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November 11, 2009 · 4:00 AM

Homeless

It’s been one of those days when I constantly wonder how I am going to function for the next five minutes. Mike and I are wading in the cloudy waters of trying to purchase our first home. Turns out no matter how orderly your affairs are, the banks and the government can still sneer as you squirm under their magnifying glass in the sun.

Dealing with mortgage paperwork today grew so simultaneously intense and depressing that I had to leave work. Granted, leaving at 3:30 when I show up at 7:15 isn’t that big of a deal, but it felt dramatic. I hurried out of the building and then walked slowly through the rain to my car. And then I wet my face with my own tears for the entire ride home.

It seemed the tears and the rain weren’t enough to rinse my attitude, so I thought a run would be more effective. It didn’t feel like exercise; it felt like survival. I ran straight into the wind and dared it to take me down. I thought surely it would.

It’s funny how much faster my thoughts come when I’m motoring down the sidewalk. It’s like my legs force my brain to crank out negativity at twice the going rate. That might sound counterproductive, but in fact it serves to cut my overall catharsis in half…thirty minutes running equals one hour of crying.

“Hey!”

I glanced up quickly to see who had hollered at me. I saw a man with long dark hair, holding a Coors Light in one hand and a bag of his possessions in the other.

“Hey…” I barely replied, since speaking to strangers on the street tends to freak me out. He was standing under a busstop for protection from the rain and I was approaching, about to pass by.

“Beautiful,” he said quietly. I looked at him again. What?

“BEAUtiful,” he said again, this time more emphatically. I’ve been called various lewd things by people on the street before, but this word wasn’t among them. And oddly, this didn’t seem creepy, because he didn’t seem to mean it to be.

It took me a couple of paces to consider this, but by then I was past him so I hurridly glanced back. He gave a small, humble smile. Somehow, incredibly, I felt it was fully intended for me to feel loved — not by him, of course, but by God. I know that comes across as though I am on my fourth martini to be writing that, but I really believe it.

Sometimes I put God in too small a space and then I lecture Him by saying He can only reach out to me in three specific ways: prayer, the Bible, and trusted friends. Then He promptly ignores my lecture and shocks me by using a scraggly stranger to call me beautiful on the street.

And let me tell you, beautiful I was not. My hair clung to my face from the rain, my clothes were soaked in water and sweat, and I was probably as red as a cosmo in a cold glass.

I started to cry as I ran, which is just as awkward as it sounds, especially when there are forty cars crossing Mercer in rush hour traffic. I imagined them in their cars saying to their passengers, “What’s with that girl? Running must be REALLY hard for her if she has to bawl just to get through it.”

It occured to me as I ran that this is just one day. I am moving through life with burdens and struggles like anyone, but I am running. I’ve got legs to carry me and a heart that’s still pumping.

It doesn’t really matter where we live, if we get the condo we’re trying to get, or if we rent for the next ten years. That doesn’t define us. Just like the man under the busstop, we’re essentially homeless in this world. But that’s not so bad when one of your own calls you beautiful.

I rounded the corner onto Fairview with a refreshed ferver. I abandoned my hostility, looked at the sky and sprinted all the way home.

8 Comments

Filed under The WORD (Faith)

Tagged as adventure, marriage, Mike Reph, Seattle

November 4, 2009 · 3:00 AM

Respecting the Non-Voters

Normally I avoid politics on Words Become One because I do not want to polarize readers. However, with all the election craziness today and yesterday, a non-partisan issue spoke to me above the din. Don’t worry…we’re nowhere near soapbox territory, and you won’t catch me shouting at you in all caps. This is just an interesting topic, and I would love your opinion on it.

For the last two weeks I’ve felt inundated with TVs and billboard advertisements touting “Get Out the Vote!” or “Don’t Forget to Vote!”

This makes sense because most people are extremely offended by informed citizens choosing not to vote. I am one of those people. But I am also offended when uninformed citizens blindly cast their vote.

Consider: voting is a right that should never be taken for granted, but sometimes voting is a privilege we shouldn’t employ.

