ITSinsider Unplugged
Onwards.
I'm a self-confessed political junkie. I just told a friend privately I have middle age crushes on "The Davids." David Alexrod and David Plouffe. Now I've told everyone. Ohwell, more transparency. I'm listening to my Sunday morning talking head shows, and will probably listen to CNN for most of the afternoon. The 2012 race is finally coalescing around the two candidates, and I plan on actively engaging in the Presidential election this year.
My personal background includes a rags to riches (well, still on that trajectory) story that includes a damning hodgepodge of some icky social underclass issues.
They include the following (in no particular order):
There are probably a few I've forgotten as well. In short, all these awful things have happened to me and are written in my life experience, yet I have prevailed. In fact, I have succeeded in spite of these hardships. Was it easy? No.
No one loves the United States of America more than me. Even as I flirt with the idea of moving to France on a daily basis, I am passionate about the freedom and social mobility this country has afforded a wretch like me. I love this country and our amazing modern republic rooted in the gifts of democracy. Is it perfect? Hell no! So much work to be done.
The stories behind the aforementioned bullet points above will roll out on the pages of this blog over time, but I wanted to frame my opinions on politics via the prism of the harsh reality I've had to overcome to succeed in this country. Self-reliance has not only been a political position I respect, it has been the foundational firmament upon which I rebuilt a life with many challenges stacked against me. This is typically (wrongly) only associated with the Right, but I imagine most people who've overcome believe strongly in self-reliance.
In 2012, I turned a corner. Life can really only get better from here, and as I sit here in my lovely home (which I rent) blogging on my MacBook, I can tell you, it's pretty great right now. But there are many, many people in this country who are still struggling, who see no way out. There have been many intellectual debates in the news and on the web surrounding the fateful question of whether it's possible to even climb the socio-economic ladder and rise above the class into which we were born these days. Alas, my daughter tells me I can't write about class until I've read, "The Great Gatsby." So, I'll have to reserve my opinion on that until after my homework assignment is completed. :-)
What I wanted to get down on digital ink today is, despite my success story, I am not a Republican. I'm actually not even a Democrat, I'm a Liberal. I believe in social programs. I believe government has an obligation to help its underclass and provide the path and means to overcome all the social ills that haunt those who are scraping and climbing to get by another day. And, wait for it – social programs work. I'm living proof.
In fact, if I did not have social programs along the way that I leveraged in the way they were designed to be – temporary relief – I wouldn't be writing this blog post. I have a lot of friends on both sides of the political spectrum, but on the issues that matter most (mostly surrounding opportunity and human dignity), I believe we have vast common ground to begin a reasoned discussion.
That's all for today. Much more to come. #staywithme
During a crisis, many people who are afflicted with these issues can resemble Munch's timeless piece of art, but for the majority of people, life goes on with its predictable ups and downs. The degree to which we are immmobilized, is generally a function of environmental factors.
I began this new transparency trek with a post about abuse. For me, abuse is front and center on the list of environmental factors that renders me a brain that acts in atypical ways under severe stress. I will be writing about all these things: brains, abuse, trauma, toxins, pharmaceutical treatment, homeopathic treatment, and other types of therapy. It's all good. I've learned a lot in the years I've been studying so-called Mental Illness (really don't like that label, but the only one universally recognized).
Beginning this year, on my own time, outside of my day job, I will be working toward becoming an activist and advocate for mental health reform. You can read the blog I've been writing in stealth for over a year on this area. Sleeper Freak. When I began the blog, I was very much an anti-psychiatry advocate. I softened that opinion over the course of the year, and no longer feel strongly that psychiatry is at the heart of the broken system that is our modern day mental health care. There is no denying there are abuses in the system and a shocking lack of accountability, but core to my argument is an admonition that psychiatric drugs work. I experienced this first hand just recently. Should everyone who's been diagnosed be on these drugs for life? Jury's out there. It's a very personal, private decision each individual needs to make.
With this post, I further my journey toward a greater transparency. As always, I hope you stay with me, but if you don't, I won't be offended. I'm writing these pieces in the hopes of appealing to someone who was in a stage I was prior, and can offer some help and encouragement.
It gets better.
Just when I'm gliding the smooth lip liner over the contour of my lips, I see it. The memory jars me. I scowl because I think to myself, "After nearly 30 years, why do you still have this reaction? Why are you haunted by this memory?" There's a distinct tear, a split, an unmistakable scar on the surface of my lip. It represents a very dark day in my life when my incisor tooth sliced through my face and bled non-stop all over my brand new suede jacket. (I remember I paid a handsome $79 for that jacket in 1978. It was a foolish, indulgent purchase that I really couldn't afford. And now, ruined. I'd have to throw it away; get rid of it. Destroy the evidence.)
