On Systems

Here's the thing, I agree with you, many of our systems are in fact flawed, corrupt, and otherwise broken. However, I also understand that systems are made up of human beings, and humans by nature are imperfect.  Hence the imperfect nature of systems, no matter if they are global, interpersonal, or anywhere in between, is natural.

With that in mind, I believe there are a number of ways that we as imperfect people can attempt to correct or alter systems with different degrees of effectiveness.

First, we can observe a system from afar and complain about its insufficiencies, the injustices it creates, and all other ways in which it is ineffective.  To complain about a system does little more than to bring attention to a problem.  I equate this to a poorly written social documentary.  Whenever I watch a documentary on a social ill or problem, I hope to have some sense of how to address the issue at hand by the time the film has concluded.  Now granted, these potential solutions may only be temporary fixes or may not be directly feasible for myself as an individual.  Nevertheless, there is hope that somehow the problem or issue at hand may be manageable.

However, a poor documentary ends with little to no practical for resolution for little to no one.  This is equivalent of highlighting a problem and doing nothing about it, often criticizing those responsible for it in the process.  Sure, this brings some awareness to the issue little else.  These muckraking commentaries or documentaries are little more than a platform for complainers to whine about their view of social ills.

In the same way, to critique a system's insufficiencies or other problems is just that: a public complaint.  It is an irate citizen complaining at a public forum about the toxic waste seeping into her private pool.  Her anger is real and perhaps her concern is valid.  However, it is likely that her concern will go unnoticed or unaddressed as those working within the system may find it difficult to see past her visceral anger. (See Tone Policing)

A second way that we can attempt to correct a broken system is to spit fierce venom at it directly and confront the problem head on.  This can sometimes take the form of an ad hominem argument when viewed from one angle.  While addressing the principal concern of a system may appear ideal in practice, the issue here is the way in which the concern is addressed.

Oftentimes when someone enters a new organization or role she is able to offer a necessary outsider's perspective to those who have been enmeshed in their bubble for any number of years.  This can be extremely helpful for the organization, agency, system, etc. in question.  However, the new individual and system must come up with an effective way of communicating with each other.  That is to say, the individual and the system must learn to understand each other and, in a way, speak each other's language before making any sort of real, meaningful, and lasting change.  Otherwise, the change risks being ineffective or seen as a judgmental critique of ongoing practices.

This gets to the third, and perhaps most effective, way of creating meaningful change: calculated constructive criticism shared in a similar language over a period of time.  Each aspect of this method is critical, as if you leave one out the whole process may be in jeopardy.  First, the method must be calculated, meaning it is well thought out and planned by those who wish to create change.  It cannot be something that is just done on a whim or it will likely create further systematic problems.

Second, the criticism shared by the outsider must be understood to be done in a constructive manner.  When one is receiving constructive criticism, she is encouraged to remove herself or any feelings of personal judgment or hostility towards her from the situation.  This is how constructive criticisms work.  Think, for example of the way in which art critiques work: an artist presents her work to a group of peers in an effort to gain feedback (whether positive, negative, or neutral), and then she does her best to receive it all objectively.  It is paramount that during such a critique, those who are offering their input do their best to provide honest feedback and attempt to remove the artist from her work.  In some cases, it is often beneficial to have the artist's name removed or masked from the critics' view to avoid this very thing.  That is often why you may see researchers' names removed from a study when they are being considered for publication: to avoid undue bias and prevent criticism toward a person or institution rather than the information presented in the study.

The third element of creating meaningful change is the importance of shared language.  The importance of speaking a shared language cannot be understated.  Consider for instance the vast diversity of acronyms found in a number of professions and organizations.  A fairly well known mistake was immortalized on the internet when someone mistook the shorthand "lol" to mean "lots of love" rather than its common interpretation of "laughing out loud."  Granted, that is not a necessarily an acronym, but it is easy to envision how a misunderstood acronym can lead to misunderstanding fairly quickly.  The same can be said of terms that mean one thing in a particular profession's jargon and something very different in a another's.  Consider the term computer that not long ago was used as a job title in the accounting field I believe.  However, now a computer is more likely to be the medium through which you are reading this than what a profession you aspire to.

