Often someone who is sad, depressed, angry, or frustrated just needs someone who will listen. Venting and talking through an issue is a huge help.

The friends who have done this for me are the friends whom I carry in my heart everywhere.

14. Do a chore. Something small or big, like cleaning up or washing a car or doing the dishes or cutting a lawn.

When the kids first came to live with us, our community of friends from church made food for us, and came to the house to help us, even went and bought them pajamas and underwear. It was so wonderful.

16. Send a nice email. Just a quick note telling someone how much you appreciate them, or how proud you are of them, or just saying thank you for something they did.

Don’t you love it when you get a note for “no reason” to tell you how great you are?

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We went to Africa. We wanted to make a difference.

My wife and I spent five years in the noisy, crazy city of Nairobi, Kenya. My day job made a difference, but our “side” stuff was what really made an impact.

Steve (name changed because of how small the world is now) was a gate guard. That’s about the lowest job one can have in Nairobi. The pay was $5 a week. He supplemented his income by washing cars in the housing complex he worked for. One of those cars was ours.

It broke our hearts to see someone with such promise stuck in such a dead-end place. After a lot of research, we found an inexpensive school where he could learn car mechanics. He enrolled, and we paid the tuition. About nine months later, he was ready to work. But it’s not easy finding a job in a city with roughly 40% unemployment. So I found a job for him – he started working for the mechanic who fixed our car. The pay was actually less than what he was making as a gate guard. But it was a stepping stone. Then I found him a job at another shop – one that was a much better environment and paid him enough to live on – and eventually get married and start a family.

That’s the short version of the story. Each step in the process was a lot of work – filled with frustration, tears – and sometimes joy. And knowing that Steve’s life is better today because we made that connection is huge.

So why did we leave Nairobi? My day job was not something I could do forever. And the traffic, 5 am Muslim calls to prayer that woke us each day – as well as needing to reconnect with our families in the States – drove us back to suburbia.

What gives me joy today? Connecting with you. It may be small, but it can be a huge thing. The difference I might make in your life will probably be less dramatic. But maybe I’ve encouraged you to make a difference too. Right where you are.

**

Writer and social media expert Paul Merrill travelled to Kenya to save the world, one family at a time. These days, he’s observing the world, one bit at a time, from his blog Shiny Bits of Life. He lives in suburban Colorado and contributes to this blog from time to time.

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Last week I received THREE emails in one day from friends and writers I had wanted to post here as guests.

The first I put up yesterday: a raw, painful post called “Airline Food” by Zen Buddhist priest and author Karen Maezen Miller. Read it, if you dare.

Tomorrow you will have access to the exclusive “3 Questions for Scoutie Girl,” an interview with creative business innovator and co-founder of the The Creative Empire, Tara Gentile. Tara is a mighy entrepreneur, melding handicraft and social networking into a beautiful pedigree of action and usefulness.

I’m very interested in the guts of these women. Don’t tell them, but I’d like to crawl up inside of them and pitch a tent for awhile. I am pretty sure I’d get arrested for that, so I’ve decided just to ask them to talk for and with me.

Also, I think I’ve been feeling a bit noisy; I’d like to sit by the fire and listen.

When I listen, I hear the small beep of the watch in my jewelry box.

When I listen, I hear dishes moving on the table downstairs.

When I listen, I hear children’s voices screaming in rushing laughter as the grey darkens into snowy twilight.

When I listen, I hear the recessive echo of wait in my own ears, a reminder to slow down and not push things.

When I listen, I find creation hovering in the smiles of friends and the encouragement of strangers.

When I listen, I remember I am not broken. I am whole.

Oh and Number three?

The third email I received was from Jill Murphy, author and Facebook researcher.

Look for part one of my interview with Jill Murphy, blog author for “My Close Strangers.”  She’ll be talking with me about some of the reasons she has discovered for why we find ourselves drowning in love with Facebook.

