While I haven't anything really exciting to add to the little story or whatnot I was starting below, I do have to throw out there for any of you lovely readers that actually KNOW me and might be interested in the goings on in my life, I have officially registered to take the GRE so that I can get started with grad school already.
I've been blathering about it for entirely too long now, it's time I actually made some steps in the right direction to get the blasted thing started.
Of course, this means I have to write my statement of interests and goals now.... Grr. I hate trying to put all that into words- at least, the kind of words that University officials will actually read and understand. Ah well. The price I pay for wanting to know so much, I guess.
October 1, 2004- All right, I have decided to venture into the world of publishing my writing again... This is slightly better than the drivel I was putting up here.
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I thought that because I couldn’t play guitar like my brother, save money like my sister or dive intrepidly into any household project (including roofing) like my other sister, I was a failure. Here I am, twenty-five years old, single with no prospects, no real property worth more than a used car- and no creative work to show the world and be admired for.
I guess in many ways, I still feel like a massive failure. I’m comfortably riding middle ground, the most impulsive thing I’ve done was to drive 600 miles to visit a friend for three days – and that was even planned a month in advance. I don’t even have a shameful addiction or mildly heinous crime to color my record.
In short, my life is- and always has been- boring. I’m too impetuous to settle for societal normalcy, but too stable to throw caution to the wind and do something I really shouldn’t do. I’m not someone who could strut into a strange bar alone- but it seems that inside, I am dying to be that person who can.
I have lived more than a fourth of my life, and I don’t feel I’ve done one single thing to make a difference to anyone- myself included.
So the question becomes, what the hell do I do?
Once upon a time, I was a writer. I wrote silly and sometimes insightful stories as a young girl. I even received a state award for creative writing when I was in the sixth grade- and I remember thinking it wasn’t my best work. In fact, I have always thought that about anything I have ever written. But I guess most artists have that sensation of never realizing their full potential.
Then I think that to call myself an artist is quite pretentious. My brother, the guitarist, is an artist. My best friend, the archaeologist and occasional musician, is an artist. His lady, the silversmith and writer, is an artist.
I am not an artist. Right?
To write my entire memoirs would also be pretentious- an assumption that anyone really gives a shit about my life history. I’ll save that for after my Pulitzer or Nobel. Ha.
I’ve always heard you should write what you know. Since most people find what I know to be rather boring, I am going to make the extremely pretentious effort to make it interesting.
Most people pay no attention whatsoever to the water they drink until one of two things happens. People will call their utility and complain their jaws sore when they don’t have water coming out of their tap or the stuff that comes out isn’t particularly aesthetically pleasing. And people will really stand up and take notice when they or someone they know gets sick from drinking contaminated water- or when over 1000 visitors to a resort get sick and the water appears to be to blame.
And what most don’t understand, or even pause to consider until it’s too late, is that protecting water in the first place is neither difficult nor intrusive. And increasingly, it is not an option- it is essential.
A small town board member said something to me only weeks before I began this writing that I will never forget. I had gone to this board to try to convince them of the importance of protecting their own drinking water, and to participate in the project I was coordinating as part of my work for a non-profit. This particular town had recently had to drill a new well because theirs had become heavily contaminated with nitrate. They were over $80,000 in debt to the state’s drinking water revolving loan fund.
In regards to protection, the board member I’ll never forget said, “Isn’t that like shutting the barn door after the horse is already gone?”
I went on to argue to the board that in many ways, it was much akin to a belated securing of barn doors- but that if something wasn’t done to start protection then and there, it could also be argued that they’d go another $80,000 (or more) in debt in 20-30 years. The foremost ambition in my mind at the moment, admittedly lacking in the kind of nobility I try to carry, was to convince them to participate in the project to which I was obligated to recruit 20 communities.
I suppose they thought I was being sassy.
What I realized later was that just as I was looking for an immediate way to convince them how important protection was, the one man was looking for just as easy and immediate a way to convince me that it was worthless.
What has always eluded me is, why?
If through both love of the earth and common logic, I can realize how important protection is, why can’t most people? Am I really that different in not being short-sighted- or worse, lazy?
If I could answer that one fundamental question- why do people avoid protecting their environment- my job would be much easier. Then again, if people didn’t avoid protecting their environment, I might be out of a job altogether.
When I first became interested in doing this work, I thought I was always going to feel great about what I was doing. What could be more noble? If I’d had any idea about how disheartening the constant apathy can be, I’m not sure I would have chosen this field. But things are different when we’re younger and full of ideas. And ultimately, I am glad I chose this work. It means I might make a difference.