On Climbing

Yesterday, I attempted a climb and it changed everything.

I have had, by my own measure, a very successful summer of climbing. I led Outside Corner, a 3-pitch 5.7 trad climb that I couldn't lead last year. I've gone up to the City of Rocks and down to Maple Canyon. I've become a solid 5.9 sport leader, a solid 5.8 trad leader, and can climb a 5.10 without overexertion. And more than that, I have developed some of the most deep, fundamental, and essential climbing partnerships - friendships - I have had in my short-lived climbing life. All wonderful things - but I wanted to lead a 5.10 before the summer was out. I want to be able to do harder things, to challenge myself more than I have in the past. I feel I am ready and able for that. So, yesterday, I made my first attempt at a 5.10 lead.

Climbing is a complex endeavor. It is mental, physical, emotional, spiritual. It is a bond with earth, rock, air, and life. The rock is both friend and mentor. It is, many times, the bearer of tough love and the perpetual killer of ego. It is the birth of some of the most human bonds I have formed; fundamental partnerships that transcend the norm of daily life, partnerships upon which life itself rests.

And it is, for me at least, a challenging vehicle for growth. Progress depends entirely on me and my willingness and ability to push my limits and to get better. That was the goal in leading a 5.10. Getting better. One step up could open a whole new world of climbs previously untouchable. I understood - at least I thought I did - that achieving a 5.10 is only one part of becoming a better climber. But we all crave progress, and I am not free from that drive. And, I just felt ready. I knew I could lead a 5.10, I just had to do it.

I had climbed Chambered Nautilus before. It is the climb on the left face in the picture, for those unfamiliar with it. I have had some grand adventures on that climb, and knew I could climb it. At the most basic level, I also knew I could lead it. I just hadn't done it yet. So I roped in, and up I went.

I believe that all climbers share a certain love for the sport, and understand that climbing is a reflection of life. But on a deeper level, I think everyone has their own intimate relationship with the rock, and with the sport of climbing. Reasons for why we climb are as diverse as the hands with which we climb. I climb because I feel that topping out on a route is a gift from the earth, letting me experience views of the world I would not otherwise see. I climb because when I am on the rock, I feel graceful and connected to my body. I climb because I like the puzzle and the challenge. And simply, because it is joy.

All of those things were present on Chambered Nautilus. The formation of that rock is a gift, a puzzle, a challenge. I felt good - balanced, sure-footed. Everything was there, up until the very end. And then, as they say, everything fell apart.

In order to top out on Chambered Nautilus, you have to make one rather challenging move above the second-to-last clip. If you fall - and you will always fall - you will be safe. The fall is not bad. But you do fall back down below the crux, and have to most above that clip again, have to find that hand hold again, have to find your feet, again. And fall. Again. Something interesting happened to me when I was on that climb. I knew I could do it. That was never a question in my mind. But how I did it, and how I decided to get over the crux, that was where everything fell apart. Rather than attempting the crux again, risking the fall again, and accepting that outcome, I acted out of fear. I made the last clip in the most dangerous and precarious position I could have put myself in on that climb. Rather than attempting one more time the safer, proper move, I stopped thinking and just clipped. And after I clipped, I pulled the roof, got above the crux - and the climb was over.

I should have been in ecstasy. I had just led my first 5.10 and had not had to relinquish the lead. I made it up. But I was angry. I was angry, and I was disappointed, and I wished I could have taken it back. I clipped out of fear and it made the climb not a success, but a scarlet letter sewn onto my chest.

I learned, yesterday, that there are other reasons I climb and far greater measures than numbers of my success and progress. In my head, I have always known this. But after Chambered Nautilus I felt in my heart, that there are greater reasons for climbing than topping out on a 5.10 lead. Climbing teaches integrity, honesty, love, patience; both on the rock and off. Clipping in fear is essentially cutting a corner. Taking the easy way out. I read in a wonderful book that when we are in situations where we are challenged, we revert to our core habits. Cutting corners and clipping in fear go hand-in-hand. And, though it may get me to the top of a 5.10 climb, it left me feeling betrayed by my own self.

It is hardly pleasing to admit that corner cutting is a cornerstone of my life. My mantra has always been that things always work out in the end, regardless of what comes before it. And Chambered Nautilus was, in technicality, a success. But it was not successful. And I take that as a lesson, both on and off the rock.

I will go back this season to climb Chambered Nautilus again. Before I climb, I will say a small prayer of thanks to the rock, and will climb with the integrity and attention such a climb deserves. And I may or may not make it to the top.

