What Heros Look Like

Last Thursday, 11/17/11, I attended the 21st annual Covenant House candlelight vigil in Times Square for Homeless Youth.  What a humbling experience.   I stood in the middle of time square, surrounded by hundreds of people, corporate CEOs standing shoulder to shoulder with homeless teenagers, all holding candles and standing in solidarity together.  Kevin Ryan, director of Covenant House welcomed a very special speaker - a resident of Covenant House New York.  We stood transfixed, forgetting the cold as Diana bravely stood in the middle of Times Square and told her story to thousands .  A year ago she was homeless on the cold streets of New York, a city new to her.  She now works two jobs and is going to college to be an accountant.  When my dad retires, I plan to ask this woman to take over doing my taxes.

Ricky Gervais is right.  New York is the greatest city in the world.  Like all cities, it has its share of hungry bellies, scarfless necks and dark alleys.  But it also has love and hope and people who care enough to reach out to others who are just looking for a chance.  Kids like Diana aren't looking for a handout, but for a path to self sufficiency, for an opportunity to gain the skills they need to survive, to heal and eventually, to help another.  Being a victim is a horrifying, sometimes unavoidable state to be in, but it never has to be a permanent one.

I love New York, and the people who live in its buildings and on its streets.  The vigil was a beautiful start to an amazing transformation, whose completion requires you.  Romain Rolland said that a hero is someone who does what he can.  Diana is a hero because she is doing what she can.  If you do what you can, you can be a hero too.  Help me fill the bellies, help me make a scarf, help me light the alley.

Four Percent Survival Rate

Twenty-five years ago when my grandmother died of pancreatic cancer at 68, portable music was a boombox, playing video games required a trip to the arcade, the telephone was wired to a wall and the five year survival rate for pancreatic cancer was 4%.  Today phones, music, movies and games are all on one machine called an iphone we carry around with us everywhere we go.  The man who made it died last week of pancreatic cancer at 56, because the 5 year survival rate for pancreatic cancer is still 4%. 

You can be one of the most influential men in the world, whose creativity changed the way we work, communicate and play, who created companies that influence the financial integrity of entire countries and the behavior of every stock exchange in the world, who created technology to consolidate the contents of 700 books onto a machine the size of a coloring book, and put a computer into almost every home in the country, but cancer doesn't care. 

Respect and thank you Mr. Jobs.  Rest in peace.  I'll try not to think too much on what you could have done for the world with another 56 years.  Instead I'll try to help do it for you.  Big shoes to fill. 

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"“Almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose... There is no reason not to follow your heart.” - Steve Jobs

Writer's Block

You walk around with the character you've created, in him, as him.  You see the world through his eyes.  You drive to work, order food, drink coffee, listen to music, look at porn as him.  And you slowly start to realize, that no matter how successful the book is, how lucrative the movie deal, how much money you make, you won't ever get to actually sleep with him.  You can create him, you can bring him to life, you can share him with the world.  You will know everything about him, his deepest fears, his biggest secrets, his strengths and his weaknesses.  You will fall in love with him.  But he will never love you back, because he doesn't exist.  Because he's you.  And you don't want to sleep with you.  You fucking hate yourself.  That's how the whole thing got started in the first place. No matter how hard you try, no matter how hard you work, no matter how many producers you know, the best you're ever going to get is a chance to look at his picture.  The picture you painted yourself.  But you know what?  It's a hell of a nice picture. 

Faith without Works is Death

Beautiful by MercyMe is playing on my ipod.  I click through Covenant House's
Solidarity Sleep Out photos on Facebook.  I've seen a lot of the pictures
before, and read some of the stories (I go to the site a lot.)  But one was new,
he had dark hair and dark eyes, like the Dan who I've been writing about, who I thought
I had invented, so to speak.  I read his story.  His mother had died, he had no
place to go, he had a knife and was going to slit his wrists as a way out.  The story
I had written in real life, only worse.  I click "read more" and the world drops out - the kid's name is Daniel.  I minimize the window, and look away, the world swirls before my eyes, at
my desk I bite my lip to keep from crying out, my fists are clenched, I can't see,
three computer screens blur in front of me.  I want to walk away from everything
and go help these kids.  How is this a coincidence?  I gasp for air, attempt to
process the moment.  I cover my eyes with my hands, I try to pray but its not private
enough here.  Recording my thoughts until I get the courage to finish reading this
kid's story, to look into his face again.  Tension pulls across my shoulder blades, I can feel my blood pounding into my fingertips.  Why isn't anyone doing anything about
this?  Why aren't I?  My eyes fall on my wedding photo.  Was it fair of me to try to
find my own happiness, when so many need help?  I feel so selfish.

I wipe away a tear I didn't realize was there.  After two Beatles songs, I go back and finish the story.  ipod skips from Yesterday to Leeland's "Follow You" as I look literally through my fingers into Daniel's tired eyes. 

Is this want they call a calling?