When I recently joined the political arena and started attending conferences, I suddenly had to become an adult, or at least look like one. My fashionable friend Darlene took me shopping and helped me buy make-up for the first time since junior high. No kidding. Darlene had a ball, but for me it was a shocker. "It costs how much to look like I'm not wearing any make-up at all?" I gasped. I grew up in the 60s and have never adapted to panty hose or high heels. If I had needed those accoutrements in any of my jobs, I would have remained unemployed and unemployable. Luckily, it wasn't a prerequisite for anything I wanted to do. My kids chortle merrily while perusing our wedding album where I feature prominently in my $50, Kelly green, polyester dress. I didn't wear dresses at the time and certainly wasn't going to buy a traditional white one. It just wasn't my style. While I am convinced in my heart that it's what's inside that matters, I have reluctantly come to see the wisdom of not always looking like a person from another era. Sometimes it's important to "blend," as Marisa Tomei's character says so memorably in the movie My Cousin Vinnie.
An unintended benefit of my visits to the Y is the web of contacts that I have made there. There are so many interesting people to talk to, so different from the rather cloistered circles of my work and private life. I've found walking and Scrabble buddies, and numerous people I wish I had time to meet for coffee or just sit and schmooze with. While I work in a two-woman office and my after hours are largely spent in front of a computer, my time at the Y reminds me that I am, indeed, part of a larger circle of women linked by our common experience as daughters, mothers, and wives. It is a powerful connection and we have much to learn from one another.
Before my goggles fog up, I like to watch the other swimmers, admiring their form and the way their bodies cut through the water. I love swimmers – their long, lean muscles and the absence of extra meat on their bones. I'd hoped that hanging around them, their body type would be contagious, but I don't think that the transformation from short and zaftig to tall and lean is easily accomplished. Otherwise, there would be a whole lot more migration from one body type to the other.
I've noticed that many quite speedy swimmers move through the water without leaving much of a wake, their legs barely seeming to move. I believe this also has an application to our lives on dry land. We can work hard at something without appearing to make much headway. Sometimes, it's hard to gauge progress because we're in the middle of things and lack perspective. It's necessary to get some distance, either psychologically or with the passage of time, in order to see the larger picture. While I may move gracelessly through my laps, by the end of 40 minutes or so, I have successfully racked up another three-quarters of a mile or more.
Activism is very much like that. Every day, I try to locate a few articles that I think will be of interest to our readers. I am always working on an op-ed piece myself, and sometimes, like now, more than one at a time. I'm constantly on the look-out for people to bring into the orbit of OpEdNews so we can help spread their message and they can help spread ours. For instance, today, while driving carpool, I heard an interesting piece about a blogger who was pushing the story about the firings of the US attorneys when the corporate media was still snoozing. I came home and wrote him an email, inviting him to post at OpEdNews or to collaborate in some way. I have no idea if he will even read my email – he mentioned that he has 2,700 unread messages in his queue – but there's a small chance that my action will bear fruit. It has in the past. To follow through is to believe in the possibility for positive change, a course I'll choose every time.
I don't go to bed every night with a feeling of great accomplishment. Many tasks remain half-done or are just germs of ideas, and there's never enough time to do everything. I hate loose ends; it's just the way I am. But, after doing this for 15 months, I can derive great satisfaction from what I've been able to accomplish. And my mother is very proud of me. I've written more than 60 op-ed pieces, something I never anticipated or could have imagined. I'm not a writer, and each article takes a lot out of me. Every piece goes through countless edits and rewrites. I'm happier with some than with others, but I can live with that. If it's not great literature that will last for generations, I don't mind. I'm gratified that people are willing to read what I have to say and that it strikes a chord with some of them. I love that my readers respond to me, sharing their own stories and discoveries, and that they find me accessible. That's very gratifying and makes it more of a dialogue than a monologue. I'm an ordinary person who's happened to find herself in the right place at the right time, and it's enabled me to do some good.
OpEdNews is now on the forefront of providing coverage on voting issues, and I have posted over 2,200 articles for our readers. I now have a network of dedicated and talented individuals who share a passion to make America great again. I feel tremendous admiration for these people, many of whom spend more time than I do working towards this goal. Whenever I get overwhelmed by the breadth of our endeavor, I look at those who have been doing this longer than I have and most of them are still going strong. It gives me strength and determination to keep doing what I'm doing in the same way that swimming alongside complete strangers spurs me to greater efforts. Before my goggles fog up, I often pick up my pace to match that of the swimmer in the next lane over. He stimulates me to try harder, swim faster, and push myself farther. If we can do that for each other, we will all be the better for it, and so will our world.
An unintended benefit of my visits to the Y is the web of contacts that I have made there. There are so many interesting people to talk to, so different from the rather cloistered circles of my work and private life. I've found walking and Scrabble buddies, and numerous people I wish I had time to meet for coffee or just sit and schmooze with. While I work in a two-woman office and my after hours are largely spent in front of a computer, my time at the Y reminds me that I am, indeed, part of a larger circle of women linked by our common experience as daughters, mothers, and wives. It is a powerful connection and we have much to learn from one another.
Before my goggles fog up, I like to watch the other swimmers, admiring their form and the way their bodies cut through the water. I love swimmers – their long, lean muscles and the absence of extra meat on their bones. I'd hoped that hanging around them, their body type would be contagious, but I don't think that the transformation from short and zaftig to tall and lean is easily accomplished. Otherwise, there would be a whole lot more migration from one body type to the other.
I've noticed that many quite speedy swimmers move through the water without leaving much of a wake, their legs barely seeming to move. I believe this also has an application to our lives on dry land. We can work hard at something without appearing to make much headway. Sometimes, it's hard to gauge progress because we're in the middle of things and lack perspective. It's necessary to get some distance, either psychologically or with the passage of time, in order to see the larger picture. While I may move gracelessly through my laps, by the end of 40 minutes or so, I have successfully racked up another three-quarters of a mile or more.
I don't go to bed every night with a feeling of great accomplishment. Many tasks remain half-done or are just germs of ideas, and there's never enough time to do everything. I hate loose ends; it's just the way I am. But, after doing this for 15 months, I can derive great satisfaction from what I've been able to accomplish. And my mother is very proud of me. I've written more than 60 op-ed pieces, something I never anticipated or could have imagined. I'm not a writer, and each article takes a lot out of me. Every piece goes through countless edits and rewrites. I'm happier with some than with others, but I can live with that. If it's not great literature that will last for generations, I don't mind. I'm gratified that people are willing to read what I have to say and that it strikes a chord with some of them. I love that my readers respond to me, sharing their own stories and discoveries, and that they find me accessible. That's very gratifying and makes it more of a dialogue than a monologue. I'm an ordinary person who's happened to find herself in the right place at the right time, and it's enabled me to do some good.
OpEdNews is now on the forefront of providing coverage on voting issues, and I have posted over 2,200 articles for our readers. I now have a network of dedicated and talented individuals who share a passion to make America great again. I feel tremendous admiration for these people, many of whom spend more time than I do working towards this goal. Whenever I get overwhelmed by the breadth of our endeavor, I look at those who have been doing this longer than I have and most of them are still going strong. It gives me strength and determination to keep doing what I'm doing in the same way that swimming alongside complete strangers spurs me to greater efforts. Before my goggles fog up, I often pick up my pace to match that of the swimmer in the next lane over. He stimulates me to try harder, swim faster, and push myself farther. If we can do that for each other, we will all be the better for it, and so will our world.
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