Where There is Despair

As Japan continues to be in the news, my heart continues to ache for the victims – particularly the children – of the earthquake(s) and tsunami that hit their country last week. I’ve noticed, though, that of the photos released in the days following the disaster, most of them were not of suffering, injured people – the kinds of graphic pictures that were released following the earthquake in Haiti last January. Instead, many of the photographs from the disaster in Japan are of damaged property: landscapes of decimated houses, twisted cars and other debris. From the media reports that I’ve seen, it seems as though there aren’t as many seriously injured people in Japan; a representative from a Doctors Without Borders Assessment Team reports that the need for clean water, food and shelter is more immediate and widespread than medical emergencies. Even so, I’m somewhat bothered by the fact that many photographers seem to have been more interested in property damages than suffering human beings.

But I don’t want to judge anyone too harshly – none of us truly know how to respond when something of this magnitude occurs.

And that’s something that’s been on my mind a lot in the last week – my own response to natural disasters, tragedies of epic proportions, raw human suffering and need.

So many people – my friends, my co-workers, people on Facebook and Twitter – have been discussing the tragedy. I’ve seen many status updates either directly or indirectly related to the quakes. #prayforjapan and similar hashtags have been trending on Twitter. (For those of you who are not Twitter-literate, that basically means that the topic “pray for Japan” has been extremely popular.) I’ve been participating in a discussion with other bloggers about whether or not we will post on the tsunami.

But despite all the media coverage and conversation on the damage from the quakes, the danger from the over-heating nuclear power plant, and the suffering of the Japanese people, I’m not as visibly, demonstrably distraught over the current situation as I was last year about the disaster in Haiti. I think that this is partially because last January, I was on Winter Break when earthquake struck and so I sat at home for several weeks, watching footage of screaming children having an arm or leg amputated without any anesthetic.

I would turn on the news and then spend the next half hour (or more) listening to various reports with tears streaming down my face. In contrast, I haven’t shed more than a solitary tear here or there for the Japanese people.

But before you think I’ve turned into some kind of unfeeling Gila monster over the past year, let me explain.

At some point last January or February, I realized that sitting around my apartment in Maryland and crying didn’t really do anyone any good, least of all the Haitians themselves. I wanted to help, but I’m not a medical professional and couldn’t volunteer to help in that sort of capacity; I can't even stomach having my own blood drawn and have to kick back on a cot until my wooziness subsides. I didn’t really think that I was in much of a position to volunteer to fly down and dig people free of the rubble, either – my arms are approximately as strong and muscular as a well-cooked fettuccine noodle. I really wouldn’t be all that useful in a crisis situation, to be honest.

I desperately wanted to help – the footage of those screaming children was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, not just a soft-hearted former elementary school teacher such as myself. But as an under-paid adjunct professor, I didn’t have much extra cash in my bank account. I donated what I could, but still found myself sitting around and sobbing and asking, now what? Tears were not the answer, though – that was just wallowing. I realized that if I was so moved by the suffering I was seeing, I needed to find an active way to help.

Essentially, I made a decision about the kind of person that I wanted to be. I didn’t want to sit around wringing my hands, limited by my own tiny bank account. I didn’t want to donate $50 and be done with the situation, either – I couldn’t simply forget the children who were suffering in Haiti, and even if I could have put them from my mind, I didn’t want to forget them. I realized, though, that constantly thinking about them wasn’t healthy. I needed to find a healthy emotional response and a way to help.

I racked my brain for things I could contribute. People were donating clothes, but I wasn’t satisfied with the idea of rounding up a few sweatshirts to send off. Representatives of relief organizations were getting on TV and telling people that money was the best thing to donate, anyway, because then these organizations could purchase exactly what was most needed – water, food and medical supplies. My bank account was currently drained down to its minimum required balance and I wouldn’t be receiving another paycheck until Winter Break was over, so I became convinced that I needed to FIND more money somewhere else.

