I am no more, no less, than a woman with just enough chutzpa to think I might make a difference in a world that seems to need so much more talent and brains than I have on offer. I also own up to a generous dollop of Pollyanna naiveté that lets me go on thinking anyone cares. Both traits have served me delightfully well all my life.
I'm an empathetic, scatterbrained know-it-all who secretly believes she really doesn't know a damn thing. However, it turns out I happen to know just enough to be a burr under the saddle of anything that smacks of prejudice, wastefulness, disregard, zealotry, unkindness, and plain ignorance. Which means I spend a lot of time being annoyed with myself. It helps that I seem to write well enough to make people either puce with indignation, or smile and nod happily to be sharing a similar point of view. Either way, my intent is to create enough of an itch to get people scratching,
paying more than sound-bite attention to what’s going on around them. Really paying attention. Seriously. I’m going for the kind of laser-like attention that encourages research, going to school, getting involved, volunteering, making a stink, crossing the line, pissing off powerful, well-intentioned nincompoops and creating alliances with fellow enlightened Fools. Think of me as a rash that will never go away.
If you’re smirking right now, I’ve already got a head start on that itch.
I’m far less interested in whether or not you agree with me than I am in engaging you in a genuine dialogue that leads to a whole new dimension of understanding on my part. I want you to show me the courtesy of an educated point of view, open my mind in such a way that I’m able to conceptualize an idea that would likely pass me by otherwise. Obviously I hope to sneak some new ideas into your gray matter too.
Enter this little blog. A toad’s tear in a sea of information and opinions. If you’re here right now it means I’ve either badgered you into it because you were silly enough to give me your email address once, or you’ve somehow seen the ripple and decided to come calling at my pond. Welcome, I'm listening.
2 comments:
Does your dad read these?
Yes. Why do you ask?
He said some very nice things about my first post and promised to check in on it from time to time. He likes the way I write mostly. We used to have mini poetry fests via email. He'd send me something I'd love, then suggest I try the form. I'd fire back a new poem in the style he suggested, in about an hour, then he'd write back to tell me it's beautiful, then kinda yell at me. He says anyone who can produce "that kind of poetry" in under an hour should be publishing a book. *grin* ...some day right?
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