I had managed to get away from my abusive boyfriend. Had been accepted to the state University. I was starting a new life. Even met a new guy. My life was turning around.
Until that night.
I don't recall specifically the circumstances of how or why my abuser showed up that evening at my campus dorm. I just remember the fateful blow. That white light that explodes behind your eyes when you're hit with the physics of brute force, and the delayed pain. The blood begins before the pain. And thinking, "God damnit, I just bought this jacket!" Then, the tears. And then, the shame.
In a single swift blow, a violent man interrupted such a mundane experience hundreds of millions of women go through every day. For the rest of my life, I'm trapped in that memory. And, as you can see, that scar is just one of many. That one is visible.
I'm beginning with abuse. Abuse is at the root of so many evils. Abuse spawns more abuse and perpetuates patterns for generations. My oldest daughter and I were speaking this week about how difficult it is for people who've not been exposed to emotional and/or physical abuse to understand how lethal and disruptive it is.
Even if you've triumphed over abusive relationships and separated from the abusers in your life, the scars remain and the triggers can erase years of personal growth and distance. And when abuse does crop back up in your life, you're embarrassed... ashamed. You are silent about it, because it's so awful. You just hope it goes away.
But it won't go away, until more women take a stand. This first post is my shot across the bow toward that end. Much more to come from me on this and other subjects, but wanted to begin at the beginning. Stay with me.
The Innocent Maleficent
Amie was volunteering this summer for the Obama for America campaign. She came home one day and said, "This guy at OFA asked me if I wanted to be in his film." Of course, my Mom alarm went off. I raised an eyebrow and told her to be careful. She ended up meeting with him and brought home the script. Because I am a bit of a psycho protective Mom, I checked the guy out thoroughly on the web and made sure he was legit. The script was a little risque, but I thought she could probably handle it, so I didn't interfere and encouraged her to pursue it.
She met a few times with him (Mason Kerwick, the Director), and agreed to do the project. She had some artistic input into the character, and he seemed to be agreeable to her suggestions.
They shot the film over a weekend in the summer. She didn't say much about it, but I could tell she enjoyed it and was proud of her work. Amie was involved in theater and musical theater in high school, but she never had any kind of formal acting experience. I was really proud she did the film. The film is a "short." Only ten minutes long, and no dialogue. The story line mostly revolves around Amie's character.
For a long while, I was concerned the film would never be produced as Mason went off to college in the fall, and they had some technical issues with the editing.
But, Amie sent me a note last week and said it was done. She sent me the private link. She told me Mason had submitted it to a few festivals, so we couldn't share it with anyone (yet).
I was in the office when I watched it the first time. I couldn't believe how great she was in it! And, the quality of the film and soundtrack was really impressive. I'm so happy for all the cast that participated in this production. Everyone was great. Such promising young talent.
As soon as I can share it, I will. I hope Amie pursues more acting opportunities. I think she is a natural, but of course, I'm (ya know) her Mom.
For a few years now, I've been weighing the advantages and disadvantages about being more open and honest about my life and revealing more of the circumstances that have combined to make me the woman I am today. To that end, I've decided 2012 is the year that I will begin to share openly more of my personal experiences and life's lessons learned. There are a number of fairly serious life traumas I've endured, and I feel now that I've reached a plateau of relative safety and security, I'd like to talk openly about some of these things in order to provide a glimpse of what life is like in these circumstances. Also, to offer myself as someone others can learn from, and hopefully, take inspiration from if they're enduring or have endured similar life trajedies.
As an introduction, I wanted to explain the privacy levels in more detail. Somewhere out on the social web, I read about these levels of privacy demonstrated in the graphic above. (I can't source it; I wish I could). Each of these levels has its own risks.
Public
When you share something in public, say on a blog, Twitter, or Google+'s public circles, you have some element of risk. Each person has to determine how revealing to be on these platforms.
Transparent
If you choose to be transparent, this means you're willing to share openly within a group with no restrictions. It could be your work environment, a private community, or you could be working at a government agency or non-profit. Transparency can also be public, but where public is always open, you can exercise transparency in some closed circumstances. The difference is subtle, but worth mentioning.
Personal
This is the trickiest level of privacy. People will differ widely on what they feel is personal information that can be shared. Of course, like the transparency level, you can share personal information in the community of friends and family, such as on Facebook or a private community such as a Ning community. But, those posts and updates are understood to be shared among a group of trusted individuals whom you feel won't breach your trust. In some instances, an individual may need to weigh the public good against a perceived need for privacy.
