Don't stay out of it!

I read a newspaper column the other day in which the writer made a subtle reference to one of the then topical issues. In doing so, she couched it within a context that clearly indicated her leaning. So, clear context, subtle reference. I'd say more than a few of her readers got it.

So much so that, in my comment (as Cee Dubya) below the column, I made my not-so-subtle reference to her not-so-subtle reference. And someone spotted mine and so on.

What I was a tad put off by, however, was one of the comments that advised her to steer clear of making an input in the matter; not to be "caught up" in the debate and have her say.

Now, I just figured the author, Barbara Gloudon or Miss G, (as she is sometimes affectionately called - other times maybe Ms. B etc.) is mature and street wise and, in short has been around long enough not to have paid the poster any mind. I mean, after all, she is a writer - a columnist, to boot! Why would she hold back her thoughts about an issue, if she had something to say and the opportunity to say it?

Pretty soon, though, I realized why I was on about it so much; why I had given so much thought to a seemingly trivial thing. The reason was this: Anger - the healthy kind. See, I recognized some time ago the rather sad truth that many people would "put themselves out there" were it not for fear. It is a crippling fear that convinces you that the critics and cynics and naysayers are going to come raining dissent and scorn and ridicule upon your expressions; that it's better to just save yourself the agony, don't cause any problems and instead of confrontation, run! So, even before you begin to speak, you are silenced by angst and anticipation of the worst. And, very soon, the choice to "stay out of it" becomes less difficult with each opportunity to make a unique and meaningful input.

Here's the thing (Monk), the truth is, "we live in a cynical world" as Jerry said. (Yes, he "had me at hello", too.) Heck, I'm just now beginning to realize that I've added a dash or two of cynicism to a number of scenarios. I've had to take a step back and go, "Is this me?" Always, the answer comes back, Yup! Guess I've simply learned to look through other lens now. Point? There will be critics and cynics and editors and censors and apologists and nincompoops and people-who-may-mean-well-but-for-the-life-of-them-give-really-bad-advice. I heard my father with this saying a long time ago (when there was a minor home accident or something) and it stuck: "Never mind. The first hundred years are the hardest." OK. So I was about to highlight the point. And it's this: say what you have to say without fear - not even a little bit. Don't stay out of it! Provisos? Engage brain and mind before opening mouth. In some cases, you might need to open mouth, remove foot, engage brain and mind then proceed.

But, for the sake of your sense of self and sanity, don't clam up just because you're fearful that somebody might disagree with what you've said or might try to tear it apart. People are people wherever you go (I always say) and folks from the above list are always going to be around in some shape, form or hue. Perhaps no one, except the Lord Himself, may know from whence your strong points or passionate arguments come. But, be brave enough to express them and prepared enough to defend them - if necessary.

And I know about clamming up! About five or six years ago I wrote a book. It was not a big book, but, a book none-the-less. I've seen books with less than 50 pages, less than 20 pages, even. They tell their stories and that's that. Well, my book was running near 150 pages. I'm mentioning the pages because, at first, I thought a book doesn't really qualify to be called a book unless it has a decent number of pages. Yes, I clearly had a lot to learn; many myths to debunk.

The title of the book was...is, "I'm not an American, but I live here". It had a sub-title, but that'll do for now. It captured the essence of the lessons and new things I'd learnt in my journey from Jamaica to the USofA. My experiences were neatly packaged in this little book that I hoped would be enlightening, entertaining and inspiring. Well, I sent it to a couple of family members, a cousin, a friend, a professor at my alma mater and a former columnist for one of the major newspapers in Jamaica who was, at the time, a professor at another university.

As you might imagine, the responses from my family, relative and friend were more favourable than the others. The main criticism from the professors was that I needed to identify my audience. To whom was I telling the story? The book wasn't ready for publication, then. It was good criticism. But the 'not ready' stuck with me more than the 'ID audience' part. I don't think I've picked it up since receiving the critique. And, I feel, that I've disappointed not only myself, but also family members who might have had hopes of me finishing the thing. I imagine, however, given my new zeal and no-fear, no-doubt resolve, I will be re-visiting that project - and that right early. It will be published one way or another.

And that's why I feel so strongly about putting yourself out there. Especially as a writer, you just gotta be prepared for the sharks and wolves and whatnot. I just think that some people don't speak up or write because of fear of what others might say. What if it doesn't sound intelligent enough; witty enough; well-read enough; "in" (with the in-crowd) enough; oratorical enough and all that jazz? Well, what if it doesn't? Does it mean that you will always be concealing your opinion or take on everything?

But, then again, what if it does?

Jump in. Add your say. Be a part of the vibrant exchange. You'd be amazed and delighted at the wonderful things you begin to notice about the world around you. About yourself.

AND HOW DID THAT MAKE ME FEEL?
I was just about ten metres away from the revolving doors, as I made my way to my building the other day. Just as I crossed at the lights, I saw another guy coming from my right, talking on his cell. He paused in conversation to holler at this guy, just ahead of me, leaning against a column, "Pablo!" Now, Pablo looked like an immigrant - Mexican, to be honest - mid-forties. Maybe I latched on to that nationality because of, well, "Pablo!" Anyway, I saw Pablo quickly end his own cell conversation, snap the phone shut and hurried to catch up to the first guy, who had by now, almost disappeared back around the corner where I'd spotted him just seconds before.