Then I came up with the idea of selling my hand-made jewelry. I had more than I could possibly wear, plus extra supplies from teaching jewelry classes and leftovers from my own projects. I went out and purchased some extra jewelry wire, then got to work making duplicates and triplicates of my own necklaces. I opened an Etsy store, linked it to my Facebook account, and basically spammed all my friends to buy my jewelry with the promise that I would donate all the proceeds to the Red Cross, Unicef and Doctors Without Borders relief efforts in Haiti.

By the time I had to close up shop in May (in order to pack things for our move to New York), I had raised and donated a few hundred more dollars. It wasn’t that much money in the grand scheme of things, but that cash bought some blankets, medical supplies and tent shelters for the Haitians. And I was crying a lot less.

And this is the kind of person that I want to be – not unmoved, but moving. When we see suffering, we should be moved by it – but sometimes we are so upset that we become paralyzed. At least, that has been my tendency in the past. But someone who is paralyzed by disaster is powerless to help alleviate suffering.

I don’t want to be useless in a crisis, unable to help. I don’t want to be limited by my own emotions; I want to overcome my human frailty in order to act on my human empathy. As stated in the beautiful Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi: “Where there is despair, [let me sow] hope.”

I don’t mean this to be a religious appeal or any kind of guilt trip – I just simply want to declare my own desire to be a stronger, more selfless person. I’m not really sure if I’ve reached that goal, or if it’s a goal that you can even reach fully. It seems likely to me that the average person could always find more ways to give of herself. But this isn’t all about donating time or money to me, but also about being strong. Strong enough to face heartache and disaster and keep going, so that instead of indulging my own grief, even in the most warranted moments, I might wipe away other people’s tears. Sometimes, more than anything, it is that strength that I long for.

But the suffering people on my mind right now are half a world away in Japan, and so instead of wiping away tears, I am going to check my bank account balance and see if I can't find ten or twenty more dollars to donate. And then I’m going to go on a walk with my husband and clear my head, because it never does anyone any good when I sit around at home too much.

Thirty Seconds

“What are you doing?” The harsh whisper came across the table, startling me and stirring up a streak of fear that shivered through my stomach.

I had been caught. Caught reading a novel in the middle of class.

I hadn't been caught by the teacher, but by the new boy. The cutest boy in class.

At that moment, the latter seemed to be more mortifying.

I shoved the book farther under the table. “Nothing. Reading,” I said defensively.

“No you weren’t,” he said, his tone belligerent. He leaned in toward me, getting dangerously close. I could feel my face turning red as he said, “You couldn’t have been reading. You were turning the pages too fast.”

I stared at the fringe of thick, dark lashes around his coffee colored eyes. Even though I couldn't look away from his eyes, I somehow noticed his rosy cheeks. His close proximity made me tremble a little: this was an intense moment for a sixth grader.

I gulped. “I was too reading.”

“How fast can you read, then?” he demanded, still whispering. So far, the teacher had not noticed our quiet conversation.

Oh, crap. Now he was challenging my skill as a reader – one of the few skills that I felt I possessed. I had to defend my honor – but I didn’t have a clue how fast I could read. I just knew that I read fast. And I also knew that I suddenly wanted very badly to impress this cocky, handsome sixth grade heartthrob.

I’m sure I must have stuttered and blushed. “I don’t know,” I told him.

He paused for a minute, tilting his head and studying me. By this time, I must have been redder than Anne Shirley’s carrot-colored hair.

“I’ll time you,” he said. He held up his wrist, displaying his watch. “We’ll see how long it takes you to read a page.”

Now the pressure was on. I was a shy and stuttering sixth-grade geek with no other way of impressing the new boy than to try and dazzle him with my intelligence and speed-reading skills. But perhaps more important than that, I suddenly felt the need to prove to myself that I was good at something. So I nodded, pulled my book back out from under the table, and set my eyes to the top of the page.

“Okay,” he whispered, his eyes on the minute hand as it ticked slowly around. “Wait, wait – go.”

I skimmed the page quickly, looking up and whispering a triumphant “Done!” when I had gotten to the bottom.

