Evenings with Tim Russert and Doris Kearns Goodwin

Last week, one of my two best friends treated me to a “Pen Pals” lecture sponsored by Friends of the Hennepin County Library. One of the reasons why I love Amanda is that when she found out that Doris Kearns Goodwin was speaking this month, she emailed me with a headline that contained excited expletives… she is the only other person I know (other than myself) who would react to news of a presidential historian’s lecture with elated swearing.

Goodwin was absolutely charming. Her appearances on “Meet the Press” do not allow her to showcase how truly, truly funny and engaging she is. As we neared the “question and answer” portion of the lecture, I was itching to be chosen to ask Goodwin a question. We were sitting too far back in the auditorium to have a chance of being noticed, but I desperately wanted to ask her how she protects her writing process. She is an in-demand lecturer, political commentator and historical consultant. Yet, she consistently produces fabulous (and LENGTHY) political biographies. How, with so many opportunities available to her beyond writing, does she protect and prioritize her process?

Just before the last question was asked, I began to think about the last time I asked a question in this particular kind of public lecture. It was early November of 2004 and I was seated next to my dear friend Andy York at the PAC in Appleton. Earlier that week, we had spent 21 hours straight attending to the Election Day festivities at Lawrence University. As the president and vice-president of the LU chapter of the College Democrats, we had organized a massive phone bank, organized shuttle service for students and staff and planned a huge Election Night party. I had arrived on campus to begin setting everything up at 5 a.m. and did not leave the Union until 2 a.m. the following morning.

The day had been exhausting, but inspiring and exciting. I was eager to watch Senator Feingold win his race, to hear buzz about the write-in campaign for Andy York we had started in an effort to unseat an unqualified local politician and to hopefully watch as George W. Bush was denied a second term. The Election Night party was a huge success and began with fabulous energy as Feingold won his race. However, as the night wore on, it became increasingly apparent that the democrats would not be able to regain control of the White House.

There is a gorgeous and heartbreaking picture of me that was taken that night. I am unaware of the camera and am looking towards the televisions we had set up. I have red white and blue ribbons in my high pigtails and the word “vote” written on my cheeks in blue. I am wearing a white t-shirt that reads “Kerry, Feingold, York” on it. And my face is open, vulnerable and devastated.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget how it felt to sit next to York at that lecture just a few days after Election Night. I had suffered a significant personal loss about six weeks earlier and was still reeling when the election results came in and struck me another blow. When the “question and answer” portion of the night began and individuals began to line up at the microphones provided for the occasion, I rose initially because every single person in line was over 50 years of age and was male. But when I was selected to ask the last question, it wasn’t difficult to articulate the concern that was pressing on my heart both personally and politically.

“How do we move forward?” I asked. “Many of us young democrats have worked tirelessly to achieve a different outcome in this uniquely important election. How, when our faith has been tested so completely do we move forward without bitterness?” Although no other questions before had been met with such a response, the auditorium broke out into applause.

Tim Russert surveyed the short, waif-thin person I had become at that point for a moment before he answered. “This feels like the worst possible thing has happened,” he confirmed. And for a split second I didn’t know if he was talking about my personal life or politics. “But it will get better. Older members of the audience remember other elections that have felt like this. And there is no denying that a great loss has been suffered. But if you are determined to move forward without bitterness, to regain your faith and trust in the process while continuing to question and reform it, things will get better. It may not feel that way, but they will.” More applause… and a humble me walked back to my seat.

Ultimately, although I did want Goodwin to answer my question, I did not need her to in the same way that I needed Russert to answer my question then. Trusting the process, having faith in yourself and making your values and goals a sincere priority is a formula I suspect that Goodwin subscribes to, just as Russert did. (The fact that these two were friends seems to cement this idea.) And although I did not speak directly with her that night, I walked away from Goodwin’s presence humbled by the reminder of her friend’s advice, the reality of her process and the memory of who I was one decade ago.

A Room of My Own

In “A Room of One’s Own,” Virginia Woolf observes that, “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Of course, notable exceptions to this smart observation certainly exist. After all, J.K. Rowling dreamed up Harry Potter on a train and wrote her first book while she was on welfare. However, Woolf’s assertion generally proves true. Over the past two weeks, I have been blessed with a room of my own at “The Loft.” But there is no money. There is, however, lupus and self doubt. And so, my writing process has largely gone like this:

Sit down.
Open notebook.
Start obsessing about money, health.
Repeat obsessing.
Question whether I have any talent.
Get pissed at myself for being so ridiculous.
Question whether I have anything worthwhile to say.
Become aware of how much pain I’m in and lay down on the floor.
Obsess about money, health and writing ability on the floor.
After time has passed, get hungry and go in search of something warm to drink.

