I am a young(ish). working professional. mom.This blog is all about that. And cupcakes.
Between last post and this post, my fear of the “shooter” has increased. In September, I told my parents that until the US enacts gun control, I will not be returning. Then two months later, the shooters took over Paris. My fear won over when we cancelled our New Year’s trip to Brussels due to the media gaga of potential shooters.
I live in London. I can not live in London and fear shooters. What a waste that would be. While the media likes to remind me that shooters have targeted London, I take some solace in Londoners replies that “your grandparents knew they were being bombed; toughen up London.”
In trying to isolate the root of the fear, it’s not surprising it comes back to a lack of control. The shooter decides the where and the when, leaving the rest of us to imagine and worry about their decisions. I do not do well with lack of control.read more
I’ve been thinking all day about what to say, feeling that there is so much to say, about the events of July 7, 2005. I walked from Borough Market to Charing Cross today, simply to soak in London and in support of #walktogether, an initiative marking the ten-year anniversary of the London bombings.
Ten years ago, I was on a bus back to London from Stansted Airport, after spending a weekend in Portugal with my then very-new boyfriend. My mother called me, with her frantic voice, asking where I was. She’d been awoken by the news from her sister on the east coast. It was a time before internet on smart phones, and all I knew sitting on that bus was there were “incidents” in London and the bus would not be going into the center.
Much of London, just like us, set off walking. Our walk was probably only four or five miles. But once we arrived at Craig’s house, we were there for a few days. Everything was on pause. London stood still.read more
I remember being a boy, sitting on the side of a hallway with my mother. This was in apartheid South Africa. A white priest walked by my mother and doffed his cap to my mother. Imagine that!
Desmond Tutu, Oxford, April 2015
Last week, I was fortunate to spend two days in Oxford taking in festivities related to global social entrepreneurship. While there are definitions and complexities of the term that I can impart, I won’t do that here.* Rather, in the conversations, from esteemed thought and spiritual leaders all the way through to the individual social entrepreneurs a consistent theme emerged – the deep human need to be visible in this world.
The story that Desmond Tutu shared is a powerful example of how one tiny gesture, one moment of visibility, could be remembered and then shared, some sixty or seventy years later, on a stage in Oxford. His story of visibility sparked multiple conversations in Oxford of who is still not in the room and not at the table, of whose voices are we not hearing for or listening to, and most importantly, how we can each “doff our cap” to one another, acknowledging our shared humanity.read more