Private
This information is secret. It's something that will most likely be only shared in person, if at all. This type of information has the potential to harm you or someone you love, or it contains information that society has deemed private to the individual. Most people have a fairly good sense of what details about their personal and professional lives should be kept private. Most employers are explicit about the rules surrounding company information that cannot be disclosed. Similarly, laws protect individuals with regard to their health and financial information.
In 2012, I will begin moving a lot of personal information into the public domain. I'm hoping, as I stated earlier, that these revelations will be useful for others. For me, it will be rejuvinating and a toxic cleanse. I recognize the risks, but I'm hopeful you'll stay with me.
Provided by Mint.com For some reason this isn't embedding. Click thru to see the infographic.
It's just one of those innocuous, inspirational tags I use in the Council to keep the members energized. But, there's a lifetime of commitment packed into that tag. And it involves Steve Jobs.
Even though I knew this day would come, I'm having trouble collecting my thoughts and expressing my emotion.
I fell in love with computer technology at a young age. I always saw it as a means to change this broken world so many of us live in. The truth is, there are many people who never lived in a broken world, and they have a hard time relating to this vision. When I first started hearing about Steve Jobs, I was completely hooked. When he asked John Sculley in 1983, "Do you want to keep selling colored sugar water to kids or do you want to change the world?," I felt we were connected on some kind of supernatural plane. That if enough of us in our generation could connect and apply our passion, good will, creativity, intelligence, and ingenuity to leverage the power of technology to fight the injustices that continually plague mankind, we could radically change our destiny for ourselves and future generations.
On this evening of his passing, I believe he achieved this lifelong ambition. We are all connected to Steve Jobs in spirit and we will change the world. For the win.
Thanks for having the guts to inspire us toward such a beautiful goal.
Now, rest. We will take it from here.
In 2001, we lived in North Jersey at the end of a dead end street surrounded by Portuguese-American neighbors. We realized within a few months of moving in that the two closest neighbors were related; they were cousins. Over time, this warm, wonderful family welcomed us into their fold. We shared holidays, birthdays, summer Sangria... happy times.
I met Anthony sometime soon after we started integrating our lives with our neighbors’. Anthony was married to my neighbor’s sister and had a son the same age as my young daughter. They soon became fast friends and are still friends today.
I hit it off really well with Anthony because he moonlighted as a musician. A life-long bass player, he was playing in an Allman Brothers cover band. He was an incredibly nice guy. I could talk to him for hours about everything and nothing. We once made plans as couples to all meet in Manhattan and go to a comedy club, but we were all too busy to ever make that happen. I was a CMO at a dotcom startup and Anthony was a bond trader.
In August 2001, I had a gala backyard pool party to commemorate the end of summer. I actually called it my "End of Affluence Party," as I had decided to quit working, move to south Jersey and become a stay-at-home Mom. I remember Anthony showing up to the party really late. He was a little disoriented because he said he didn’t feel well, and had been sleeping all day. He started telling me this fantastic story about how earlier in the week, a friend of his had magically arranged for him to get a back stage pass to see the Allman Brothers at NJ’s PNC Arts Center. He was amazed himself as he was telling the story, one thing after another led him to actually meeting Dickey Betts (or was it Duane Allman? I don't remember, but I think it was Betts) and hanging out with him drinking, laughing, sharing stories with him in his show trailer. He said Dickey kept calling him, “Tony” (which he never called himself), but he said he didn’t mind and couldn’t believe he was even having this experience. Of course, he had been an Allman Brothers fan all his life, and this was surreal, a miracle.
The story always seemed really bizarre to me, like a dream.
Seventeen days later, Anthony went to work as usual arriving around 7:30 a.m. He spoke to his wife around 8:30 a.m. because she had found the door open when she woke up was scared. He told her he was sorry he was so far away. It was his daughter’s 7th birthday. He wished her a happy birthday. Moments later, a jet plane blasted into the 105st floor of the World Trade Center One where Anthony was working at Cantor Fitzgerald. His life was snuffed out by the most unimaginable hate crime America has ever endured on our soil.
No words can ever describe the pain and anguish felt by everyone who knew Anthony. We grieved deeply, profoundly over his loss and the tragedy that engulfed the nation over the events of 9/11, and even more so for Anthony and his family. I remember the neighborhood church had standing room only at his funeral service. I remember the fierceness of my embrace when I wept openly, deeply buried into my neighbor's shoulder outside the church.
Whenever I hear an Allman Brothers Band song, I think of Anthony. It affirms my belief in a supernatural power who arranged a small miracle for a life taken well before his time.
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