I have been waiting years to have a room of my own and time to write. YEARS. Years, people. And now that I have both, I spend all my time in my head worrying.

I got to the point today where I asked myself a question I have literally never had occasion to ask before. “What if I give up writing?” As I asked myself this question, it physically felt like I had walked into a glass door. I was driving at the time, and I was so struck at the physicality of my reaction to this question that I almost had to pull over. What if I gave up writing and my dream of being successful at it?

Giving up both writing and my dream of it would result in:
More money
More sleep
Less stress
More time to attend to my health
A diminished (near-constant) feeling of failure because I have yet to achieve certain writing-related goals

And yet, there is a reason why even asking the question made me feel like I had walked into a large, solid pane of glass. Yes, I would gain time, money and a certain peace of mind if I set this demanding, deafening (and lately debilitating) dream of mine down for good. However, I feel in my core that if I let this opportunity to pursue writing as a career pass me by that it would become my greatest regret in life. Being present for my loved ones and engaged in those relationships are reasons enough to exist and to truly live. But I truly feel that denying the process that is my calling is the equivalent of denying my very self.

I am really, REALLY annoyed. But it seems that putting down my dream is just simply not an option. Rather than let go of writing, I have to find a way to let go of my mental baggage and the emotional crap that is standing in my way. I have to somehow be okay with being broke and sick and (maybe?) talentless and an active writer all at the same time.

It is funny how knowing that pursuing my passion is the right thing to do is both freeing and annoying as hell at the same time. But I do know it for sure now. So, it is ultimately a good thing that I have two more days of “vacation” left and a room of my own just across town…

Aerie’s No Retouching’ Policy

*Author’s note: This is an especially relevant post for me to be writing today as the scale at the doctor’s office revealed this morning that despite my best efforts, I have actually gained a whopping six pounds in the past 28 days. (Insert deep sigh here…)

Due to student loans and medical bills, I do not have money to spend. As a result, shopping is generally a rare activity for me. When I do shop, I tend to buy on the cheap and only when coupons are available or something is on sale. “Oh,” you may be musing. “THAT is why every single item of clothing she owns is from Old Navy!”

However, there are three things that I do not purchase at a discount. When I need these items, I purchase good quality pieces, not pieces determined primarily by price. These three spendy items are: Good quality running shoes, good quality running socks and good quality bras. On anyone, cheap versions of these items can lead to discomfort at best and injury at worst. And because my ribs and my feet are two of my most sensitive body parts (due to my autoimmune conditions) I am especially concerned about keeping them happy.

It is for this reason that I found myself wandering into Aerie a few months ago. I was in search of a decent bra to accommodate the fact that gaining weight means a somewhat disturbing jump in bra size. I had first ventured into Aerie during this past Christmas season in search of gifts. Mark has four brothers and three sisters-in-law, so they have implemented the “grab bag” system in order to ensure that none of them go broke at the holidays. Each brother and significant other grabs one name of another brother or significant other and buys gifts only for that person and for Mark’s parents. It is a fun way to ensure that everyone gets gifts and that no one goes bankrupt. Mark and I had grabbed the names of two of his sisters-in-law, who both requested pajamas or loose running/yoga clothes. I thought that Aerie would be a good place to shop for both Rebecca and Jen at the same time.

I was charmed by the store, its products and its staff. So although I normally don’t sign up for “frequent visitor” cards from retailers, I signed up at Aerie, confident that I now had a place to shop for decent bras beyond Victoria’s Secret and other outlets that are just too expensive for me right now. When I returned to this store a few months ago in search of a new decent bra, I was feeling anxious about trying samples on. No matter how confident you are in your shape and size, it can be daunting to enter a dressing room when you know that you’re not the shape and size you feel best at. As I slipped a sample on and turned to the mirror, my eye was not drawn to my shape, but to a stick-on sign that read, “This reflection has not been retouched. The real you is sexy.” And because I am me, I cried.

It turns out that Aerie’s print ads, model shots in-store and other marketing is now completely un-retouched. The company has embraced the idea that retouching leads to unrealistic expectations about body image for both models and non-models alike. Even Joan Lunden’s recent People magazine cover detailing her battle with breast cancer is so airbrushed that the 64-year-old woman’s face looks as smooth as her bald head. Does the media really think that I need Joan’s face to be free of wrinkles in order to find her beautiful or her story inspiring?

The Aerie no retouching campaign is only a single and small effort to acknowledge that both models and non-models are “imperfect” beings that are also beautiful, interesting and inspiring. But it is the kind of effort that too few companies are willing to make. As a direct result of this campaign, I took Samantha straight to Aerie when she needed a new bra this summer. As I sat on a little puff chair outside her dressing room and waited for her to let me know whether or not a sample fit, I heard her say confidently, “Yeah I am!” and I knew in an instant that her eye had been drawn to the critically important message as well.