Each of these elements combine to create an ideal manner in which to create lasting and meaningful change to flawed, broken, and/or corrupt systems.  As the saying goes, Rome wasn't built in a day and neither are many of the systems that run the world.  With that in mind, it will take time and considerable effort to create and ensure meaningful change in any system; and really, because, as mentioned before, systems are created by imperfect people, the best way to create effective systems is to regularly promote a culture that encourages open and constructive criticism.  With this in mind we are more likely to catch our errors before they have a chance to negatively impact a large number of individuals and other interconnected systems.

Or maybe I'm just naive.

Romance

Romance.  What is it to you?  What words or images does it conjure up in your mind?  Do you think of candlelit dinners or that sentimental movie where an old man tells his story to his memory-depleted lover?  Or maybe to you it is just the gentle brush of your partner's hand against yours.

All of those examples may very well be romantic, however I believe that they represent a large misinterpretation of the word romance.  You see, romance to me can be so many things.  It can be the glorifying of valor and honor in an propagated effort to recruit more able-bodied soldiers for war.  It could also be the sepia toned photographs with curled edges one finds in the attic after a loved one has passed.  Still, romance could even be the feeling inside brought on by the sound of big bands playing on an old wooden and brass phonograph, or perhaps a period piece that so accurately portrays a time that has past and enraptures its viewers.

You see, romance to me is sort of like coming home.  It's what I imagine comfort food may be to some, or a warm slice of homemade apple pie with just one scoop of french vanilla ice cream.  Romance to me is like a tall glass of nostalgia made just for me and just for this moment.  I am not saying that those other manufactured moments of perceived intimacy cannot be romantic.  What I am saying is that is that those are but a small sample of true romance.

Admittedly, not all romance is positive.  As I mentioned above, sometimes romance is used as a method of propaganda.  Marketers, advertisers, recruiters, politicians, and more know that we are motivated by deeply set emotions, especially fear and love.  If these people can attach their messages to something that pulls at our heartstrings, they know that we are often more likely to accept or "buy" their message.

For this reason, I believe that critical thinking is a skill that is so important.  I do not want to live in a world where nuance is is subjugated or coopted into a world of false dichotomies.  The world is more than black and white.  I will admit that much of romance is brought on in works of fiction and fantasy, and such romance is admirable when it is done right.  However, even in such works of fiction it can help to recall that the story that we are absorbing through our eyes, ears, and other senses, is passing through a number of filters.  There are the filters of the original storytellers, the membranes of those who may be retelling an old fable, the funnels of the artists using their skills to transport us into another dimension, and the lenses of our experiences through which we take it all in.

I guess all I'm saying is two things: First, romance done right is mesmerizing.  It can transport us from a bland summer day on an open field to galaxy lightyears away.  Secondly, be careful what you allow yourself to fully absorb into your being.  Learn to think critically so that you do not allow others' unanalyzed thoughts to become your own.

And yes, I am aware of the irony (counterintuition?) of that final sentence, but how else could I say it?

A Small Skirmish

You taught me efficiency and they label me with "procrastinate."  You taught me to use my resources and they tell me I'm a mooch, a pest, and a leech.  You encouraged me to, "Go anywhere!" and "Be Anything!" and they reach for their strings to tie me down.  This world can't hold me down.  This world can't tell me who to be or who I am, although I endlessly ask them for clarification.

You advised me never to be afraid to ask questions and they break out the muzzle.  "Don't keep us here longer than we need to be," they complain.  The peculiar thing is that they were never here to begin.  Their minds have been fixated on former selves, covetous longings, and romantic desires, but not here.  They try to shut me up so that they can escape to where they imagine their dreams are waiting for them, but then complain that nothing ever comes to fruition, at least not the way that they had imagined.

Maybe it's not my place to speak these words.  Maybe this is just pointing fingers, but what if it's not?  What if it's more than that?  What if there is meaning to the madness?  Don't you want to know if there is something buried below the superficial stickers that the world tries to stick on you?  Wouldn't you want to discover what is hibernating deep inside?  Or are you so afraid of the unknown that you would rather plaster further layers of predictable pain on your person?

Stanzas to fill the In-Between

This movie's boring, mundane even.  Maybe a month ago it still held onto some novelty, but no more.  I want to start a new one; can we stop and begin again?

I thought life was living, but somehow it's all the in-between times, like this.  Surely there is light somewhere beneath this crack in the surface.  And here.

I'm a torn and fraying noose ever since you cut me loose.  I'm brain without a skull, unprotected and dull.  A sponge that can't release the pain, the trauma, and the rain.  No, not without you cradling my splinters in your handmade mittens.

