Crusaders and Champions

I had a conversation with my little brother this morning about saving the world.  Anyone who knows me.  Or knows Conrad.  Or has read my blog.  Or has pretended to read my blog in order to demonstrate false interest in my egocentric expressions of thoughtful commentary knows that my baby brother is one of the most remarkable men I know.  He is the kind of man whose character I want my son to emulate.  He is the kind of human being I aspire to be.  He is the reason, without question, that I will be an eternal spinster.  First, because no man will ever treat me the way Conrad thinks I should be treated.  And second, because even if a man could find a way to treat me like gold, he would most certainly have a character flaw that my little angel brother would see as a glaring red flag.


If I brought home a man who was the CEO of a fortune 500 company who committed the entirety of his annual earnings to feeding starving children and employing homeless veterans, Conrad would say "Sorry.  Sis.  He obviously has some heinous demons that he's harboring.  And he's giving all that money away.  He'll never be able to give you the lifestyle you deserve."  If I introduced him to a member of Seal Team 6 and said "Little Brother.  I want to introduce you to the man who killed the world's most criminal terrorist!"  My brother would look at me and say "Oh you brought home a hero. I'm glad I got to meet him, but there's a lot of expectation that comes with being the most respected man on the planet.  He won't have enough time to pay you the attention you deserve."   I could put him on a space shuttle and send him to the space station to meet my new boyfriend, who is monitoring the Earth's counterpart deep in another universe, and Conrad would come back and say "Sister.  He's in space.  You don't think that's a little weird?  It's not like he was the first guy to see the heart on Pluto or anything."

And every time something like this happens, I just look at my little brother and sigh and think "I am NEVER getting laid again."  Ever.

But the point isn't that Conrad is obscenely overprotective of me.  He might be.  I know how lucky I am to have someone who loves me so much that he thinks the universe has not yet produced a man worthy of my love.  It's not about his protection of me though.  It's about his crusade.  It's not just because I'm his sister that he protects me.  It's because my little brother is on a crusade; a crusade to protect everything that is precious and vulnerable and persecuted.  I can never fault him for that.  In fact, I love him more than anything because of that.

When I was his age, saving the world was my crusade, too.  I was going to educate the masses about unity and equality.  My college classmates called me a communist.  I wanted to fight big business and corporate sponsorship in government.  My family called me an anarchist.  I spoke out in defense of marginalized demographics, a wistful hippie.  No matter where I turned, no matter what I defended, I became an outcast.  To see my little brother, with all his hopes and ideals, facing an even more impossible truth than I did breaks my heart.

So, today, during our weekly diatribe about how to save the world, I finally told him that the world can't be saved, but we can clean up the piece that's most precious to us.  It occurred to me, that somewhere between where Conrad is now and where I am now, I found a few things to crusade for.  Instead of trying a way to fix it all, I now advocate for mental health awareness and empowering women through unity. I still find myself frustrated and cornered, at times.  But because I don't champion 237 causes anymore, I can regroup from setbacks.

That was my message to my little brother today:  Don't cloud your vision with everyone else's vision; don't be dissuaded by somebody who is fighting a different battle.  There is so much injustice, so much inequality, so much disdain.  So much stupidity out there...Don't fight agaist that.  Fight where you can make a difference.  Don't get mad at the Lion hunting dentist.  Don't get mad at the guy who spits on the homeless guy at the intersection of Washington and McDowell.  Don't get mad at the guy who yells at you because he can't see the difference between you and his father.  We all have our battles to wage.  We can't take on all of them.

On the same note, we cant get mad at people who don't champion for the same battles we fight. Again, my fights are mental health awareness and unifying women.  Those are my battles. And those two things are really fucking hard to fight for.  I can't fight for all of it.  And I can fight for the people I love.   I don't have as much fight in me as my little brother has.  But fight for something.

-Inner Peas

Island Time

If the last 12 days of my life were navigable waters, the track line I've  been plotting on is a 180, relative, from where I stared on the 30th of June.  12 days ago I was using Polaris, steady and reliable, as my celestial beacon.  Today, I look more to the Southern Cross, drifting slowly and sinking lower through the latitudes, for my direction.  On the last day of June, I woke, with trepidation, to the sound of my alarm at 5:10.  This morning I woke to the roosters singing and the sun rising.  12 days ago, I operated by corporate America's time clock, now I function on island time.  It's extraordinary what 12 days can do when removed from the corporately conditioned psyche.

When I found out that I was losing my job in March, the anxiety became unmanageable.  I was throwing up every morning before work.  Sometimes at work.  I became overcome with panic every time I tried to pursue new career opportunities.  Looking to the future for a new path evoked so much fear that I was barely functional.  For some reason, the idea of leaving an existence of uniformity, compliance and symmetry cast light on the demons of my past.  The demons that I have been engaged in a dysfunctional affair with for the last 20 years.  Looking ahead also brought more demons with it.  Those I have been fabricating for nearly as many years.  And that has been the last four months of my life.  That has been where I found comfort:  in pain and fear.

But today, only 12 days after I left, I sit surrounded by nothing that has previously occupied the inside of my comfort zone.  No blue suits..  No name tapes.  No cutterman pins or collar devices.  No titles.  Almost every face I see and personality I meet comes with a story I know nothing about.  Nobody here is a number in my inbox or an appointment time.  Nobody gets thanked for being on time or reprimanded for being late.  My phone hasn't rang one time with demands for more comprehensive services.  I haven't received any requests or complaints, aside from the quality of a peanut butter and honey sandwich, that need to be rectified IMMEDIATELY.  Here, I don't see the hostile, entitled faces.  Here I only see the faces of people with their own demons who fight them in different ways.  They fight their battles on a different clock; on an island clock.

Two nights ago, I was going to have dinner with a girlfriend.  I asked her "what time should we be over?"  She replied "At dinner time."  That was it.  So we went over at dinnah time.  The next morning, I texted an old friend to let him know we were on the North Shore.  I typed "I know its the weekend and weekends are tough, but I'm here if you have time."  His response:  "Angela.  You forget.  Nothing is tough on Kauai."

All I could think about after that was "Huh."  On the mainland, you have to coordinate by way of 18 different calendars just to find the time for a cup of coffee.  By yourself.  If you want to do that with other people, there needs to be a date set in your Outlook calendar, a calendar request sent to the participating parties, a follow up email stating the purpose for coffee at an hour different than 0650 when you leave your house.  Then, just to make sure there is no confusion about the time and purpose of the coffee meet, there should probably be two instant messages, a text and a Facebook check in that states where you are, what you are doing and who you are doing it with.  I'll use an example from the recent past...Facebook reads "Angela Padgett is at Two Rock Coffee Co. with Shaun Darrall."  Then it displays a little map of where we are at.  Then I get to say something clever like "Finally having coffee and talking shit!"  And don't forget the sassy little smiley face at the end.  Because this is really exciting!!!

In reality though, we have spent the last three years working 500 yards away from each other.  So, did it really require that much planning and fanfare?

Meanwhile, back on the island, people who are new to your life tell you to come ovah when you want.  Friends you haven't seen in 20 years make time for you without calendar invites.  Things happen when they happen and there is no vomiting. Or guilt.  Or fear of retribution for NOT being on time.  Or drinking coffee with a friend.

I only have four days left on this island or rogues, pioneers, misfits and eccentrics.  When I get back to the mainland, I will, again, be plagued by the pressures and expectations that accompany a "normative" lifestyle.  I'll deal with that when I get back.  But the longer I stay here, the more this way of life makes sense.

So, until then, I'm on island time.

-Inner Peas