Conflict, diamonds, love, and hope

This is something that has been particularly bothering me lately, and with good reason.

Regulators for the Kimberley Process met in Johannesburg this past week to discuss the diamond trade, and Zimbabwe in particular. The Kimberley Process investigation team had recommended the country's diamond exports be suspended, due to severe human rights abuses and the question as to what the revenue from the trade was funding. Quality analysis of what ensued can be found here: http://allafrica.com/stories/200911050938.html and here: http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5go389c2XyhmXenpmcVmLb0C9402gD9BQ52Q84

Look at the picture of these women! These are the people mining our diamonds, giving us those supposed "precious" jewels we wear on our wrists, around our fingers, in our ears, and on necklaces right next to our hearts! These women, and thousands of women, men, and children like them, live in slave conditions and are horrifically treated so we can spend highly inflated amounts of money buying what can hardly be considered a a rare stone worthy of our "three months' salary." It only takes a small amount of research to confirm what is obvious by logic: diamond cartels saturate the market with advertisements proclaiming diamonds to be the essential symbol of love, wealth, eternity, and purity, compelling our purchases with no questions asked. And why ask, when the diamond ring is now the only symbol of "love" one can give another when asking for a hand in marriage? But how a gem, produced in the midst of slavery, terror, and exploitation, could possibly stand for eternal love - this is not a question I am prepared to answer.

What of the Kimberley Process? Developed in 2001-02, the Kimberly Process was meant to prevent conflict diamonds from entering the global trade. And while it has had some success, the regulatory process is fraught with issues, not the least of which its sole focus on conflict diamonds, and not the other significant human rights issues surrounding the diamond mining industry. Such a tiny mandate leaves issues such as rape, slavery, and human trafficking outside the Kimberly Process. So while your diamond may be conflict free (still difficult to guarantee), it may still be, perhaps literally, covered in blood.

Diamonds are unnecessary to love. They are unnecessary to beauty, and antithetical to freedom for many in this world. If you cannot avoid diamonds, buy Canadian. Urge those you know to learn about diamonds before placing one on their finger, in cuff links, or anywhere else, for that matter. I'm not sure what, exactly, can be done about industrial diamonds. But the gem diamond trade we do control directly, and we need to know what that means for our fellow souls across the globe. We cannot do harm to others without feeling it to ourselves. We cannot buy a diamond in such a market and pretend we have done no wrong. Our dollars fuel the trade; each purchase we make ensures the continued enslavement of a fellow human being. We will likely never meet those who mine a continent away. But our hearts are one, and by opening our hearts, we can, at the very basic level, begin to remove ourselves from exploitation and toward a more fair, equal world.

AHAHA!

Life so completely works out sometimes...I just got me dream job, nicely facilitating everything spoken about in the post below. WOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

On Freedom

My college career has been one of action - study, work, internships, travel, volunteering, creating, administrating. The full force of my molecular being was put into external motion, connecting the "me" to the "world" that was mine to play in. And I played, and I worked. I worked hard, and I studied hard, and I soaked up life in the best way I knew how.

And I lived in that world, where young men and women study the rich academic heritage of the West; where the aspirational build their resumes brick by brick, creating a platform for a "good" job where people respect you and you get promoted; where top-notch graduate schools accept your credentials because you stand above and beyond the masses. That world where competition - subtle, unconscious, permeating competition - is the norm for those who are going to be something, who are going to do something. The world of rich, educated elites born to shake - or to rule - the foundations of the Earth.

Only a short time ago, I was set to pursue such a life forever. The choices were seemingly difficult, but they were clear cut. Rhodes or Harvard Law? A dual graduate degree in law and international development, or political administration and urban planning? Do I intern with the United Nations, or the ICC? Will I be Secretary of State, or head of the UNDP? Yet again my oyster, I had already taken the world.

This eternal summer has changed everything.

It is not that I do not now believe in lofty desires, or that I have rejected the notion of having a greater purpose. But I think I have begun to come back to my self, that self that was never so aquiescent to the norm; so rigid in internal structure. But I did fall for a while into what I consider the abyss of complacent living: finish high school, go to college, work harder than everyone else, go to a good graduate school, work work work, retire, die. Sounds tragic, no? But for a while, I think that is what I thought I would do. It is amusing, in that even now as I write this I cannot comprehend how I would ever live that life. Over the course of my college career, I think I began to let myself believe that was how I would accomplish my ends, whatever those ends might be. Work hard, be important, and everything will be fine. I also began to believe I could define my ends. Having a plan was standard. I wrote a damn five-year plan, and it was perfect. Except that, in reality, it was a tragedy.

