The Long Road Out

 The idiot in the White House believes that it's a good idea for 17-year old kids to load up with weapons and drive to minority communities to defend property.  He believes that such a kid, after a two-hour drive filled with intentionality, has a right to a self-defense claim when he unloads his weapons into a crowd.  So, I want to make it absolutely clear:  you won't even let 17 year olds into our military or secret police.  Now, without any training, you want them on the streets, near schools, and on the fringes of agitated citizens? What the serious fuck.  You, Donald Trump, are a dangerous accessory to murder.  Here's a baseline principle: no teenager should have access to weapons.  This would reduce the teen suicide rate in the United States by half in an instant. It would reduce the number of women murdered by young boyfriends. And it would save our Democracy.  As has always been the case in the United States, people who reject the gove...

I look back at the 18-year old I was on Niskayuna High School Graduation Day, at Saratoga Performing Art Center (SPAC) on some June morning in 1973.  I was class president, and had given some sort of graduation speech, and now I found myself standing with my mom and dad, and my dad's half sister Debbie, contemplating the gate I had passed through. My grandparents must have taken the picture...or my sort-of girlfriend at the time, Sue Ludwig. And where was Glenn, my brother who often is just out of the frame in moments where I was transitioning to another stage? I owe Glenn a lot of apologies...I tried to include you, but I don't think I did it right. The picture calls to mind Mary Chapin Carpenter lyrics about sepia tones and "they were younger than you are now, that hot summer night." Hah...that's a joke.  My Mom was 38 and my dad was 39.  I'm 65.  Mary--please write a new song to help we with this math! Come on, come on ! It would have been my dad...

Here's a tribute to my great friend, wonderful dancer, and unparalleled Bates College Trustee.  Thank you for all the many years we shared as students, volunteers, Trustees, and beyond, Geri! I'm sorry the opportunity for a big splashy (and gorgeously choreographed) finale is lost for the moment...but believe me, the moment is honored by all of us... Best wishes to you, Geri Fitzgerald ! David

I would like the dignity to believe that I'm authentic, reliable, competent, open to the sublime, and available.   In short, that I'm a "what you see is what you get" human.  To live up to my own expectations, I hope that exhibit noticeable amounts of certain traits like: sharing deeply of myself (ok, maybe you didn't want to know about how I feel about sex) always listening more than I talk, unless specifically asked to behave otherwise eschewing human relationships, or even brands, for the purpose of self-promotion (a Rolex? Seriously?) being regularly vocal about the moments and things that bring me joy, and stopping the train to focus as deeply as possible on them I get triggered when anyone acts in a way that threatens my identity around the "Big 5" above. Usually, when triggered, I become defensive (trying to maintain my dignity), but ultimately I try to escape unnoticed. I'd rather forget that the challenge to my self-beliefs ever occ...

I'm told I had a Vienna Boys' Choir voice as a child.  My dad had a show-stopping tenor, so I grew up with knowledge of what a big voice meant. Then puberty hit and I couldn't carry a tune. I added breath to my bass to cover up the loss of musicality, and it's only recently that I relearned that the key to holding a tune is to initiate loud sounds, even if those sounds are managed to create tenderness or quiet. At the same time, I learned that my parents were busy and therefore were unable to translate anything I said in terms other than "that's great. You're great.  We're busy." A long period as a white male feminist gave me lots of opportunities to despise anything that smacked of power or privilege, a mode of consciousness that I've fully internalized, even if I've become irrelevant to my fellow travelers on the road to equality and fair justice. So, I'm left with a list of habits--the detritus of a lifetime of self-silencing...

We humans send hundreds of thousands of micro-messages to our cognitive selves during any given period (in my case, it might be every 10 seconds). For many of the smart people I know, over 99% of those messages are about doubt, fear, failure, and self-disgust. It's fun being human, right?  We're such a net plus on Earth. (I'm joking.  Good riddance is my opinion. Let the flora and fauna rejoice.) Here's a three minute letter of love I sent to myself during a free-writing exercise I participated in last week.  It's not good, nor interesting--except when you compare it to whatever may be going on inside your frontal cortex. Dear David;   Everything you fear, expect, anticipate and long for at this moment in your life feels approriate to me.  You see yourself clearly, in fact more clearly than most, and accept and understand more realities of your unique position as you are in the world, free from delusion and antipathetic to self-aggrandizement. You ...

Here's three minutes worth of handwritten response to what we used to call a free-writing exercise. The assignment was part of a program apparently developed by an exec at Google who has subsequently been dismissed during their gender harassment problems. The assignment was to write for three minutes without stopping on the topic of:            When I'm at my best, I am... When I'm at my best, I am 19 feet tall and free to find comfort in the wide range of the world around me taking things in without a hint of friction or remorse or selfishness and sending the energy out to those close to me with quintupled force and good will, making THEM as tall or taller than I am, a tribe of giants spanning other giants, treading on the earth with gentle and caring steps to all corners, rooting out the ignorance or hostility to be found in those dark and frankly quite dank (it has to be moist) places that rob the good souls of dignity. Don't ...