BTW, her interview is SO good, I had to make it two parts…

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#Reverb Day 6 Prompt: Make: What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?  (Thanks, Gretchen Rubin)

I made cookies (seen pictured), 500 or so of them for a church fundraiser. Well, actually I just rolled and cut and baked them, and shopped for the ingredients. So I didn’t make ALL of them, start to finish. I had help:

1. Anna made the dough from my great-grandmother’s recipe.

2. Linda made the icing, many shades.

3. Jeff and Diane set up the tables.

4. Stephanie spooned the nonpareils into her mouth.

5. Pat made the Stars of David.

6. Ellen made the striped mittens.

7. Becca made the sprinkle mountain.

8. MANY other friends iced and frosted and decorated, oh my.

Which leads me to a more pressing bell that has been ringing in my head recently:

Doesn’t it really take a village? Why are we always waving flags and singing songs for independence, when activities seem to come to conclusion more pleasantly with help and company?

Case in point: #Reverb10. Yes, I do blog anyway. Sure, I am capable of weaving my own thoughts and posting them at regular intervals.

But isn’t gathering like (and sometimes unlike) minds to convene on a concept so much more valuable? When we think in tandem, our ideas multiply exponentially.

So the “village” isn’t a place to agree or to rub each others’ metaphorical egos. The village is a place of our own making, where we feel safe to share our scariest and most magical selves. It’s where we live– cry, hide, and grow.

And, for me, the best part about the village is that it is filled with people who help me FINISH THINGS!

You can #reverb10, too! It’s not too late! Find out more & join in this creative exercise here.

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My 39th Birthday, Condensed

As most of you know by now, I LOVE birthday month. I am having a great birthday this year. Here are some of the highlights!

• My parents called me at 6 a.m. and sang “happy birthday” in unison. They also (I am sure this wasn’t planned) both said “Happy birthday dear sweetie pie!” So cute! And SO thoughtful of them to make sure I was awake early on my birthday so I didn’t miss any of it!
• Colin gave a little, blue box with the “Blue Nile” logo on it! YEAH! He finally got the hint (“So if you are ever in a bind about what to get me JEWELRY IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA! Hint hint.”)
• My sister, Kathy called me. Then, later, her daughter Abby called me too! Abby also informed me that she just got cast in the roll of Annette in West Side Story at her high school!
• Sam and Claire called (that’s another set of niece and nephew) and sang happy birthday to me from the back seat of Mom Mary’s car. That’s their favorite place from which to talk to me .
• The postman delivered me a BOX which had in it CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES, homemade by my friend Lane! I am sure those chips weren’t Hershey’s either. And they arrived intact… good job USPS!
• One of my office mates in the English department, Carol, heard me telling a student it was my birthday. And she hollered from her office “It’s my birthday too.”
• I got to share my birthday, also, with Mirabelle Brathwaite, out in California, ensuring that ALL of you are wrapped in the warmth of birthday love, from coast to coast.
• I received over 40 Facebook birthday greetings from my awesome friends, of all manner– the involved a ewe, a man in a beer bottle, smelly monkeys, space diapers, princesses and Dutch speaking cats in my Green Patch.
• One of my students/advisees came to meet with me and told me he is now one of the school mascots! That has nothing to do with my birthday, but he just kept smiling and smiling about it and it made me thrilled.
• Colin took the early train home! I love it when he comes home early.
• NANCY served of us at Ralph and Rich’s for dinner. She was shaped like a barrel with bleached-blonde spikey hair, but she could roll those specials off without blinking, she didn’t spill a drop when she poured our wine, and she sang “happy birthday dear nice lady” when she brought my surprise candle in my dessert. AND when she said thanks and good night, she said “Happy Birthday Elizabeth.” Colin noted she’d paid attention while he was singing and caught my name. A server knows good service!
• There was tea before bed, even though I hardly remember drinking it.
• There were e-cards from Maw and Paw, and Cathy too.
• There was a phone message from Kathy Fazio, my old friend from the Boilermakers, wishing me a happy day.
• There was a pink sweater from my Mom, which she’d bought before Christmas, wrapped in white tissue paper and sent home with me in early December… “Happy Birthday Beth!!” was written in Sharpie on the tissue.
• There was the phone call with Lane while she rode the bus home. And the google chat from Bonnie that I missed but I spotted later.
• There was the video on youtube from my little sister Ann, with George and Margaret singing to me from the bathtub.
• There was a mess all over the house… because nobody has to do nuthin’ on their birthday! (I’ll be cleaning it up today.)

That was year 39, in a nutshell. Lots of love and fun, spilling out all over the place.

No wonder I love my birthday!