“Thirty seconds,” he said, looking at me with new admiration with those coffee-colored eyes. I couldn’t stop staring at his thick lashes. “And you remember what you just read? Tell me what was on the page.”

I gave him a quick recap of the subject. I couldn’t tell him exactly what had happened, but I knew what characters had been talking and what general subjects they had discussed. It was enough to convince him that I had actually absorbed the information on the page in thirty seconds.

Having convinced him, I suddenly felt a new pride in my identity – I might have been a book geek, but at least I was a skilled book geek. And even though the cute boy and I didn’t exactly end up being lunch buddies, he actually paid attention to me from time to time – and I didn’t stutter and blush nearly as much when I answered him.

I’m not exactly sure what made me think of that incident today, a little moment from the life of a bookish sixth grader who has clung tenaciously for the sixteen years following to the identity that I established at that moment. First I was a reader, then I blossomed into the writer and communicator that I am today.

At that age, I could never have imagined that I’d be able to talk as much or as loudly as I do at parties, chatting with all kinds of people for hours without stuttering. A regular Little Miss Chatterbox.

I could never have pictured myself up in front of a classroom, with enough confidence to not only skillfully teach, but even entertain my eighteen and nineteen-year-old students. But maybe it was this very moment – where I was pushed to declare myself, to defend my ability and so define myself through that ability – that made the rest of my career possible. I had always loved reading, but I remember this moment so clearly because it was the first time that I had been challenged to prove that my skills were impressive and important.

So maybe it is thanks to the boy with the thick, dark lashes and a gaze with the intensity of a laser gun that I became confident, sure of who I was and who I wanted to be. I was proud of myself, perhaps even for the first time. In those thirty seconds, I learned some extremely important things.

I am a reader, a critic, a writer, a communicator. I am good at those things, and those things are valuable.

And from that day forward, I have never stopped defining myself that way.

The First Opportunity

As I posted on Thursday, I want to look for more opportunities to challenge myself to be a better person. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take the 40 Days of Water Challenge, giving up all beverages except water for 40 days and donating the money that I would be spending on coffee, tea and pop (soda, for my East Coast neighbors). My challenge to myself doesn't even have to involve sacrificing something; it could involve other types of fundraising efforts, or include volunteering to serve in other ways. But in the wake of the massive earthquake and tsunami in Japan, I’ve found something that I could (even should) challenge myself to give up for a good cause: book buying.

Now there’s a real indulgence: my book buying addiction. I call myself a book store junkie, an Amazon whore. I can never resist browsing the latest books when I visit the mall and I spend many nights of insomnia trolling the premier online bookseller for deals and new reads. My only Black Friday tradition is to surf through literally hundreds of pages of discounted books and DVDs, getting most of my Christmas shopping out of the way and always picking up at least fifty dollars of stuff from my own wishlist. I don’t even want to admit to you (or my husband) exactly how much of my paycheck each month goes to pay my Amazon bill… and I love my Amazon credit card, which lets me earn triple the points for each dollar spent on their website, all of which tally up and let me earn AMAZON GIFT CARDS. My husband struggled at first to understand why I didn’t just want cash back – but oh, the lure of more books, free books.

But this isn’t meant to be a public service announcement for Amazon. Or maybe it is, sort of.

In times of disaster, Amazon has dedicated homepage placement and donated use of their payments technology to the American Red Cross. Amazon.com customers have contributed more than $35 million to global relief programs since 2001.

2001: $6.9 million contributed for 9/11 relief in the U.S.
2004: $15.7 million contributed for tsunami relief in South and Southeast Asia
2005: $12.4 million contributed for Hurricane Katrina relief
2008: $180,000 contributed for Cyclone Nargis relief in Myanmar and earthquake relief in China
2010: $750,000 contributed for earthquake relief in Haiti

$6.9 million for 9/11 relief is amazing. $15.7 and $12.4 million even more so. But why only $180,000 and $750,000 for Myanmar, China and Haiti? Can't book lovers do better than that?

