Fired Up and Ready to Go

The last 24 hours have been a roller coaster of emotions. Not the good kind where you're waving your hands in the air next to your best bud and your tears and screams are those of joy, but the kind where you're turned upside down and you almost scrape the ground sideways and returning your lunch is imminent.

As I sat down to watch the election results with my father, a Muslim immigrant and ardent feminist, I truly believed, with all my heart, that humanity, justice and progress would prevail. I truly did. And he did, too. We kept our Hillary logo shot glasses, with the words "Made from 100% shattered glass ceiling" nearby and planned to take a drink of wine every time CNN declared a state blue. 

As the numbers for Florida came in (rather early in the evening, mind you), my heart started to sink. My stomach started to knot. My smile started to fade. I had a bad feeling. I looked at my father and said, "I'm scared."

And then Ohio ... and then North Carolina ... and then ... and then ...

By 1:30 a.m., my hope was all but lost. I couldn't believe what I was watching. The group texts among family and close friends were grim. There was no more to say, no more to do. I went to sleep, crying into my pillow, with Jasmine by my side (because dogs, along with laughter, which I had none of, are the best medicine).

This morning I sat in silence for my entire commute. Upon arriving at work, I was greeted with hugs and understanding and camaraderie. We all felt the weight of what had just happened. We all felt the uncertainty of the future of our great nation, and particularly of the women and children we serve - the immigrants and refugees escaping violence who turn to the U.S. for safety and solace. We came together for lunch, 30 of us, to reflect and pray and lock arms in unity.

So yeah, it was a crappy day. And there will be more crappy days to come. But you know what - there will be great days, too. Because, as our dear Hillary says, "If we stand together and work together with respect for our differences, strength in our convictions and love for this nation, our best days are still ahead of us ... let us have faith in each other, let us not grow weary, let us not lose heart, for there are more seasons to come and there is more work to do."

Damn right. I've been grieving all day. But you know what else I've been doing? Getting FIRED UP. Getting READY for the next step. You thought I was an outspoken activist before? You ain't seen NOTHIN' yet. I am ready to fight, every single day, for what I believe in. Because "fighting for what's right is worth it." Thanks, Hill. Thanks for showing women like me that we are "valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world." I know I'm not alone. I know there are women and men who feel just as passionately about the issues, just as fiercely about progress and just as confidently about our bright future. That, in and of itself, gets me FIRED UP and READY TO GO.

One of the Lucky Ones

The truth is, I am one of the lucky ones. Tomorrow's election results will not have a huge impact on how I live my day-to-day life, nor am I in any real danger of having pieces of my life stripped away.

I use my voice - and my vote - for our children who deserve a world still in bloom and world leaders who believe in the reality and urgency of climate change.

I use my voice - and my vote - for women seeking reproductive health care, women recovering from sexual assault, women fighting for equal pay.

I use my voice - and my vote - for families fleeing violence in war-torn countries who are seeking a life of safety and dignity, with the opportunity to reach their full potential as citizens of this planet.

I use my voice - and my vote - for the 50 million people who, for one reason or another, in their greatest time of need, benefit from government assistance and social programs.

I am one of the lucky ones. I have the privilege of using my voice - and my vote - for others who have lost their own. Or who never had theirs to begin with. Or who simply can't find the right words.

Before you go vote tomorrow, I hope you take a moment to think about who you are voting for ... what you are voting for ... and why it matters.

Proud to Be a Woman

Look what came in the mail - our official WOMAN CARDS!

Now before you get all "ugh, those are from Hillary's campaign" (heck yes they are), let me explain why I am so bothered by Trump's derisive use of this phrase ...

My woman card doesn't mean being a woman is my only defining characteristic. It doesn't mean I vote with, agree with or understand all other women. And it most certainly doesn't mean I'm against men. (That last notion irks me to no end.)

I'll tell you what it does mean. It means I am an intelligent, compassionate, strong, capable human being who deserves the same respect, liberties and opportunities as any other person. It means I dream and I achieve. It means I aspire to inspire. It means I believe in the power of women to create change and build a beautiful future for our world. It means I stand with other women. And, it means I stand with men who stand with women.

I am damn proud to be a WOMAN.