I am glad I wrote it, and even more glad that now, looking back to only a short six months ago, I can almost laugh at myself. Almost, because I am still a little frightened - terrified? - at what I almost did. I almost willingly removed my own freedom, my own self-given right to self-determination. But more than that, I almost began to believe that I had learned enough to go out into the world to do something and to be something. I had begun the process of believing in my own ego, in my own intelligence. I had begun to spend my time with people whose own ego drives them, and had begun to believe in their importance.

I consider myself lucky in that I think my nature prevents me from ever delving too far into that world. I am too bull-headed to play into the established structure. Too earth-bound and sensual to ever give up my freedom to roam, near or far. Too adventurous to live in one way for too long.

So, as my paradigm shifts, I look back in reflection and I truly appreciate these past four years. I have been, what, lucky? blessed? fortunate, in the experiences I have had in my brief time on this planet. I have learned much. But I have only learned in one direction, the direction that was chosen for me when I entered academia as a child. And I have six more months of pursuing that particular form of education, which I look forward to.

And when that six months is done, I will pursue as opposite an education as I can find. I will learn from the mountains and their songs; from the words and the silence of every human being I can find. I will learn from art, music, and dance; from the glory of creating with my own hands. I will drink coffee, beer, wine, with both mouth and soul. I will eat the foods of a thousand nations, mouth and soul. I will cook, I will sew. I will learn about clouds, and soil, and everything that lives in between.

And I will love, and laugh, and be free.

The recap

Mile 0: Cold. Fire smells like starter fluid for way too long. As usual, long Port-o-Potty lines. Friendly people though. Best people-watching event outside of Sugar House Park on the Fourth of July.
Start running.
Miles 1-7: Awesome, fast, downhill, beautiful beautiful Provo Canyon scenery. Enjoy a good pace, lots of people, no cars, perfect cool weather, confidence.
Keep running.
Miles 8-9: End of the canyon. Start to feel it, a little bit, but still feeling good. Been over an hour now; have settled into the serene, meditative rhythm of the run. Run, run, run. Confidence waning, though, as people start to pass, left and right, and I begin to realize I am still not a fast runner. Have to remind myself with each passing, it is not about them. It is about me. But it is hard to let go.
Keep running.
Mile 10: Feeling it.
Keep running.
Mile 11: Finally munch some Hammer Gel. Grabbed a banana somewhere along the line, but not sure where. Winding along paths and streets now. Have no idea where I'm going, only that I am still running.
Keep running.
Mile 12: High Provo River. Getting harder to adjust from level to down to up to level. Muscles transitioning slower. Have officially lost the speed game - it's now, really, only about my time.
Keep running.
Mile 13: Mile marker at 13.1, which I pass at 2:05:31. The exact same time as every other marathon I have ever run. Mind games start to play themselves, especially when I realize I will not keep the same pace for the second half. Have to make it about my own time, my time, or I wont make it. Have the first thought of giving up. Luckily, I've passed that thought so many times in training that it barely registers before dissipating.
It is all mental.
Keep running.
Miles 14-16: Even more difficult muscle transitions. Pass the LDS Church's movie studio at some point on this strech - had no idea. Looked very Hollywood. Somehow makes sense, and I file it away. Legs hurt. I am so, so conscious of every movement they make. Am suddely very glad I took an extra Hammer Gel at the last pit stop. Not entirely sure they do anything, at this point, except give me something to look forward to. The countdown to 26 starts.
Keep running.
Mile 17: Ouch.
Keep running.
Mile 18: Eight miles to go. Still winding along the river. Get super zoned in the music, and find a second wind. For a moment, I forget about the pain, the eight miles left, the 18 already run. Zone, zone, zone.
Keep running.
Mile 19: The zone is lost as quickly as the river. Suddenly I am staring down long streches of nothing but road, road and road. No distractions. No scenery. The only consolation is a light sprinkling of rain. But I hurt, I hurt more than I should, more than I want to hurt, more than I wish I hurt.
Keep running.
Mile 20: Can't keep going. Lose. My body can endure anything, but my mind is not there yet - that's the game. Lost. For half a mile.
Then I remember, there is beer in the car.
Win the mind game.
Keep running.
Mile 21: Nothing. Nothing to remember except sun, long long long streches of road that totally phase my brain, and the constant battle to keep running.
Oh, and horses. (And the only thing going through my head at that moment is, "Horses don't do stupid things like run marathons.)
Keep running.
Mile 22: Only a marathon runner finds a small amount of solace in a Port-o-Potty. All I can do now is put my head down, concentrate, run.
Keep running.
Mile 23: His name might well be Jesus the Friggin' Savior, 'cause he's standingout there with cold, heavenly sponges, and gives me two of them. Delicious cold water: face, hair, clothes, cold cold cold. Head down. Run.
Keep on runnin'.
Mile 24: Two left. Can't even comprehend right now. Head down. Run. Can't. Walk. Can. Run.
Keep running.
Mile 25: Good Christ I'm going to make it.
RUN.
Mile 26: People always ask why it is 26.2 miles. Why .2? Why not 26?
Anyone who has run a marathon knows why. Because your endurance has to take you above and beyond. Because the strength of your body is more than that. Because the strength of your mind is suddenly no longer determined by mile markers. Because it never ends when you think it will, and you have to be able to give life – lovers, struggles, joys, tragedies, marathons, work, climbs, friends – absolutely everything you have until you think you are done and you have absolutely nothing left to give.