There are faint whispers here, but nothing comes to life in a vacuum. Am I sweating or is that your steady pulse shaking the table?

Please don't go there, don't leave me unless you're gone for good.  You know I can't cut the strings myself. My patience is so thick that I can't breathe beneath it.  You understand don't you?

Lust Haunts Me

 I needed you and all you did was give me a passing glance.  You held me up like a prop in your life and that's all I ever was.  Still, why can't I leave in the past where we were?  Why do I go digging through the cemeteries of unrequited loves?  Why can't I leave you and move to green pastures?

And in these moments where everyone is so far from me, farther than physical distance, I return to the vast expanses where I left all of you.  All of me feels like a remnant casting fickle shadows in the still breeze.  I pick up the pieces of my heart that I hardly knew had broken apart from who I was.

And on some occasions the listeners listen too closely to who they think I am.  And then the other times they don't take me seriously enough.  So then I retreat to my interior like in these moments, hoping maybe there I will find a truer version of myself. Hoping, somehow I'll find a new part of me previously hidden.

I felt like I knew you so well and you never knew me.  Now, neither of us know who was or who I've become.  Maybe I'm a beautifully textured surface waiting for the right words.  Maybe I'm a fish in shallow water.  I see no reflection in the mirror.

Get Outside

 I need people.

I knew it before.  I was crying out for community before, but it was all a whisper in the dark.  Now the people are gone or far away and I'm all by myself.  I need an external force.  I don't think you understand this.  People say, "Pick yourself up," "Do it for you," or "You'll never love someone until you can love yourself," but do I not know myself?  Can't I think critically about who I am?  Sure, I have blindspots like the rest of us, but I need something from the outside to push inside of me, to make me go, to ignite me.

What does a solitary man do in the midst of the silent worldwide chaos?  Like noodles dancing mad above my head.  The cords attached to me are loose like live wires.  Don't step close to me or you may shock yourself.

Wear a mask, run for shelter, don't tempt me.

Social interaction is rare these days and the live wires protruding from my brain are the only animated part of me that make sense.

Maybe there is wind outside, but it seems my spirit's left.  I'm a shell, can't you see me?  Everything evaporated but the disaster; I'm still here.

Impetus of the Movement or The First Step to Self-Discovery?

Sure, you can kill the martyr, but don't you know what that will do?  Don't you realize that's what he wants from you?  Kill him and watch him resurrect in the thousands of faces around you.  In your effort to make him disappear your garden will grow with more weeds than ever before.

Yeah that's what he wants, this masochist, this cult leader, this creator, this destroyer.  Kill him if you wish, but just know that his roots run deeper than the soil underneath him.  He has entangled himself in the lives of everyone he's met so you will have your work cut out for you.  He's grafted into every living thing he's ever touched, this world is flooded with his toxins.

 

Cut him down, chop him up, and burn all that remains.  Still, you will not destroy him.  He is the destroyer.  He'll destroy everything but himself, for that is what makes him who he is.  If the martyr kills himself he fails his mission.  He has to convince you that he is the the victim and that he is the enemy.  He drives you to anger, to rage, and to hatred, all with a shallow smile peeking through his teeth.  He knows you see through him, but that is his intent, to get you to fall into this thinly disguised trap he's laid.

Poor man, poor suffering soul.  He truly believes that he is flawed and that no one loves him, or rather that no one will love him otherwise.  That is how his story came to be.  Someone or something convinced him many years ago that he was nothing if he was not suffering.  He can no longer see any different?

Can you cure him?

That's what he's really asking.  Can you peek inside him to find who he was before all of this?  He truly is a sad soul stuck in this delusion, this fiction.  Inside that façade there is someone there, someone real, someone beyond suffering, but he doesn't know that man anymore, nor how to find him.  He's searched so desperately for countless years, but somewhere along the dusty road he forgot what he looked like.  He forgot how to find the man behind the mirror without any aide at his side.

He only knows himself through the eyes of others; that is why he clings to you.  He's a parasite, but not by choice.  He wishes he could be himself, but he no longer recognizes who that is.  He'll disguise his hurt, his brokenness in the perceived innocence of an orphan child longing for a caretaker.  He'll numb the pain with temporal pleasures, even try to sleep in the hope that he'll wake up from this nightmare.