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Or, The Continuing Saga of the Toast Rack

In a new series I am offering, English Things I Miss, I recently I opined about the great mystery of the toast rack. A mainstay of the British Bed and Breakfast, I found this piece of kitchenware a great and strange object. It is one of the first things I want to chat with Gordon Ramsay about, at my Great Dinner Party, to which I believe he may be invited.

But that is another story. THIS story is about Bryan and Stacy, my humble and wonderful friends in KC, who also lived in England for a year. Before Colin and I moved to London, Bryan and Stacy were very useful. Bryan regaled me with many stories on the hilarious missteps of our common language (ask him about fanny packs!) and Stacy warned me of the dire consequences of not flagging a bus down when you wanted one. They both made sure I knew not TALK SO LOUD, especially on the Tube, where virtually no one talks at all, except the  driver, to tell you of delays because of someone flinging themselves on the track at Euston.

Well, it’s the season of delight and wonder, and to keep with that theme, I found a package on my doorstep a day or so ago, with return address “Stacy Kearney.” Inside, wrapped carefully so as not to get damaged in the delivery, was a delightful addition to my kitchenware collection: My own personal TOAST rack (see photo above)!

I am sure I have done Bryan and Stacy a favor by taking this ridiculous souvenir artifact (and problem of storage– you can stack these things!) off their hands, but I am sure they did ME the bigger favor by bequeathing me this tool of British toast love.

Look at it! Not only will it hold my morning toast and cool it to crunchy-cold perfection, but it will constantly remind me (if turned correctly) what I am eating!

I can’t even tell you how long and hard Colin and I laughed over receiving this. Stacy’s Christmas card note reassured us it wasn’t an heirloom either — they’d gotten at the “Everything’s a Pound” store. Its worth lies in sentimental value then, as I doubt it is dishwasher-safe.

In return, Bryan and Stacy (and everyone else who can’t get enough of toast racks), I have this little delightful wonder for you! Enjoy while I go make myself some more toast!

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My Romanian dentist gave me a bouquet of pink mums today! Why would a dentist do that?
I was admiring the vase of flowers on her front desk and she said “Would like like some to take home?”
I blustered and said “Oh no really, I couldn’t” but she took me directly outside, to her backyard (who knew she lived above her Milford office space?!) and cut the mums from huge bushes blooming there. 

Autumn is here… bringing the fireworks of hardy mums and the fireworks of the trees exploding into their last colors.

It is the beginning of the end that makes the joy more acute, like the perfection of twilight.

“It’s that in between time… we treasure it and it is gone.”

The sun’s going down past the pines
Shadows grow long down the hill
Follow the path known by heart
Down to the wide open fields

Now that it’s twilight
Twilight
Now that it’s twilight, twilight

The morning mist burned off by noon
The dogs never moved from the shade
The mountains were bluer than blue
But the best of the day has been saved

You and me, you and me, you and me
You and me, you and me, you and me …

Now we’ll be led by eventide’s hand
‘Til then we’ll walk through the gloaming
Back on up the hill once again
Done with another day’s roaming

Now that it’s twilight, twilight
Magical twilight, twilight

–Mary Chapin Carpenter

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How to Act Like an Elitist

Although I do like to rant, I try not to “talk politics” around this space. This has to do with my fear of “alienating” people. Let’s face it, not that many people read this blog! I can’t take any chances!

But I am fired up! Read on!

Sam Harris, in Newsweek, defended the Republican-mocked concept of “elitism” in his article “When Atheists Attack” this week. How? By reminding sensible people (no you don’t have to have a Harvard degree) of its real meaning.

Ask yourself: how has “elitism” become a bad word in American politics?

There is simply no other walk of life in which extraordinary talent and rigorous training are denigrated. We want elite pilots to fly our planes, elite troops to undertake our most critical missions, elite athletes to represent us in competition and elite scientists to devote the most productive years of their lives to curing our diseases. And yet, when it comes time to vest people with even greater responsibilities, we consider it a virtue to shun any and all standards of excellence. When it comes to choosing the people whose thoughts and actions will decide the fates of millions, then we suddenly want someone just like us, someone fit to have a beer with, someone down-to-earth—in fact, almost anyone, provided that he or she doesn’t seem too intelligent or well educated.

