Monthly Archives: June 2011

the human element

really quickly and ineloquently, before the inspiration leaves me

just had a marketing meeting with philanthro marketing girls. What an awesome group. talked about what we hope to accomplish in the upcoming 6 months, personal projects and such. My personal project is about branding philanthro, using some guerilla marketing tactics to make the brand represent the awesome and inspiring people that are behind it.

my personal baby though, is a project centered around the human element, the human story. It started with a pea of an idea, that strangers, kids of family friends, hear more personal stories about my parents than I ever do. What a shame, I thought, that I know so little about my parents as people, as people with their own unique stories, that have absolutely nothing to do with childbearing. The pea of a thought settled into a corner of my heart, and it wasn’t until Wes showed me Philip Toledo’s Days With My Father, that the idea really cemented into something that I wanted a physical manifestation of.

Who are these people that we have known our whole lives? Our parents, our relatives, teachers and mentors? They have had arguably the greatest influence on shaping our lives – indeed. we may never know the full extent of that influence. But what do we know about them, as human beings, as people who were once young, with their own dreams and aspirations and obstacles, with faults and geniuses that we never hear about because of their humility?

And what does this have to do with philanthropy? This isn’t giving back in the usual sense. But this, to me, builds community. And not a community of like-minded individuals who work together bi-weekly to contribute to the same cause, but community in the sense that it makes us all feel a little more human, a little more connected. It’s so much easier when we know someone’s personal history, personal story, to not write them off as shallow, vain, dishonest, bad.

At the risk of sounding cliche, it seems like a good step toward world peace, by making everyone feel a little more connected.

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Just one of those nights

..when half the universe is trying you, and you want to flip it the birdie and go to bed, clean and calm and happy.

but oh, how elusive those goals, in your current state of being. you stay rooted to where you are, kneeling on carpet with the coffee table flush against your knee, because being uncomfortable right now just seems like the right thing to do, nevermind how unhealthy it must be, replaying conversations and feelings when the other party has long gone to bed. And even if it was at your insistence, who was this said party to not believe you and go to bed anyway??

Tch. It’s not like you need them. sometimes you do, and it’s absolutely dreadful, knowing that without their presence, you could not solve a minor, prickly problem. othertimes it’s just as dreadful, knowing full well that you would continue to be fine and beautiful and flawed and functional without them.

Somewhere out there there is a happy medium, and in the midst of it is where blissful, forever-married couples reside.

“How come I get the feeling you’re torturing yourself instead of sleeping?”

Damn you, for knowing my masochistic tendencies. For knowing what I’m like after an argument, an unresolved one, late in the night. Because I like torturing myself, with the heavy feeling of dark artistry, with the music that amplifies beautifully terrible feelings, with the sad creeping doubt that I will ever be as well balanced as I pretend to be.

And then immediately on the heels of this thought her spine straightens and her chin lifts, and she is beautiful and terrible all at once, and feels absolutely no need to reconcile the two extremes into something more malleable. She is certain – this wonderful and elusive creature – certain to the utmost degree that she is as well-balanced as she ever needs to be, as unapologetic of bite and disdain as she is of sweetness and naivete.

And with that knowledge she sweeps to her feet, every inch of her the regality she never claimed to be, a cascade of butterflies fluttering gossamer wings at him reproachfully from the train of her gown.