Still, all the suffering he endures is hidden by the hurt he lets the outside world see.  If he would let them in, if he could just be vulnerable for a time, then maybe he could rediscover himself.  But instead he urges you to strike at him, to make the first blow.  His delusion has made him think that only this will remove the thick layers built around his heart.  The soft, almost innocent, and yet somehow sinister glare of his eyes whisper "kill me," but it's the gentleness that holds you back.  You cannot destroy a child, you know there is a boy inside there.

Somehow you have to find a way past his cardboard cutouts and all the layers built by years of scars.  There has to be some way you can open him up to himself.  Maybe you can wound him in a way that runs deep, a way that won't feed the martyr, but rather burst through the beast to puncture the boy.  Somehow, you hope, the boy will return before the beast takes over.

Somewhere inside the boy hopes for this too.  Somewhere inside the boy cries desperately to be set free.

Yesterday's Remains

It started with a virus.  It started simply enough.  Surely we can recover from this eventually.

Remember when this normal was "new"?  Remember when the world did not revolve around you?  There has to be something here.  A purpose?  A tangent?  A discourse?

Yesterday the words were here and I fell asleep or exhausted my creativity elsewhere.  I guess I'm still there.

Can't You See It's Raining?

Like an addict in a torrent plugging holes in the attic.  I'm doing everything to keep the real me from understanding who I am.  My ego takes fear and dresses it in love to keep me in the dark.  It flips the switch on or lights a flickering match in this darkness in an effort to deceive me for even five more minutes.  My ego is the best at hiding its true intentions.  It does not wish for me to see beyond the crack in the door where the light is.

Plugging holes gets monotonous really fast.  I can move from one room to the next, one couch to the next, but there is little difference.  What about community?  What happened?  How did I leave it all behind?  How did I leave you all behind?  Escaping into the shadows doesn't feel like the quick abduction by a phantom.  It's a slow and winding path where the light gradually fades.  So gradual is the disappearance that it feels more the exciting acts of positive rebellion.

Is that what all of this is?  Is it my ego hiding me from the truth?  Or perhaps even this is one of its strategies to push me further.

I need to get to know myself more.  Who can start me on this journey?  I want to see who it is writing this and to have a conversation with him.  Where do I start?  How can I meet him?  Does anyone know how to contact him or where to begin these conversations that seem to have to begin within?  Within what?  Within who?  Within how?

The Muses Reaching

We etch our emotions in digital concrete and still we wonder why we speak through so many filters.  Is it any wonder why so many of us are hesitant to truly speak our minds when our former presents stain what would have been our futures with scarlet letters?

We long for transparency, intimacy, and authenticity and then turn quickly to slap another's cheek.  How can we escape this potent cycle of polarities and opposites?  Who will be the light to guide us in this dark tunnel vision?  Is there anything echoing in these chambers aside from confirmation bias and the synonyms and metaphors for that we allow in?  When we lose the key to the outside world, how do we expose ourselves to diversity and difference?

The Limits of Language

Life is perception.  Sharing perception is communication.  Explaining communication is description.  Analyzing description is interpretation.  Understanding interpretation creates definition.

And the limits to definition may create misconception.  Language is limiting.  Yes, language is powerful and to some extent it is what separates the humans from other animals.  However, language, art, and other forms of expression are all incomplete.  Have you thought about how although we may try to "fully" describe something, it can still allude us.  For example, how does one describe the color cerulean blue to a person who has been blind their entire life?  Another example, can someone write a poem, paint a picture, or even sing a song that will make a stranger fall in love?

No, and infatuation is not love.  Can someone remind me of that?  That infatuation is not love.  I'm falling for feelings and at the same time I'm falling apart.  There are parts of me that remain intact but like a lot of people right now I am so craving community, social interaction, or just the right people to respond or say something, anything.

Life lately is Groundhog Day.  Everything's the same and all my efforts to change it go unnoticed or they fall on deaf ears.  I want to step outside myself and see who I am or how they see me but my skin fits too tightly.  I can't leave this place.  Yes, it's physical distancing, not social isolation, and yes we live in an age where technology allows us to remain connected although we are apart.  But this isn't connection.

Where does my heart find these strings I thought I cut long ago?  Who is leading it to long-forgotten dumpsters?  Why does infatuation keep finding me?  How do all these chains know what it takes to bind me?  When will I learn to step out of my own prison that confines me?