‪#‎IAmWoman‬ ‪#‎HearMeRoar‬ ‪#‎WCW‬ ‪#‎LeanIn‬ ‪#‎NoCeilings‬ ‪#‎Mamadukes‬

If you have the privilege to speak up, do it.

I turn on the news. Another episode of brutality. Another mass shooting. More lives taken too soon.

My heart weeps. But I'm not surprised. My blood boils. But this is our new normal.

Why do we keep doing this? Why do we keep letting this happen? And by "we," I mean the human race. Screw the white vs. black vs. cop vs. politician vs. Christian vs. Muslim. WE are doing this to each other, WE are letting this happen to us. WE are ALL responsible. WE are ALL affected. When one single person is brought down by hatred or injustice, WE are ALL brought down. When one single life is taken, WE ALL lose a piece of our lives. A piece of our freedom. A piece of our future. A piece of our hope.

I feel so disappointed ... so frustrated ... so helpless.

Before now I didn't know the name Philando Castile. I didn't know the name Alton Sterling. I still don't know the names of the nearly 300 victims in the recent Baghdad bombing. Or the names of the 49 shot and killed in Orlando. Or the 11 police officers shot by sniper in Dallas.

But I have long known the name Elie Wiesel. A Nobel laureate, author and Holocaust survivor, who also passed away this week. He lived through the worst atrocities this world has ever seen and instead of letting that history eat away at him, he used his voice, which he was LUCKY to still have, to spawn global awareness and have real conversations about racial hatred and inequality.

I don't have any words of wisdom to contribute at this time. I feel too broken. But if I may quote him: "Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion or political views, that place must - at that moment - become the center of the universe."

If you have the power to stand up, DO IT. If you have the privilege to speak up, DO IT. “Thou shalt not be a victim, thou shalt not be a perpetrator, but, above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.”

Response to the Stanford Rape Case

OK, so, the Stanford rape case ... (long, but bear with me)

I am a university woman. I have consumed alcohol. I have danced with men. And there are millions more like ME. We are smart. We are capable. We are powerful. We respect ourselves. The only thing standing in our way? The attitude toward our vaginas.

When I was an undergrad, there was a poster in the campus library. It showed a female student, with books in her hands, looking uncertain. The caption told her (ME) to "not walk home alone," to "be careful," to "have a buddy." I'm sure many female students walked right by that poster and, without realizing it, ingested the subliminal messages - "you are not safe," "it could happen to you," "be responsible."

I remember being perplexed ... and infuriated. Why are messages only being sent to those most likely to be victimized? Why are we not directly addressing those most likely to perpetrate?

About a year ago I read this excerpt:
"We’ve been conditioned our whole lives to not get raped. My dad put me in martial arts. My mom gives me knives and pepper spray. And despite the fact that I like that stuff, it’s mostly for anti-rape. We’re told by society never to walk alone at night, never walk down an alley way. If you think you’re being followed, make three right turns cause that means they just went in a circle. Never run upstairs if you’re being chased cause then you can get trapped. Don’t stop if you see a car seat on the side of the road. Hey, here’s some nail polish that will help you identify date rape drugs. Sport this adorable yet fierce keychain so you can gouge someone’s eyes out. And on and on and on. You know what would be better? If we just taught young boys that rape isn’t even an option. If we would stop victim shaming and slut shaming and excusing a rapist because of the clothes his victim wore or because they were on a date. Cause I am seriously so f*cking tired of being responsible for not getting raped." (Anna Akana)

YES, YES, YES.

Now I look at my life. At 5 years old, my parents put me in martial arts (yes, I am a trained black belt in Tae Kwon Do). And not even two weeks ago, as I prepared for a hike, my father said "do you have pepper spray?" So at 5 and still at 33, I must take my own measures to ensure that some jerk doesn't invade my personal space and take it for his own.

I don't know about the rest of you, but to me, that is some BS. I should NOT be responsible for someone else's actions. I should NOT be responsible for preventing someone else's heinous crime. I should not have to cover up ... or drink only a certain amount ... or assume the worst.

My body, my choice. No excuses.

Why I Love Passover

Today someone asked me why I love Passover.

It's not the mass quantity of matzah ball soup (drool) or the four cups of wine we "must" consume during the Seder (gulp). Although both are compelling reasons to at least show up.