Why? Sometimes we aren’t informed. And voting when we’re uninformed disrespects that right.

Voting is the every-man’s power to affect change, and when involved citizens know the issues and vote to elect chosen representatives or approve initiatives, that is American democracy at its best. It’s enough to make you want to set your alarm clock to “America the Beautiful” and wake up beaming every morning.

However, if we haven’t researched issues, read statistics on candidates or listened to debates, our vote has the same power to affect change. Imagine the impact of millions of people skimming through a ballot and half-mindlessly filling in bubbles; those votes count just as much as the person who spent hours learning the referendums and initiatives.

Scary, right?

While some will say that choosing not to vote is akin to letting the right to vote be taken away, I am convinced that many voters are uninformed, and therefore dangerous behind the lever. An article in the Democratic Strategist quotes data that approximately a third of the public is largely uninformed (for instance, they can’t name one of their own senators). If I’m a part of that third, choosing not to vote could be the most responsible handling of my rights.

NPR reported yesterday morning that since Seattle has switched to voting through mail-in ballots only, people are delaying voting until the last possible minute (this most definitely includes me; I mailed my ballot on its due date…it still counts). They reported that this shows a rise in voter consciousness, because citizens are changing their minds on issues and candidates as news about each emerges. This is good news, because it seems to show people are paying attention.

I am as guilty as the next person. I remember being 18 and so excited to vote, but I was too preoccupied with college applications, social activities and sports to pay attention to the details of what I was voting about. I pulled out my ballot at the kitchen table and hollered over to a parent to ask what the issues were and how I should vote. Clearly I didn’t appreciate the privilege.

This is why MTV’s “Rock the Vote” and “Vote or Die” campaigns tend to freak me out. To be fair, they claim to provide access to information on the issues on their website. But they are speaking to millions of 18-year-olds just like me (at the time), and while many of them are far more informed than I was, there are just as many who will vote just because P. Diddy told them to.

diddy

Fast-forward seven years and I am doing my best to watch mayoral debates, read my voter pamphlet, and read news articles and endorsements before I grab my pen to vote.

Yesterday I was stuck in 520 bridge traffic and I looked up to see about twenty impassioned people holding picket signs with names of their favorite candidates and “Vote Yes on Ref 71” (it passed) or “Vote No on Ref 1033” (it did not pass). At first I was encouraged at the sight of such activism, but then I stopped to consider: what about those who do not know what Ref 71 or 1033 are about? It’s possible the picket holders are convincing uninformed voters through word recognition. Later, someone might look at their ballot and say, “I’m not sure what this is about, but I remember all of those people holding “No” signs…”

zhallsigns

An LA Times opinion article suggested testing voters before allowing them to vote, to ensure they understand the basics of US government before they decide how to change it. I am not supporting that idea, but I applaud the concept behind it (and I really hope I would pass it. Otherwise I would have proved my own point, and I will definitely be staying home next election cycle.)

There are only four types of people when it comes to voting. To prove that point, take the following quiz:

Did you vote yesterday?

A. Yes
B. No

Were you informed about that which you were voting?

A. Yes
B. No

Answers:

— 1. A and 2. A = Informed citizen who voted
— 1. B and 2. A = Informed citizen who didn’t vote
— 1. A and 2. B = Uninformed citizen who voted
— 1. B and 2. B = Uninformed citizen who didn’t vote

When it comes to voting, the first and last results are the only choices I respect.

4 Comments

Filed under One WORD (Current Events)

Tagged as election, politics, Seattle, voting

October 28, 2009 · 3:00 AM

A Letter to the Non-South Dakotan

I am proud to debut WBO’s first guest blogger, Sarah Bueller. Sarah and I met in 2004 while surviving as interns in Washington, DC. She works as an attorney in non-profit law, is happily married to her husband Casey, and generally makes the redheaded population proud to call her one of our own — see photo at bottom of article. (Not to be confused with Tom Cruise’s tiny tot, Suri. Believe me, that’s a mix-up you only make once.)

Here she offers us a fresh perspective on life on the East Coast…after transplanting from the Midwest.

