Skip to main content

When I was 15...

I wanted to be a journalist. 

I had high hopes of changing the world, one meaningful story at a time. Sharing our stories, throughout time, has been so closely linked to connecting, to loving, to learning, to creating, to growth, and to improvement, that it is and will forever remain absolutely necessary. 

A lot has changed since I was 15: 

I'm older
I work in healthcare now
I am more disillusioned by and skeptical of news media
Sensationalism and social media frenzies prevail over decency and true activism
One "truth" is often promoted over all others
I question the ethics behind news operations more frequently than I would wish. 

But my optimism, hope and love of storytelling have remained. I'm a storyteller and interviewer at heart and I bring that with me to every job, new endeavor, and encounter with others. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Parallel lines

We’re a pair of parallel lines You’re just like me We’re on the same path But we don’t ever meet You talk to all my friends  but me I guess I’m not that nice after all You You’re in the house up on a cloud Me I’m on a mission.

The boy who was (never) good enough

I may be off-base But I think I recognize it This desire to give As a way to provide Yourself with a pleasing identity. A way to be loving A way to be loved Giving up your own needs  For the sake of harmony. Did you have a mother who was always sad? Were you the one to delight her? Did you face the pain of choosing a path That took you away or made you unkindly? Was your brother the asshole And you didn’t mind it Because it meant you could be the one To fix feelings all around you. And when you were older Did you pick girls that reminded You of the woman who was always demanding? And did you feel good  When you provided  All of the joy that wasn’t inside her? But when you messed up Were you the same disappointment? The boy who was (never) good enough But couldn’t stop striving. I hope one day you see That you’re worthy of love Without needing to give Or be perfect. Above all I hope you reme...

The angry woman

I am the angry woman I'm bleeding white-hot rage My fury of tears will drown you You should all feel afraid.  My tongue is poised for lashing My feet are here to crush My lungs are filled with fire I cannot stop the rush. My skin is scalding ashes  Of a burning, ember heart My words beat down like hail My screams are lightning darts. Watch me drink the poison And wait for you to die I am the angry woman But you all think I lie.