My thought was, how much money do I spend on books each month... each week? Can't I match myself and/or give up a week or two of book buying to help ease the suffering,and devastation in Japan? I indulge my book buying impulse so often these days, after all.

For example, on my book blog, I participate weekly in a meme called “In My Mailbox.” This is an opportunity for book bloggers show off books that they have purchased or received that week (not necessarily in the mail literally), before they actually read and review them. We post our purchases, then read about everyone else's new books. The point is that book lovers get to share their excitement over new acquisitions with each other. We’re all book geeks of one kind or another, and our enthusiasm needs an outlet, an audience that understands our bookish glee over new paperbacks and hardbacks, those beautiful covers and unread pages… It also ends up being extra promotion for the specific titles and authors, so everyone wins.

Many people who are regular participants of In My Mailbox acquire between four and twelve novels each week, and ever since I got a full-time job, I too have been indulging myself a fair bit. I no longer feel guilty dropping money on a few books each week when I find them discounted on Amazon, or when I want to grab a couple specific titles so that I can join a new online reading challenge. I've definitely been spoiling myself.

So when I saw the Amazon banner inviting donations to the Red Cross Japan Earthquake/Pacific Tsunami Fund, I realized that instead of giving up beverages, I should start by giving up books. At this point, though, my TBR (“To Be Read,” terminology of the book-addicted world) stack is so high that I won’t be lacking anything to read, anyway. It’s not a sacrifice of my intellectual life or my reading enjoyment so much as a sacrifice relating to my shopping impulses. Some of you will understand when I say that it's an emotional sacrifice.

Most of my readers probably aren’t book bloggers, but I challenge you to think of something that you spend $10–30 a week. Maybe it’s a Starbucks addiction, a tendency to overspend at Target (I do that, too) or even just a comparison to your monthly Netflix bill. You spend $10 or $15 dollars a month to get DVDs through the mail and access instant viewing. Can’t you spare just as much for people who have just lost their homes?

I challenge you to give what you can. Even text REDCROSS to 90999 to donate $10. Most of us can probably spare the cost of a single new book or a month of Netflix.

And I am issuing a special challenge to book bloggers this week: those of us who have jobs (even low-paying jobs at libraries, non-profits, elementary schools, etc.) should think about this: if we have money to splurge (as we so often do) on books, can't we give up our indulgences every once in a while to help when a need like this arises?

I'm going to go examine my Amazon credit card bill, determine what I spent on books within the past few weeks, and match the amount, donating to the Red Cross Fund for the victims of the Japan Earthquake and Pacific Tsunami through Amazon. This is my first opportunity since challenging myself to do something concrete, even if this first step probably won't change my personal character that much.

I’m not posting this because I want a pat on the back – I’m posting this because I want you to join me. Find something that you can give up for a week or two, then donate. And then come back and leave a comment here for me, letting me know what you’ve chosen to give up – I think it would be really cool to hear about other ideas of what people decide to do.

It Starts at Home

“Everything thinks about changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.” – Leo Tolstoy

In order to spark some ideas and strategize for my new role as a PR/Communications Associate at a non-profit organization, I’m reading an awesome book called The Networked Non-Profit: Connecting with Social Media to Drive Change, by Beth Kanter and Allison H. Fine. Yesterday, on the train ride home from a class on Grant Proposal Writing, I came across Tolstoy’s quote in Kanter and Fine’s book.

I realized that while I used to closely connect my concept of “who I am” with the lofty aspirations that I had to change the world, that my identity became less and less dependent on my role as a social servant. After moving around a few times, experiencing a crisis of personal religious thought and the East Coast cold shoulder, and slaving away in isolation as a graduate student, I became more of a pragmatist, a realist – yes, you could even say a bit of a jaded cynic. (Although I work for a non-profit now, so the idealist must still be in there somewhere, and clawing her way to the surface again.) I had been a resident of the Land Called Youthful Ignorance, but I packed my bags and moved to the Land of Terrified Disenchantment.