The Passover story has all the elements of an exciting tale – slavery and oppression followed by freedom and redemption – with hope for the future. Passover educates us about our past, helps us appreciate what we have today and encourages us to continue asking questions, continue telling stories.

Some of my favorite conversations with some of my favorite people happen around the Seder table. We talk religion, politics, current events. We share stories of professional gain, personal milestones, Seders of the past.

Most importantly, we create memories. Every Jew and Gentile alike who joins our Seder table, whether it be only one year or every year since the first, leaves an imprint on my heart.

In just 4 nights we will begin the Passover holiday which coincides with the beginning of spring - a time for renewal, rethinking and rebirth. As we face new and exciting opportunities in our personal and professional lives, may this Passover give us the insight and courage to create ourselves anew.

42 Days After AmeriCorps

I consider myself so fortunate. I was an AmeriCorps VISTA for 365 days. And without a doubt, they were the most inspirational, motivating and poignant days of my life.

Now I've been home for 42 days. Actually, I've been in transition for 42 days. And I cannot find it in me, mentally or emotionally, to say goodbye to my year of AmeriCorps service. Each day I feel myself struggling. Struggling to fill the void that has been left by such an incredible experience coming to a close. I realize now that I simply wasn't prepared ...

I wasn't prepared for the year to go by so fast.
I wasn't prepared to so deeply miss a community that I knew for so short a time.
I wasn't prepared to mourn. The loss of a period of intense purpose, turning my passion into action every single day, beside others doing the same - the emptiness is gripping.

No one told me that ending my year of service would be harder than beginning it. I simply wasn't prepared ...

42 days. 42. Jackie Robinson. A man who showed great courage and unwavering determination to change the status quo. He said, "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives."

I couldn't agree more. And that's where I struggle. How will I take everything I learned, everything I felt, everything I became ... and turn it into not just a year of service, but a life of service? How will I continue to make an impact?

Why Vote?

Because white men who owned property gained that right in 1789 after fighting for our country's independence ... Because African-American men gained that right in 1865 after the Civil War abolished slavery, and then continued to fight literacy tests, poll taxes and violence until the Voting Rights Act was passed in 1965 ... Because women were left out of the conversation entirely and had to fight for their own rights state by state until finally going to Washington and gaining the right to vote in 1920 ... Because young people who were being drafted to fight in Vietnam said "old enough to die, old enough to vote" and the age requirement was dropped to 18 in 1971.

It is not only your right, it is your responsibility. GO VOTE.

Marco Rubio speaks the truth

I took a moment to watch Marco Rubio's speech from last night, as he dropped out of the presidential race. And while he and I may differ greatly in how we go about creating change in this nation, it is clear that we both appreciate the sanctity of what has already been created and we hope for a future we can both be proud of ...

"I ask the American people: Do not give in to the fear. Do not give in to the frustration. We can disagree about public policy, we can disagree about it vibrantly, passionately. But we are a hopeful people, and we have every right to be hopeful. For we in this nation are the descendants of go-getters. In our veins runs the blood of people who gave it all up so we would have the chances they never did. We are all the descendants of someone who made our future the purpose of their lives. We are the descendants of pilgrims. We are the descendants of settlers. We are the descendants of men and women that headed westward in the Great Plains not knowing what awaited them. We are the descendants of slaves who overcame that horrible institution to stake their claim in the American Dream. We are the descendants of immigrants and exiles who knew and believed that they were destined for more, and that there was only one place on earth where that was possible. This is who we are, and let us fight to ensure that this is who we remain. For if we lose that about our country, we will still be rich and we will still be powerful, but we will no longer be special."

Us vs. Them

I am so sick and tired of this "us vs. them" mentality. Whites and blacks. Christians and Jews and Muslims. Rich and poor. Republicans and Democrats. Americans and everyone else.

When will we stop shouting at each other's differences for just a moment to realize we are all in this together?? We are ONE people. We are ONE race. We are ONE world.

Do you know who suffers from all this strife? THE CHILDREN. The innocent, hungry for life, beautiful children. They deserve better than this. They deserve role models. They deserve messages of unity and welcome. They deserve the opportunity to dream bigger than the generation before.

DAMNIT. I really want to believe in us ... all of us.