One of the first thoughts that entered my mind was, maybe Pablo is just getting a break - some degree of "hustling" and connections paying off at last. It just looked that way. Toronto is a pretty big city of approx 2.6M with a high percentage of immigrants. It was possible!

Just as they left my peripheral vision, I saw three guys (looked Caucasian), maybe early fifties, sitting in the patio area of a nearby café, having their morning coffee. Clad in hard hats and the proper construction attire, I surmised that they were on break from the massive multi-million dollar construction project taking place across the street (the hard hat one was wearing had the name of the project management company on it). They didn't look hurried or edgy or like they were 'hustling' at all. And I know that different people are at different points in their different lives. And I do believe that people make choices and they should be ready to face the rewards/consequences of those choices.

It's just that, for that moment, there was a juxtaposition of two very different worlds. And, for an-even-now-unexplained reason, it made me feel sad. In that instant, I got why there are those who commit their lives and resources to advocate for the marginalized and oppressed. It moved from "Pablo!" - cause I really don't know his situation; it moved from the construction workers - cause I don't know theirs, either - to the larger matter of disparity.

For, after all, Pablo's world seemed very different from mine, too.


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Taking the Twitter plunge

Life, as I’ve known it, has changed. Not in a dramatically dark- or light-complected way. Small steps taken over the past couple of weeks have produced myriad ripples. And, in a few instances, waves. It’s change I can handle (thank God). Not the kind that “blindsides you on some idle Tuesday.” Oh look! It’s Tuesday. Ok, deep breath…and…exhale.

I got up this morning, as I tweeted, “[Seeing] a world in a grain of sand and #heaven in a wild flower.” I imagined it would have been a beautiful day – and it has been! I’ll share more anon, but, ok, ok, ok. One hint: It concerns my job that I so enjoy!

So I’ve plunged into the Twittersphere. Do you know how I came to know I’ve taken the plunge and am now riding the waves? No, it’s not that I’ve been tweeting a few times a day from two tweets in 2009 (what remained after I erroneously deleted a few other tweets) to 50-something in a couple of weeks. It’s not because I’ve had to sit to concentrate on attaining brevity to respond to a tweet or two, nor is it because I’ve had to watch the time for my gym appointment go by (not to meet up with anyone, just the time I was aiming for) because I was just not getting up to go through the door. (Yes, I’ve got Twitter for BB, but sometimes you just have to sit down and concentrate on getting the magnitude and multiplicity of your thoughts into 140 characters or less. Seriously, Twitter? Seriously? Who came up with that figure, anyway? Why not a nice round 200? Two hundred is nice and round – not square, not triangular and awkward, nice and round. So, this 140 thing has got me itching for rounding up but, anyway. Come to think of it, this conversation must’ve taken place before. I couldn’t possibly be the first at it.) So, no, it’s not because of any of those things. I think I knew for sure that I’d taken the plunge when, on awaking in the wee hours of this morning, before my regular wake-up time to start getting ready for work, I found myself…OK, I decided to concentrate on getting my must-tweet-this-response thoughts into 140 characters or less, in response to someone who, I dunno, just doesn’t seem to have attained the (clearly elusive) hang of connecting dots within, and therefore make for, a stream of logic in a conversation. I mean, I’ve long ago heard the saying, “Don’t try to have a battle of wits with someone who is unarmed.” Ne’er a truer word could have been applied to this…this…this… scenario.

That’s how I knew.

Now, I find that the thoughts that would normally run through my head are now being snatched, looked over and evaluated: Twitter worthy? Nah! Ok. We’ll just wait …Ah! Another! How about this one? Still no? Shoot. Unless, perhaps, we tweak it a bit. There! Drat! It’s 161 characters! Ugh! Change ‘the’ to ‘d’; ‘exchange’ to ‘xchng’ (I hope these people KNOW that I CAN spell. Sigh. So, some thoughts …make that most of my tweets (not the RTs, clearly) are not hot off the trying-vehemently-to-reduce-characters brain. Some actually go through that earlier-mentioned process. I mean, could I really just tweet the first thing I type? Ooooh. I dunnooo. (Insert hand-wringing here.) Needless to say, in the very early stages, I’d end up tweeting then deleting then tweeting again (not the same as retweeting…don’t ask!) then deleting. Then when I got it just right-ish, I let it go. Again. And exhaled.

That’s how come so many of one tweet ended up on my Facebook page. Yup! I’d linked them all, remember? So, even though I’d delete from my Twitter page, fb still clung to them like prized possessions. SMH. But, I learned to just sort out the whole thing and tweet once! Especially the replies. Can’t really mess with those ‘cause then I’d just be giving the impression that I’m not ready to respond. And if not, why tweet it? It’s like, it was there a minute ago! Oh! Here it is again – but there’s a comma missing…

I find that I tweet the stuff that I’d make a quick call about to my lil sis - @mizdurie. But, we still talk and text, so, we’re still good. And she’s following me (she’d better!) so we occasionally link there as well.