– Sam Harris

Despising politicians is a recent American pastime, and we “ordinary folk” do it in a partisan way by mocking the Republicans for being “simple and close-minded” and the Democrats for being “know-it-alls and elitists.” We hate them all, and, as a result, our system reflects how much we hate ourselves, the “media,” and the fact that two and a half years of our lives have been lost on planning for this “future” of ours.

Straight Talk

You know, it’s a joke, and the joke is on US! For 8 years, we’ve been buddy-buddy with a beer-drinking, oil-herding, “Aw-shucks-let’s-get-together-and-gnaw-on-a-slice-of-Freedom-Pie!” politician/president. How has that worked out for us? Currently, about 70 percent of Americans don’t want to go out for beers with Bush anymore– that would include a significant proportion of the ones who voted for him once or even twice.

Now we are faced with the possibility that the EXACT same argument that worked to convince people to vote for George W. Bush — “Look at me! I’m just like you! Let’s have a beer and swap stories about our messed up famillies!” — will work to convince those same unhappy Undecideds to vote for Palin and her running mate, The Old Maverick, McCain.

What the Elitists Can Tell You
I show cowardly colors when I try hide my passionate political convictions.

Anyway, they aren’t exactly hidden. My “politics” (and the cloud of implied snobbishness, that “don’t-I-know-better?” tone that the Right has told me is now who I am) are a part of my daily life.

My “politics” come from my experiences, living in three distinct regions of the country, with seven years of higher education, working in universities with constant interaction with young minds, researchers and professors, traveling to multiple continents — to places where Christianity isn’t the first religion and English isn’t spoken. These experiences give my world view CONTEXT, and I believe my personality allows that view to remain open-minded.

That isn’t “elite:” it is merely a state of mind, combined with life choices. It is not “better;” it just is.

Some members of my family, I am sure, view me as an “elitist,” even if they know full well I will listen to and take on reasonable arguments. But truth is, every topic I have ever ranted on here in this “neutralish” blog — from Superbowl Super hero Eli Manning’s Hybrid Escalade and our fat holidays, to Terror Sticks for Christmas gifts and the Abominable Snowman’s self-reflection on certain death — is infused with my passionate belief system, based NOT on ideas I’ve developed by watching NatGeoTV and SpongeBob, but by experiencing, first-hand, people and places in the world, reading and studying about them, and processing those ideas here, and in other writings, that I share freely for people to mock, criticize, comment and ponder upon.

I am constantly asking questions about how change is happening in our world, and how WE (meaning me and YOU) can participate in the change, and not just be taken along for a ride. Me a pansy and a sucker? Never and NO way! I decide for me! And I decide, based on knowledge and on context. All experience is relevant, no matter how limited. The difference is participation, meaning YOU take part in the America, in neighborhood, in community, in the conversation between BOTH sides.

That would be the “not taken along for a ride” part.

My Family, My Context

I love my family, and I know how they voted in the past. They all voted for Bush in 2004, but none for the same reason. I know their reasons, and I relate to them, because I relate to my family.

The fact remains, however, they all voted for Bush (or for the Green party out of desperation, so says one member).

My quest and my question is: can I change the direction of our country within my own context? As an agent of CHANGE, I have control over my part of the conversation. To change the rhetoric, I have to take action to create a new reality. If I can succeed within my own context, I can succeed anywhere.

My Family, My Country

Like America, my family has labels and ideas about who I am, for good and for bad, as I do about them. It is my job to banish their labels, starting with me.

“Elizabeth the Liberal,” “Elizabeth the Drama Queen,” and “The Know-It-All,” have to change. I rant and they know it. Liberals rant. Drama Queens rant. Know-It-Alls drone on and on and never listen. Who am I, in their political context? How can I act to alter or even bring down the idea they have about me, and, in turn, about “liberalism?”

Liberal can’t mean “I know better.” It must mean, as it does mean: “I know you, you know me, and we all know better, when we work together.”

We all have responsibility to act: to break down the grip we all cling to of “labels” — the easy rhetoric of “elitism” and the charm and ignorance of “ordinary, like me.”

For me, I must act. To remind my family and other voters that our governmental electoral process isn’t a popularity contest or a frontier for maverick sheriffs. It is a complex and broken system, that can only be healed by voting with our futures in mind.

And fearless idealism and determination are the way to break through the limited views of our political American identity, both inside these borders and in the global community.

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