Thinking about Tolstoy’s words, I felt inspired to come up with ways that I could change myself before/while I take on the huge task of trying to promote and shift a movement of social change. I’ve been generating a lot of exciting ideas for projects that my non-profit organization could make a difference in the Bronx, one of its core service areas. I’ve been excited about how we could use Facebook, bloggers, and possibly even tweets to spread awareness, raise money, collect donations of books and clothes, find volunteers and supporters. But if I’m honest, it’s been a long time since I’ve really given much thought to changing the person that I am, at least in that capacity.

I think a lot about my selfishness in the context of my relationship with my husband. I think one of the perfect ways to sum up my experience of marriage is the Bible verse Proverbs 27:17 that says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” My husband certainly spoils me in many ways, but beginning even before we got married, my relationship with him has forced me to confront and change many aspects of my selfishness. Whereas my parents and grandparents spoiled me in almost every way imaginable, taking care of their little princess, my husband expects his wife to be his partner – and rightly so. And I’m honestly grateful for the way that our conflicts and struggles have sharpened me, whittled me down little by little. I want to be a mature, responsible, capable woman.

But while marriage has perhaps been the experience that has “sharpened” me the most, there are other valuable relationships and situations that challenge and sharpen a person – many of which have slipped out of my life since we moved away from our friends and families in Michigan almost six years ago. While I used to be a dedicated member of a church community, deliberately allowing myself to be checked and challenged by several close Christian friends, I no longer have people in my day-to-day life that notice and speak up when something about my behavior is less than admirable. It’s almost a bit of a shock when I get into a deep conversation with one of my old friends and they point out that I’m being kind of a jerk about something.

I think I’ve slipped a little ways down the rabbit hole and gotten away from Tolstoy’s intended meaning – or have I? There are a hundred different ways – a thousand – that we could each resolve to change our behavior, our demeanor, our hearts. Wouldn’t each of those decisions make the world a little bit better?

But here’s the kicker. I came home to find this email in my inbox: “40 Days of Water Begins Today! Sign Up Now!” 40 Days of Water is a fundraiser for the awesome charity Blood Water Mission, which "empowers communities to work together against the HIV/AIDS and water crises in Africa." The concept of the 40 Days Fundraiser is this:

It’s a big commitment to not drink anything but water for Forty days. But from March 9 to April 23, that’s exactly what we’re asking you to do. By giving up what you'd normally drink in exchange for the water from your tap, you can save that money and donate it to help build clean water projects for communities in Uganda. Imagine it this way, because $1 can provide a year of water for 1 person in Africa, with each drink you give up each day, you'll be providing years of water for someone else.

We hope that through this experience you’ll be reminded daily of the privilege of having safe water at your everyday disposal, and that you gain a sense of solidarity with your neighbors in Africa. We also expect that your heart will be filled with hope that something can be done about the water crisis – and that you’re a part of actually doing it.

An awesome idea, right?

Except I hate the taste of water. Except I have a stomach condition and I often drink peppermint or chamomile tea to aid my digestion. Except I love cream soda. Except with my new job, I need the caffeine in my diet Coke to get through the day, especially when my insomnia has kept me up the night before and I’m running on four hours of sleep, trying to produce copy that sounds eloquent for a grant proposal or a newsletter. Except I hate the taste of water.

My first round of thoughts: Can’t I just donate a chunk of money? Even a dollar would provide a water supply for someone else for a full year.

And then I respond to myself: Lauren, you’re such a selfish jerk. You want to change the world? Or even just yourself? But you can’t even give up drinking diet Coke and tea for forty days.

Maybe my stomach condition is a legitimate excuse, maybe not – that’s not so much what I want to debate. I want to think about the kind of person that I really am and challenge myself to find small ways that I can make a difference. I want to think about changing myself before I go on a mission to change the world, or even the Bronx.

I’m going to search out some different events like 40 Days and sign up to participate in some of them, as well as consider if there are any other ways that I can challenge myself to “sharpen” my character. Change starts at home – in your heart, if I’m allowed to be hokey for a minute here.

What are some ways that you challenge yourself?