It was only after I had paid for my stamps and was about to leave that Alan explained the worried expression on his face:
“Some of us are going to lose our jobs.”
Alan was right: postal workers across the United States are being let go — about 30,000 of them are getting buyouts — because the postal service is in deficit and it needs to take drastic action.
This news made me sad not only because I use the postal service more often than most, but because it made Alan sad.
Alan and I started to get to know each other about six months ago, after he noticed that I had visited the post office five times in four weeks. He told me it wasn’t normal for people to use the postal service that often, and I told him that I was okay with not being normal. He knows the names of all my friends (last week, he remarked that I hadn’t sent a letter to my friend Jen in a while) and is up to date on everything going on in my life.
Going to the post office isn’t something I do every week just because I’m running out of stamps. Instead, it’s my excuse to say hullo to Alan, to catch up on how he’s doing, to hear all about how fast his kids are growing up. Alan is my friend, so when I saw the worried expression on his face, I knew he wanted to talk about what was eating at him.
It’s obvious that the postal service is in trouble: mismanagement and bad business decisions has made the service incredibly vulnerable in a time where email and other forms of communication are reducing the need for sending regular mail. At this point, the USPS is struggling not to thrive, but to survive; survival in this case means cutting costs, and part of that is cutting jobs.
Alan’s job is expected to be safe, but he’s not sure about his fellow colleagues at the post office. While it saddens him to know that some of his coworkers will be leaving, it saddens him even more to know that there’s really nothing they can do to make it better:
“In the end, it all comes down to one thing: most people don’t send mail anymore.”
I asked for Alan’s address that day before leaving the post office. I’m going to send him a letter telling him that while most people might not send mail anymore, I’m not most people. And that I’m glad he’s my friend.
It may not solve the woes of the postal service, but hopefully it will help wipe that worried expression off his face, if only for a few minutes.
(Photo by mrjoro.)
I don’t often talk about work or my professional life here on this site, but today I’m making an exception because I need your help.
I’ve been given the honor to join a proposed panel for SXSW next year with Meghan (@withoutayard), Ryan (@ryantaylor), and James (@TopsAtWarChild) on passionate people online and how passion can translate into social change and social good. The panel will talk about identifying personal passions and turning them into careers, and also about the increasingly blurred line between everyone’s personal and professional lives.
I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I love what I do for a career. I love that I’m able to take the things that intrigue me most in my life — community, personal interaction, storytelling, social good — and parlay those interests into the work I do.
This panel will not only give me the opportunity to share a few stories on how I’m able to do that, but also for me to learn about things that other SXSW participants are passionate about, and how we can all work to pursue our passions for the greater good.
So here’s where I need your help. If you click on the image above, or on this link to the SXSW panel picker, you’ll get the option to create an account and vote for your favorite panels. You don’t have to vote for our panel on passionate people if it doesn’t pique your curiosity, but if it does, I’d appreciate the support.
I can assure you that SXSW will not spam you or sell your details — they only require you to create an account to keep the process fair — and can also assure you that the whole process will only take two minutes of your time.
Thanks in advance for your help. If we do get chosen, I promise to come back with many stories to share.
And while you’re at it, here are a few other proposed panels that have caught my eye so far. You may want to vote for them too:
Thanks again!
The next time I start to get close to someone and start to develop a strong friendship, I think I need to ask them just how long they plan to stick around.
Many of the closest friends I have made since moving to DC have all moved away. K1 kicked off the trend when she left in May, and C left in July, shortly after getting married. After weeks of uncertainty, A left while I was away in Barcelona. K2 drove away exactly a week ago, and this week, F says adieu as well. Perhaps it is due to the transient nature of this city, but I never thought I would have so many chances to watch people I hold dearest to my heart walk (drive, fly, etc.) away.
There was a line in Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife that stood out to me as I re-read the novel earlier this year:
“It’s hard being left behind. […] It’s hard to be the one who stays.”