Who is this behind me?  Maybe she's somewhere inside me.  I cannot escape the alliance inside me.  No one will enter into these shadows if I do not invite them.  And the ones I invite are those who are so far that my words never reach them.  Emotionally unavailable.  Why do I fall?  Why can't I stand still and be content?  Will there be a moment that this all makes sense?  How do I say "yes" to today, push the past back where it came from, and let the future embrace me in its time?

No, it's not likely you can understand me, and no I'm not trying to step above you or complicate me.  I'm just leaving here what it's inside me.  I need it to escape.  Somehow.  I need to escape.  Somehow I need to reveal what's inside me.  I need something beyond wires and cables, doors with windows, and animals in cages.  I am beside me but my skin is woven too tightly for me to find me.  I cannot find solace in hollow words; you must know that by now.  Words do not define me.

Every definition is limited.  Why are there multiple definitions?  Because definition is perception.  And perception is left up to interpretation.

Maybe one day this will all make sense.
Maybe some day I will have a revelation.
Perhaps soon shall arrive a sense of realization.

Living in the Hallway

To all the world living in the hallway these days,

I think all of my life up to this time has prepared me for this moment.  I think it is moments like this that I am most qualified for.  I have lived in the hallway for many days, if not years, of my life.  The hallway is a strange place to be in, but we must not forget that it too holds importance.

Just like any other room in the house of life, the hallway is in fact a place.  Many times when we are in-between things (a job, relationship, moments of certainty or clarity, etc.) it can be difficult to focus on the here and now.  I especially find this difficult.  I'm not completely certain as to why this is so often the case for me, but I believe it has something to do with my understanding (or perhaps view) of time.

Oftentimes, I find myself in a place of longing.  Longing to be be through with a situation, hoping to be in a better place, whether emotionally, mentally, physically, or otherwise, or perhaps it is reflecting back on a past version of myself with rose-colored glasses.  A number of years ago, someone shared with me her view of these moments as "living in the hallway of life" and it really resonated with me.

You see, when we are so intently focused nostalgias of the past or dreams of the future, we can often miss the present life that is occurring around us every moment.  I do not think that this feeling represents that of the minority, particularly in times of uncertainty such as the current international pandemic.

Professionals working in the helping field like myself will be very familiar with the term mindfulness.  In the last few years, mindfulness has been a buzz word that has been tossed around to refer to practices such as coloring mandalas, practicing meditation, and deep breathing, among countless others.  It is my view that there is a correlation between the recent emergence of mindful practices and much of society's "need" for distraction.

With all of this in mind (no pun intended), I would like to humbly offer my own brief suggestion.  Before doing so, I must confess that although my life has been composed of innumerable hallway moments, I do not always succeed in embracing the hallway.  So, to those of us finding ourselves living in one of life's hallway moments, may I offer a simple, though perhaps profound, piece of advice:

Look around you and recognize that life is happening today.

Yes, it is true that life happened yesterday, and of course, for many of us there will be life to live in 40 seconds, two hours, seven days, and maybe even 19 years.  However, life is happening today.  It's going on right now.  Whether we choose to admit it or not, life is every moment, and every moment we are breathing is life.  It could be argued that even when we hold our breath life continues, but I will not slide down that rabbit hole at this time.

In the end, all I am trying to say is that I hope that you (and I) can find ways to embrace the life going on at this very moment and resist the temptation to see it as something going on around us.  We are not Saturn with life as our rings waiting for us to jump on board.  Those rings are dusty, and so is a life lived waiting for the living to happen.  There are moments in life that will feel monotonous, boring, and perhaps a sense of being stuck, however let us choose to embrace those moments as they come to us and as they are.

Do We Need Politics?

Can there be law (and order) without politics?  It sure seems there could be some greater sense of order without it all.  By that I mean it's pretty easy to imagine people actually getting along instead of just sitting around arguing all the time if politics were somehow eliminated from the scene.  How could a republic function without politics?  Or is it even possible?

It seems like a place without politics would have to be a location free from opinion.  For aren't opinion and differences of perspective the parents of politics?  If everyone agreed on everything what would be the need for politics (if any)?  I feel that I grew up largely in a blind bubble when it comes politics.  Now, mind you, this bubble is not a place where politics was nonexistent.  Rather, my eyes were closed to politics and its effects both in my life and the community.  It is strange to consider that reality today, but at this moment I believe that it is true.