And then you have to give more.

26 is easy. .2 takes you beyond.

RUN.
Mile 26.2: Finish line, a cheering friend, a cheap medal that can only tell a shadow of the story.
Stop running.
Drink beer.

A Note of Supreme Optimism

The most spectacular thing about this life is it is a never-ending labyrinth of surprises. There have been so many challenges this past year, so many tests of strength, and will, and fortitude. Questions about what I value, and what I value most, have been posed to me more often in the past nine-or-so months than I can possibly imagine. Yet those questions have made what I value most clear, and I look forward to going forth with such things solidified in my mind.

- Education: There is no substitute. But it does not come easily.
- Hard work: I have the absolute, utmost respect for those who work hard, day in and day out, to accomplish what they desire. And it is not the visible, tangible hard work I respect. It is knowing someone has been working in the middle of the night, brow furrowed, when no one is watching, with no thought of recognition in mind. It is the hard work that goes on behind the scenes which makes a person who they are, that is the hard work I respect.
- Fidelity: Not to country, or ideology, but to people. To friends. To those who have been named friends, colleagues, lovers. To have respect for the souls of other beings, and to recognize that some actions cause more damage than can ever be undone.
- Fun: always, always, ALWAYS.
- An active, healthy lifestyle: Whether it be running, hiking, climbing, chasing after fourth graders who should really not be doing what they're doing, you have to have the respect for your body it deserves. Good food, adequate sleep, lots of laughter, and a fantastic trail run are all I need.

There are certainly more things I value, but these are some that I hold most dear, and many of the others can be derived from these.

With love.

My heart is with Gaza

I am absolutely disgusted with Israel.
I cannot believe we call our country their ally.

Someday this will change.
I look forward to that day.

Giving thanks?

This past week has not been one of peace.

Mumbai was terrorized. A man was killed so other men could buy, shop, consume. I have researched what I once thought was a way to express solidarity with the marginalized of the world, and found the system fraught with the same hegemonic tendencies it fights against. It has been a year since the death of an incredible human being that I miss.

I see life around me. People in cars and coffee shops. Institutions and ways of life continuing on. Winter coldness has set in, but holiday lights breathe warmth. A few days ago I caught a glimpse of weariness on the face of a fellow traveler, and felt the heaviness she carries. It has been a long time since I have seen the incredible, genuine smile of a stranger. That smile you know is real, and given to you as a fellow human being, and for no other reason. I long to hear laughter.

I know I can never be as grateful as my situation necessitates.
That I can sit at a table, staring at more food than I could ever possibly eat; that that food is more nutritious than I could ever wish for.
That I can dream a future for myself and find a way to do it.
That I travel. That I can dream of traveling, and know it will come true.
That I am educated and can prosper because of it, no matter how bad things get.
That I, at 22, own a car, have a roof over my head, own my clothing, drink what I like, eat what I like, do what I wish.
That, should I so desire, I could get a job that, even at minimum wage, pays me more in one hour than millions make in a day - or a week.
For my friends, who I know I should hold more dear.
For the opportunities I am given every day of my life that millions will never even imagine exist.
For the grand institutions that serve me, and for the discerning mind I am given to know the nature of those institutions.
For my independence and liberty, and for the astounding ability to pursue happiness.

The Speech That Made History

SENATOR BARACK OBAMA: (Cheers, applause.) Hello, Chicago. (Cheers, applause.)

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our Founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. (Cheers, applause.)

It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen, by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different, that their voices could be that difference.

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled -- (cheers) -- Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states; we are and always will be the United States of America. (Cheers, applause.)

It's the answer that -- that led those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day. It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America. (Cheers, applause.)