All my life, I’ve been the one who did the leaving. I left my birthplace as a baby, and left New York as a child. I eschewed going to the same high school as all my friends in order to go to a French school in downtown Toronto, and ended up leaving that school after a few years to finish my secondary education on the other side of the country. After a stint at college in DC, I returned back to Toronto, and since graduation, I’ve been hopping from city to city across continents, leaving friends and loved ones behind as I’ve moved on.
I have complained that it has been extremely hard to move around, to never really settle, to leave friends and family every time new opportunities arose in new places. Sometimes those complaints were vocal, but most often, I kept them to myself and let them manifest in midnight dreams of routine and stability.
Now I realize that it isn’t the leaving that’s difficult. For the person leaving, there’s always new adventures to tackle, new challenges to conquer, new people to meet. On the other side, the person being left behind goes on with their every day life, but with a small piece of emptiness where their friend used to be. That’s never easy.
Indeed, it’s hard to be the one who stays.
(Photo by caruba, found via Maria)
Last Friday, I was punched in the face. Twice.
I realize this story is going to horrify my mother, so I’ll keep it quick.
The DC Metro on a Friday evening is always crowded; last Friday, the riders on the subway car were packed in even closer because they were trying to get out of the way of two young men engaged in a fistfight near one of the doors. The two young men went at each other with no regards for the people around them, pushing through anyone that got in their way.
I’m not usually one to step in and try and stop a fight, but there came a time — after one of the fighting men had knocked over a child on the subway and the other had inadvertently knocked off a young woman’s glasses — when something had to be done, something had to be said. I cautiously walked over to the two brawlers and asked them if they would take their fight off the train, to stop inconveniencing the other riders.
What happened next, happened quickly. I was punched in the face twice by one of the fighters and was pushed against a railing and kicked by the other. By that time, we had pulled in to the next stop and a gaggle of security guards walked into the train whisked the three of us away.
So why am I sharing this story? I didn’t press charges, I didn’t stop the fight, and I sure didn’t learn anything wonderful about the world as I was nursing my bruises on a Friday night — there is little in common here with the other stories I normally tell. I’m sharing this story to remind myself that the events in our life don’t always have to be uplifting, don’t always have to end in cheer and joy, and don’t always have to teach a grand lesson about the world. Sometimes you come away banged up and bruised, and that’s okay too.
I’m sharing this story because not every story that gets told needs to feel like a fairy tale. It’s important for me to remember that sometimes, especially now.
(Photo by Brian Talbot.)
Luis gave me my sight back. It was, as I said at the time, mind-blowing.
I lost my glasses in the sea on my first full day of my vacation in Barcelona. The fault was entirely my own: I was callous and underestimated the size and power of the surf, and I had lost my specs within the first minute of entering the water.
I am practically blind without my eyeglasses, unable to decipher anything but fuzzy blots of color around me. This was, obviously, not an auspicious way to start my first vacation in almost five years.
Later that afternoon, Luis, a local optician in Barcelona, was putting contact lenses into my eyes, giving me sight again. For free. (Many thanks go to my wonderful friends who found Luis for me while I fumbled about in the city.) Instead of taking advantage of a tourist that was in desperate need of help — I was willing to pay almost any price he would have quoted — Luis instead understood the situation and fixed the problem, out of the goodness of his heart, by giving me a a free pair of monthly contact lenses.
Luis is a true hero: a person who helps others not out of self-interest or the need for recognition, but because he truly cares for the well-being of the people around him.
That day in Barcelona, Luis didn’t just give me my sight back — he also reminded me why I’m an avid believer that all people, at their core, and kind and good.
That reminder was absolutely necessary and, as I said at the time, mind-blowing.
(Photo by slimmer_jimmer.)
A selected list.
Atlantic Ocean
- Walking stick.
- Moleskine.
- T-shirt.
- Shorts.
- Camera.
Pacific Ocean
- Favorite yo-yo.
- Hat.
- Room keys.
- Wallet.
- Glasses.
- School textbook.
- Kayak paddles.
- Several pieces of clothing.
- Pillow.
Indian Ocean
- Mobile phone.
- Shoes.
- Credit card.
Mediterranean Sea
The things I have gained (like spending time with people I love), however, outweigh all the loss.
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