Dear Coastal Reader,

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was obsessed with the Presidents. She had an insatiable need to learn all she could about them from her Encyclopedia set (because this “once upon a time” was the ’80s). Her new-found knowledge naturally led to a fascination with the city in which each of them had lived. She determined that she too would live there someday and be surrounded by the monuments honoring these exceptional men. However, for her this would be quite a feat, considering her surroundings were far more Little House on the Prairie than Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (literally: Laura Ingalls Wilder once lived 90 miles from where she grew up).

Allow me to introduce myself as that half-pint South Dakotan. Last year, one of my life goals was achieved when my brilliant husband began his graduate studies in Washington, DC. We packed our belongings in our Sioux Falls, SD apartment to move across the country into one that is half its size and three times as expensive. Our financially conservative parents were proud, but very confused. We soon found, though, that this was only the tip of the confusion iceberg.

You see, I did not realize my foreign status – within my own country – until I stepped out of the “foreign” land. And while we in the Midwest see your coastal cities on-screen thousands of times before actually reaching them, there are only so many times those of you on the coasts have seen Dances with Wolves. Hence your bewilderment with my Great Plains roots.

I didn’t expect the shock and awe, however, that I provoke on a regular basis simply by explaining that I grew up in a location lacking a direct flight to anywhere. (Incidentally, right now I am facing a $600 ticket home for Christmas. Mail cash instead of purchasing gifts this year, sweet family.)

I have answered the customary “Where are you from?” countless times over the course of the last year. And once I have answered, the defining reaction has been this: “I honestly was telling a friend just last week that if I ever met someone from the Dakotas I would laugh in their face!” This statement really needs no commentary – the offensive nature is self-explanatory.

Aside: it is just as strange to us that you group “the Dakotas” together as it is to you that we refer to soda as “pop.” And if we have been friends for a year and you still introduce me as a North Dakota native, I should warn you that my Midwestern courtesy is about to expire.

Other classics: WTH is the Corn Palace? So, is everyone required to get married at 15? Red . . . right? What is a mega-church like? I’m confused, you’re married, but you don’t have a gaggle of kids? And the ever-charming: WHY and HOW are you HERE?

And then there is “My wife and I were watching Children of the Corn yesterday and I asked her, ’Do you think this is what it’s like where Sarah’s from?’” The truth is that I lived it, considering one of my favorite childhood pastimes. My sister and I would pack a picnic and then traipse into the cornfield, i.e., our backyard, to dine amongst stalks twice our height. You really couldn’t call us anything BUT Children of the Corn. But I’m not about to admit this to the inquirer.

Another favorite response is, “Oh my gosh, you must think this winter weather is tropical!” This is a classic comment we South Dakotans hear just about everywhere we go outside of the upper Midwest. Yes, it’s true, the Dakotan tundra is notorious for reaching wind chills of 50+ degrees below zero. But a DC winter is hardly mild. You have to wear the same goose down here that you do there, people. I just realized that you may not even understand the term “wind chill” and I have completely defeated my point. Maybe I shouldn’t go into how our house used to become so engulfed in a snowdrift that we could walk right up to the roof.

I cannot fully blame the Midwest-illiterate for their misconceptions, however. This is evident especially when I consider the striking difference between my current and former local news. For example, recently the Washington Post described an event hosted by the First Lady to encourage children to become more active, complete with a photo of Mrs. Obama twirling a hula-hoop. In contrast, today’s Argus Leader explains that a Colton, SD man recently won his age division of the National Cornhusking Championships by hand-husking 382 pounds of corn. In case you’re wondering, this amounts to about 30 ears per minute.

So, while I understand the occasional stereotypical reference to my people as corn-fed child-brides, please consider that regional discrimination is a serious problem. The more we recognize how much we actually share in common, the better off we are. I mean, at a minimum we have all visited Mt. Rushmore, right? Wait, now that I think about it, if you haven’t been to my state’s and this country’s crown jewel, I’m afraid we have nothing to say to each other.

Exasperatedly,

Sarah Bueller

Former and Forever South Dakotan

DC 09 -- Rephs 055