H
A WORD FROM THE E DIT O R
BECOMING SOMEONE A police officer. A doctor. The President of the United States. In our time, we’ve come to accept these answers to the question, “What do I want to be when I grow up?” from either a boy or a girl. I am grateful that young women can dream as big as their male counterparts and trust that their dreams are not futile. Dreaming big is why Alive Magazine exists. It is not only the product of a big dream – collectively growing from the tiny vision I had five years ago into a beautiful kaleidoscope to which each participant adds – but Alive is also a place where others can dream freely. Alive invites each intern, each writer, each advertiser, each donor to dream of a world where young women from all walks of life can express themselves without fear. But as I reflect on the past five years, I wonder if Alive, and young women in general, are ready for a new question. Instead of asking what we want to be, perhaps we should be asking who we want to become. By the time the average person hits the age of 40, she will have had 10 jobs. This doesn’t mean people are more indecisive or unsettled than previous generations. It just means we have more options, more interests, more skills and more ways to use all our options, interests and skills. We have more opportunities, which is wonderful. But it also means that we will “be” many things in our lifetimes, as our career paths change. So, perhaps as important as dreaming about our future job(s) is deciding what type of character we want to develop. Who do I want to become? How do I want to handle scary or stressful situations? What kind of friend do I want to be? How do I want to develop my spirituality, faith, inner life? Whose character do I admire and why? What values do I want to embody? Here at Alive, as we gaze into the near and far future, we’re asking ourselves these types of questions. We have already adapted to so many “career changes”: going from print to strictly online to both print and online; starting and growing an internship program; planning community-wide celebrations, exhibits and events; strategizing about how
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we want to spend money, both when resources are plentiful and scarce. But in all of these changes, Alive has held true to its original vision: •
To provide a space where young women can express their passions, goals, relationships, beliefs and everyday life experiences in creative ways.
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To facilitate reflection, growth and action through story sharing.
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To encourage awareness about issues of the emotions, mind, body and spirit.
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To train young women in job skills and help them enter the working world with confidence.
Since starting Alive, I have moved on to a different career. But I am now, more than ever, interested in how Alive – and all its supporters, writers, artists and interns – will answer this question in the next five years: Who do we want to become?
Heather Scheiwe Founding Editor Heather Scheiwe (pictured at age 5), founding editor of Alive Magazine, is pursuing a law degree at Northwestern University in Chicago. Her focus is on start-up nonprofits and small businesses, with a specific intent to help women achieve their goals through small business ownership. Heather believes now more than ever that the world needs people who have become more fully alive, which is why she continues to serve on the board of Alive.
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table of contents
H W E Y
THINK
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by Heather Scheiwe
a word from our editors
WONDER
Alive invites each intern, each writer, each advertiser, each donor to dream of a world where young women from all walks of life can express themselves without fear. 8
Although I don’t seek conflict out, it seems to follow me everywhere I go, whether I am at home or at work.
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Decolonizing My Mind
story and photography by Emily Westerlund | illustrations by Michele Ebnet
tales of travel and adventures
Each of these foreigners is faceless, helpless and invisible to the Cape Town population.
GLIMPSE
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one-sentence answers to our favorite questions
BUZZ
MISTER
Picturing Everyday Beauty: A project to add insight to the viewfinder by Alive advocates and former staff and interns
Advocates and former staff and interns reflect on their experiences with Alive and what makes them come alive. 21
Why Women Play Games
by Jamie Joslin | illustrations by Michele Ebnet
technology related articles to untangle the web
R F D Z
Even with Good Intentions
by Abby Zimmer | illustrations by Tiana Toso
answers to life’s hard-to-ask questions
EXPLORE
Becoming Someone
Women do play video games. In fact, it is estimated that females make up about 40 percent of all gamers…
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Pay It Forward
by Greg Tehven | illustrations by Tiana Toso and Michele Ebnet
life from his perspective
We wanted to convince 40 friends to travel on a bus with us…
FLAIR
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by Cheyenne Kirkpatrick | watercolor by Gigi Moore, digital illustrations by Tiana Toso
creative styles and ideas for adding a personal flair to current trends
DISCOVER
It was rewarding to see the beaming expressions on the girls’ faces, just as mine had been… 28
art for art’s sake... and your viewing pleasure
Surviving the Solitude
story, photography and illustrations by Jenny Williams
what makes you come alive?
GAZE
Fashionably Generous
Living on a mountain quickly changed my previously loving relationship with winter. January and February were by far the most difficult months out of the year. 31
Gaze
by Amber Wilson and Anna C. Husted
What these two artists share is an expanded view on community and an insightful eye on culture not accessible to everyone.