Yes, politics stem from differences of opinion and perspective, but why are politics necessary in this 21st Century world?  I understand the necessity and value of varied perspectives and a wide spectrum of tastes and interests, but politics, is that something we need?  Maybe there is a different system that could work more effectively and efficiently.  Perhaps something like a balanced system that swings like a pendulum when necessary.  Maybe I'm a romantic idealist in all of this or maybe this is none of my business to discuss.

On a someone tangential note, has anyone every truly considered the phrase (title?) "leader of the free world"?  I think it's rather interesting that we (the United States) consider the US President the "leader of the free world."  This has nothing to do with the current individual holding the office, but rather the sentiment behind a statement in which a supposedly democratically elected person is the leader of all free people.  I know it is a rather generalized statement, however has anyone considered that rather than the elected official being considered the leader of the free world, perhaps it is the constituents that ought to be considered the collective leader(s) of the free world?

With this thought in mind, I assert that the constituents in mind would be not only those of the United States of America, but all voting eligible people throughout the world.  After all, democracy is meant to be for the people and by the people, is it not?  I understand that the US is seen as the great democratic experiment, but it is not even the largest democratic nation.  I also grant that the United States exercises a profound amount of influence on the geopolitical stage, however how often do we consider why this is?  Is it because it is the present empire at the peak, the proverbial puppet master at this time in human history?

Who is to say that in 50 years time the president of China or its people won't be considered the new "leader of the free world"?  I recognize that the previous statement may hold a lot of weight for many people for numerous reasons.  To consider the leader of a Communist (or Socialist really) nation a leader of the free world may be big stretch for some when considering countless crimes against humanity the Chinese government is likely guilty of.  However, can't the same be said of the United States?  The US has climbed has not climbed the power ladder like an innocent child on the slide down at the local park.

Just some thoughts I had to release tonight as the new normal is baking behind the scenes, in the public eye, and quarantined with its family for who knows how many more days.

Some Sort of Fear

I want to write you a story but I'm afraid I'm not ready for it yet.  I'm afraid I don't have all the details to explain it.  And yet, I'm also afraid that if I don't get it down now that I will soon forget it, as I have so many times before.

I'm afraid of getting all the specifics wrong or not being able to round the sharp edges in the right spots and leave the biting language in others.  Despite all the shoes and glasses on my shelves, I still feel lonely.  Something stokes a fear in me, telling me I have to appeal to all the greater audiences.  Something says, "You must write so that those with eyes and feet on their shelves will listen to you too," though I can't tell you for sure where it comes from.

These fears are like those establishments lately: one party largely won't contradict the demagogue because it's too late to turn back now, while the other seems to fear becoming the new target if they listen to the people's voice.  It's hard to fully understand how we got to this reality tv show that we've got ourselves into.  I don't like living in a world of polarities and increasingly fractured factions.  Sure this was what our forefathers feared.

Somehow writing feels like action in some small way.  Perhaps that is the appeal to these tweeters and internet trolls.  Maybe they feel they can really change things (or at least the way people think - and that does change a lot, doesn't it?).  I don't know.  I just feel that I can't sit by on the sidelines much longer while the world burns hotter and tensions increasingly rise.

I stay inside and try on others' glasses or put on the shoe of someone who came before and it doesn't feel like enough.  I read seeking community all the while knowing that when I remove my lenses, I will return to my own lonely state.  I am in good company with a good book, but as I set the pages down I am left with just my mind and a chasm filled with new thoughts to share with no one.  I have sometimes considered anonymity as an option so as to teach myself how I really think or to remove the fear of direct attack, a whistleblower of sorts, but those same fears seem to talk me out of it all.

I don't know.  These words keep coming from somewhere.  Maybe the genius or the muse beside me is fed up with all the silence from the nobility lately.  Or maybe it's time for the loud minority to be shut up again.  The problem (or one of them at least) is that I have no desire to close anyone's door.  We all have a right to speak, free speech right?  Am I naive to believe that even those that are doing so much damage to this world must be given their time?  Or am I increasing their volume by not adding my voice to the conversation?

I don't know how to move forward.  Many times I feel that is because i need a push.  I blame everything under the sun for my own inaction, but I still do nothing about it.  How do I ask for a gentle (though firm) push in the way of progress?  Or maybe more appropriate, who do I ask?  There must be trust in the dialogue or it will go nowhere (see again: inaction).  I don't know.  Maybe I'm alone in all of this and the feelings will pass.  I just hope I'm not leaving others behind in my personal neglect of valuable resources.