But the serious stuff. Why the heck do some folks feel that there is an anointed responsibility to play to the followers and utter man-squatting-on-the-mountain-top-esque “sound bites”? Ugh! If their interest is in more than one area, it kind of explains why they have followers. But, when, in a certain area, they cannot hold a decent conversation – fallacious arguments, dodging the counter points, making it crystal clear that the logos (as in ethos/pathos/logos) has left ‘em hanging, it grates on my very nerves. And I don’t like getting annoyed with strangers. I just don’t. It diminishes me - or, I feel diminished in some John Donne way. The bright side? Like the switch on the radio – unfollow! What? Your radio doesn’t have an ‘unfollow’ switch? Get out!

AND HOW DID THAT MAKE ME FEEL?
I’ve been thinking of starting this section as an extended footnote or something. Would like to identify/highlight situations in which I’ve found myself responding in an intensely emotional way, to even the seemingly mundane or trivial. It could be a random act of kindness… as a matter of fact, that’s where I’d like to start.

Last week, having taken the plunge (before I knew – for sure – that I’d taken the plunge), I decided to follow a few folks. (I’ve noticed that most people with an extraordinary amount of followers only follow a few – but, I digress.) I decided to follow @marciaforbes and, wouldn’t you know it? She gave me a warm welcome, intro to a few of her followers (only thing missing was the red carpet) plus a bit of encouragement that they should start following me. All I could muster was “Awww.” Of course I replied ( I think I actually deleted the first one and tweeted again…) Anyway, I replied and thanked her. And soon after, I moved from two followers to five! Hey, Rome…day… And who’s trying to build Rome, anyway? Just doing my own thing; creating my own productions. (Couldn’t resist.)

And how did that make me feel? That kind gesture made me feel good. Simply, good. Like, I put my hand out there, and someone reached out and held it.

Marcia, thanks!


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Profile updates - preceding the story

Recently, I linked my Twitter account, to this blog and to my Facebook page. To me, this was the logical step, given my new thrust into maintaining presence in the online social networks - for the most part.

Followed, then, that I updated the bio on Twitter; started following a couple more Tweeters (to start) and began giving some serious thought to what I wanted to share in these networks.

There's the story a-lurking in the back of my mind. Actually, I've brought it to the fore and shared it with lil sis. She thinks I should "hurry up and write it."

All this writing and (self-imposed) obligation is keeping me disciplined.

And I need that. For, it has started to "hurt bad enough."


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Don't look now, but, you're being followed!

What’s that feeling you get when you get your first follower on Twitter? Is it a rather sinking feeling of added responsibility? Like, yeah, just great. Now I gotta write something brilliant and intelligent and insightful… Yet another MOU – Morally Obligated to Update… Or, is it a feeling of a different kind?

And what if you’re really not in the mood to update but you simply feel you must. For, what’s the point of having a Twitter account if you aren’t tweeting regularly? So, note to brain: Try working up something near genius to put into 140 characters or less. (CHARACTERS! Oh the art of brevity.)

Alas, you give in to the (very self-induced) pressure and convince yourself that at least one person gives a hoot that you’re painting your nails metallic blue. (Heeeyyy! It looks good on you!) ‘Cause, I mean, people tweet for all kinds of reasons, and if building your own brand (your-name-here Inc.) and marketing your skills blah blah blah isn’t your reason for using Twitter, then, relax, put your feet up – blue painted nails and all – and tweet to your heart’s content (in 140 characters or less).

Oh! What’s that saying, double negative aside? “Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not after you.”

Enjoy being followed!


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

V-formation

Depending on what we set out to do, and how much doing it, (and the result of doing it) mean to us, we tend to feel a bit queasy. I know it's not just me. (Right?)

Well, so it is with my writing. I set out to do it; do it, then wonder about the after-effects as soon as it takes flight and becomes subject to the "reader's interpretation". Each stage offers up its own degree of anxiety, but I imagine it's that last bit that offers up the most.

I wrote a letter to the Editors of the two main newspapers in Jamaica two days ago. Essentially, I tried to get folks to focus on the possibility that their online profiles might be doing them more harm than good.

The butterflies were flying in V-formation. I wrote my full name, inhaled, exhaled, acknowledged the possibility of rejection (again!) said a quick prayer and hit "submit". No hiding behind my pseudonym "Cee Dubya". Just sent it. Out there.

The Jamaica Gleaner published it as the "Letter of the Day" today! Last time I checked, it was 'recommended' and 'liked' - someone referred to it as an "excellent article." (Thank you!)

And, to boot, what a memorable way to mark the second anniversary of this blog!


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

The battle...

...of the bulge has begun!

And, I'm going to win!

To VICTORY!!!


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Where are my feelings centred?

I don't know.

Close(r) to 40 and still not sure.

Quite an adventure...!!!


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro