Tuesday, July 26, 2016


Driving today. Freely around town. Pups in the back. Food in hand. Passing manicured medians, blooming crepe myrtles. Radio streaming.

DNC this week. RNC last week. Politics roaring. Voiced thoughts, yelled opinions, slandered character, free speech.

A million miles away, 7 women sit at home, grieving the loss of a man, worrying about the one taken and tortured by the Taliban, unable to work, unable to move, unable to speak.

Tomorrow, a most amazing event in the 240 year history of our great nation, a woman will be nominated as the primary party candidate for president. A woman. It doesn’t matter if you like her, if you vote for her, if you appreciate her. It doesn’t matter how you feel, the truth is, a woman is being nominated for president.

His shift was over. He looked defeated, weary. I inquired of his downcast look. He told me of his family, his life a million miles away. He told me of his family here, helpless. I heard his words. I heard his living story. But it felt the million miles away that it is. It felt foreign. It felt unreal.

I deny that I live a life of privilege. I do not have exceptional wealth, I do not drive an expensive car, wear name brand clothes, or go on exotic vacations. But the truth is, my ruler is off. I have measured privilege with the wrong metric. I have measured privilege against excess and not against essentials. I have never gone hungry. I have always had a bed to sleep in. I have never had to worry about clean water or even warm water. I have never had to worry about how being a woman effects me politically or socially or financially. I have never feared the Taliban.

I sit at home. Weary from work and lack of sleep. Content in life. Privileged. Mindful of my Muslim friend, of his family, of those 7 women so far away, of the one taken and tortured, of the ones sitting here helpless.

He told me his life, his story. My heart was affected. He walked over to me, gave me a hug, comforted me.

And as he prays to Allah, I will pray to God.