I can't tell if I feel hopeful or hopeless.

This has been one of the weirdest weeks ever in the history of Catherineville.

I went to see Pixar's Wall-E last Tuesday and it caused me to flip the fuck out. Yes. It did. I sniffed through the opening credits, cried through the end credits, held it together while Lars and I went to a bar and I sank three mai tais (strong, 'cause we know the bartender) and then proceeded to bawl for an hour on the phone to the one person who I knew would understand, and who was still awake at 10 on a Tuesday - my mom. Hooray for mom for listening to my three-mai-tai-deep tearful sobbings about why humanity is doomed and how frustrated I am that all my recent attempts at activism have failed for one reason or another.

I want to go outside and grab my hair and shut my eyes and scream at the universe, I'M TRYING!!! GIVE ME A BREAK!

Maybe I should just go volunteer at a soup kitchen.

I still haven't even written about my experience going door-to-door for NARAL. I saw one of those ads on craigstlist promising $16-25 an hour working on women's rights issues. I knew it was going to be door-to-door canvassing, which intimidates me, but I went for it anyway. I wanted to "get my hands dirty." For a year -- no, more than a year; more even than my time spent with the magazine -- I've settled for doing activism from the Ivory Tower. I've volunteered for a couple of different nonprofits, but it all involved desk work. I did organize Step It Up, which was good, a little more of the "in the trenches" feel, but it still wasn't dirty work. We give money to charities and nonprofits so that they can do the dirty work. No one wants to go door-to-door and disturb people during dinner time and ask them for money, much less, in this case, talk about the morning-after pill and victims of rape and sexual assault in front of their little kids. Yeah, that makes me uncomfortable. But that's activism. That's active. That's how things get done. We could give all the money in the world to well-meaning organizations, but unless there are those people willing to get down on their hands and knees and do what needs to be done, out in the community, in the rain or snow or whatever, braving nasty yard dogs and hundreds of slammed doors or ugly comments, we would lose a lot of progress. If there weren't the people who go down into developing nations and actually help out, building houses, digging wells, providing health, nutrition, sexual, or environmental education (the list goes on...), where would we be? The media alone isn't enough. Awareness and concern are not enough. We have to stand up and be active. We have to participate. Activism is awareness and concern turned into power.

So I want to get involved. Badly. I forced myself to go door-to-door, which as I mentioned was wildly uncomfortable. Interestingly, it provided a bizarre contrast of principles. On the one hand, I was brought up to respect people's privacy and their own opinions. I don't believe in selling anything during dinner time. I felt like I was invading people's privacy, as the trainer and I stepped over Big Wheels and sweet-talked guard dogs to get to front doors that opened on old ladies or groggy conservative men. Yet there I was on the principle of everything mentioned above -- literally "waking people up" to the troubling issues right here in our state (like 1 in 10 pharmacies won't stock or distribute birth control, even with a prescription, or the morning-after pill). That's a good principle. I was also there pushing myself out of my comfort zone, purposefully. Wanting to be one of the brave ones instead of one of the ones who takes the easy route. Maybe it's all activism, maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe just being a good person is enough; maybe writing magazine articles does more than I give it credit for; maybe I should be working for Pixar to make more movies like Wall-E; maybe God recognizes all noble-minded actions equally and this is all just a giant experiment, this planet. But this is something I feel the need to do. Because it is more difficult, more uncomfortable, and therefore less desirable, I wanted to do it. Because someone has to. I wanted to be one of them, and to empathize with all the civil rights movements that have been brought about by this method. Women's rights came about largely through door-to-door campaigning.

So I did it, which was good, and got hired, which was good, only then the trainer called back the next day and said things changed and they're only hiring full-time. Well, I told him going into it I was only looking for one or two shifts a week, because I go to school and have another job, so I couldn't do it. That's fine. What I ultimately learned from that experience was that I was willing to push myself out of my comfort zone enough to pony up to this kind of work -- though it did make me fiercely, fiercely uncomfortable -- but not for this issue. This was revealing, too. I can't go up to people and ask for money to support abortion rights. I support abortion rights, I believe in the right to a safe abortion, but I was so on the fence about this for so many years, I don't have enough conviction behind it to warrant disturbing people at home. The principle of respect for others' principles won out. But I know there are issues which I feel are too important to leave unaddressed. Environmental issues, for instance, or Guantanamo, or the genocide in Darfur. Those are the issues I could really get behind, enough to force down someone else's throat. Because they need to be. They seem rather black and white to me.

This is so...poignant. This week. Lars and I have been talking a lot about relativism. We disagree a lot. But he's taught me things, too.

So that fell through. I was proud of myself for doing it, though. I immediately started looking for new opportunities. The UW Creative Writing advisers sent out an e-mail describing an internship with an organization called the Circle of Friends for Mental Health, where volunteers teach art and writing to mental health patients, producing incredible results. They say "care for the mentally ill" often constitutes little more than food and shelter, and they want to actually give them a means of expressing themselves and giving them a quality life. Great. The mentally ill are right up there with giant spiders in my list of phobias, but I call it a phobia because a phobia, by definition, is an irrational fear. My heart speeds up every time I see a "crazy" person on the street, but I've taken abnormal psych. and I know they're mostly harmless, and that they need our sympathy and support as a society. I want to feel sympathy and care for them, but all I feel is fear. So great; a chance to get over that, or at least, again, to push myself. Long story short, it didn't work out for logistical reasons, but this time I didn't even get to try my hand at it. Argh.

I e-mailed the Washington State Darfur Action Group asking about volunteer opportunities. No response.

I e-mailed the Animal Rights group on campus asking how to get involved. No response.

I e-mailed a nonprofit called Lettuce Link that focuses on urban agriculture and educating kids about nutrition. YES, someone called me back, so there may be hope there, still. Hopefully. I hope.

After seeing Wall-E, I cried to my mom, "I should just quit my job and go to work for the Democrats. I should just quit my job." Maybe I should. Some of these issues really, really should not and cannot be ignored anymore. There is so much wrong with this country, and with this world, and this beautiful and agony-filled species, how can I not be throwing my weight behind a solution?

I did plant a tomato and a basil plant, even before seeing the movie. To my credit. Because we have to remember where our food comes from, and that means farming. I've wanted to work for a farm for over a year. I'm still determined to do it. I named the plants Diego and Frida, after two of my favorite artists.

I did leave a note on the door of a fellow urban gardener in my apartment complex asking him/her to leave me a note if he/she wants to hang out and swap gardening tips. No response. That one surprised me. It was a nice note.

I did leave a note for my four roommates (floormates, really) asking them to dinner next week. We've all lived together for over two weeks and all we've done is scoot around each other in the kitchen or bathroom. Wanting to foster community, I offered to make them dinner, and finally, yes, they did respond. That is good.

I did get off my sedentary ass and go for a voluntary jog for the first time in my life, and have made a point to exercise every day since seeing that movie. You'll understand why if you see it.

I want to live the good life. I want to live the life fully explored. I want to open up exciting new pathways in my brain and learn new things and be of service to the world. People keep telling me I am powerful; so let me use my power.

I won't give up. Even if I have to e-mail, telephone, or bang down the door of every nonprofit in this city, I won't give up.

Okay. Good things exist. We each contain beauty immeasurable. It's just a matter of sowing the right seeds. Love, love, love you all.