A little bit earlier this evening, I received an extraordinarily gracious call from Senator McCain. (Cheers, applause.) Senator McCain fought long and hard in this campaign, and he's fought even longer and harder for the country that he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine. We are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. (Applause.) I congratulate him, I congratulate Governor Palin for all they've achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead. (Cheers, applause.)

I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton, and rode with on the train home to Delaware, the vice president-elect of the United States, Joe Biden. (Cheers, applause.)

And I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last 16 years, the rock of our family, the love of my life, the nation's next first lady, Michelle Obama. (Cheers, applause.)

Sasha and Malia, I love you both more than you can imagine, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House. (Cheers, applause.)

And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.

To my sister Maya, my sister Auma, all my other brothers and sisters, thank you so much for all the support that you've given to me. I am grateful to them. (Cheers, applause.)

And to my campaign manager, David Plouffe -- (cheers, applause) -- the unsung hero of this campaign who built the best -- (cheers) -- the best political campaign I think in the history of the United States of America -- (cheers, applause) -- to my chief strategist, David Axelrod -- (cheers, applause) -- who has been a partner with me every step of the way, to the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics -- (cheers) -- you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done. (Cheers, applause.)

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you. (Cheers, applause.) It belongs to you. (Cheers.)

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington; it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston. It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give $5 and $10 and $20 to the cause. (Cheers, applause.) It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy -- (cheers) -- who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep. It drew strength from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers, and from the millions of Americans who volunteered and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from the Earth. This is your victory. (Cheers, applause.)

Now, I know you didn't do this just to win an election, and I know you didn't do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime: two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage or pay their doctors' bills or save enough for their child's college education.

There's new energy to harness, new jobs to be created, new schools to build, and threats to meet, alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term, but America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you: We as a people will get there. (Cheers, applause.)

AUDIENCE: Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Yes, we can! Yes, we can!

MR. OBAMA: There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as president, and we know the government can't solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it's been done in America for 221 years -- block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began 21 months ago in the depths of winter cannot end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek; it is only the chance for us to make that change.

And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It can't happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice. So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other.

Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers. In this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.

Let's resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let's remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House -- a party founded on the values of self-reliance and individual liberty and national unity. Those are values we all share. And while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. (Cheers, applause.)

As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends -- though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your president too. (Cheers, applause.)

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of the world, our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. (Cheers, applause.) To those -- to those who would tear the world down: we will defeat you. (Cheers, applause.) To those who seek peace and security: we support you. (Cheers, applause.) And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright: tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals -- democracy, liberty, opportunity and unyielding hope. (Cheers, applause.)

That's the true genius of America, that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight's about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She is a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election, except for one thing: Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old. (Cheers, applause.)

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons, because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin. And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America: the heartache and the hope, the struggle and the progress, the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed, yes we can.

At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the Dust Bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

AUDIENCE: Yes we can!

MR. OBAMA: When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

AUDIENCE: Yes we can!

MR. OBAMA: She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We shall overcome." Yes we can.

AUDIENCE: Yes we can!

MR. OBAMA: A man touched down on the Moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change.

Yes, we can.

AUDIENCE: Yes, we can.

MR. OBAMA: America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there's so much more to do. So tonight let us ask ourselves, if our children should live to see the next century, if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time -- to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope; and where we are met with cynicism and doubt and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.

AUDIENCE: Yes, we can.

MR. OBAMA: Thank you. God bless you. And may God bless the United States of America. (Cheers, applause

Fall, spring, summer, winter

I've been feeling less than creative lately, hence the less than frequent blogging. I'm not sure anyone even reads this though, so I'm not sure the lack of spectacularly placed words makes a difference, so I'm not sure...

Old Man Winter is breathing down my neck, and his breath is bitter. Yet again life choices loom large. Stay, go; change here, change there; Montana, Utah; law school, something else. Too many choices. Not sure if they are ever the right ones. Sometimes you wonder if doing things is enough. What if you don't know the right people? What if this is the last time what you do matters, instead of who you do? And all these questions you didn't think you had to answer, all these stupid dogmas and things that are oh-so-wrong with the world. What choice do you make to fix them all? How much of you is here for you, and how much for the rest of the world? Do you eat, pray, and love, or do you command, create, and work? Go to bed at 10 sharp to be up at 5:15, work out, work hard, sleep again, or live life all hours of the night, with no care for the physical needs? But what about the emotional? Is this feeling, this state of soul, coming from the inside or from the cold death of the Earth?

These are things I don't know. These are things I cannot answer, though there is more. These are the things I am not sure of.