Rachael Baird, contributing writer, hails from Atlanta and received her degree in English and creative writing from George Washington University. In January, she followed her college sweetheart to Minneapolis and blogged about the woes and joys of being unemployed. Now that she has a job, she’s excited to be able to afford yoga classes. Faith Fischer, contributing writer, is a Twin Cities local and is spending a year volunteering with the St. Joseph Worker Program. Faith has a latte addiction, but tries to keep the karmic balance by bringing her own reusable mug to the coffee shop every day so as to not waste paper. Occasionally, while listening to her iPod, Faith accidentally begins rapping aloud, hand gestures included. Chelsea Franke-Byrne, contributing writer, graduated in 2007 from the College of St. Scholastica with degrees in English and communication. Two of her favorite things are curling up to read an interesting book and watching a good movie. A trivia and pop culture buff, she can’t get enough of anything that might contain more interesting tidbits. Anna C. Husted, contributing artist, resides in St. Paul, Minn., as a student of Bethel University. She follows the views of transcendentalists in living deliberately as an imaginative and natural individual in a beautiful and messy world.
Nicole McCoy, contributing writer, can most likely be found enjoying the outdoors with a camera in hand when not attending college in Minneapolis. Her goal is to become a professional photographer and continue her passion for the art. Nicole has also been writing poetry from a young age and will continue to write in the future.
Gigi Moore, contributing artist, is a freelance illustrator and designer. Her work captures the essence of children’s illustrations through a whimsical and humorous style. She graduated with a bachelor’s in illustration from Moore College of Art & Design. Her digital and watercolor art, which often tells stories, has been displayed in contests and museums. Ellie Roscher, contributing writer, lives with her partner, Dan, in her hometown of St. Paul, Minn., after stints in both Denver and Uruguay. She has her master’s in theology from Luther Seminary and is currently teaching and coaching gymnastics at a local high school. Ellie loves traveling (most recently to El Salvador), yoga, drawing and writing. Greg Tehven, contributing writer, is a dreamer from Fargo, N.D., who believes relationships can change the world. A graduate from the University of Minnesota, he works each day to inspire young people to serve. He speaks across the country about the power of youth for Students Today Leaders Forever. Greg also loves coffee with friends.
contributors
Maridex Eunice Abraham, contributing writer, graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Madison last spring, and is now volunteering through the St. Joseph Worker Program in the Twin Cities. She enjoys writing, taking walks while listening to her iPod, drinking mochas in local coffee shops and observing hipsters.
table of contents
G V N M T I A U L
GIVE
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by Faith Fischer | illustrations by Jenny Williams
stories of service and volunteering
GROOVE
The policy of door locking was born out of good intentions, but at Peace House everyone is welcome, which is a feeling that most don’t experience elsewhere. 38
To me and other dancers who revived the dance a few generations later, these clips and movies are the moving blueprints to our passion. 40
Feature supported by HealthPartners. Standing at the edge, I felt anxious to start swimming because the tranquility was such a contrast to the chaos at home. 44
I wanted street noise and tall buildings and people everywhere. I remember watching in amazement while riding the school bus, looking at the skyline… 46
It was a nice break, but I missed the bond that developed from having meals together.
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Paint the Town
by Adrienne Johnsen | artwork by Karissa Wagner
how would you change the world, if given the opportunity?
AIM
Serve Over Rice
by Maridex Abraham | illustrations by Michele Ebnet
favorite dorm recipes, snack ideas & cafeteria creations
IMAGINE
City Rocks
by Michele Ebnet | illustrations by Jenny Williams
tales of fiction, truth, shenanigans & friendly foolery
TASTE
Floating in Chlorine Heaven
by Nicole McCoy | watercolor by Megan Foss
picking up the pieces when life falls apart
MISCHIEF
Hip Swing
by Kelli Wilkerson | illustrations by Michele Ebnet
music, dance & other inspiring sounds
MEND
Welcome Starts With WE
Bold pictures and bright patterns now lie in place of faded pavement, and each colorful design was developed as a team effort to positively impact a neighborhood. 50
Grief Relief
inspiring successes, curious ambitions & unique interests
by Chelsea Frank-Byrne | illustrations by Jenny Williams
MUSE
Road Trip Relationship
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by Rachael Baird | illustration by Karissa Wagner
original poetry and fresh lyrics
LISTEN
perspectives on life from someone older and wiser
By bringing together teens and children, Cassy and Phylicia were able to help them talk about their feelings in a safe environment…
We laugh at the Grand Canyon: / there’s no bridge across? / Next time, we will bring our wait-not-yet children.
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Finding My Voice at the Table
by Ellie Roscher | illustrations by Jenny Williams
I knew from that day… I was called to find my own voice and tell my story as a woman.
Kelli Wilkerson, contributing writer, loves dance and music. She has traveled the world as a teacher and dance competitor. Kelli also loves movies, updating her advertising portfolio and being with her boyfriend and basset hound. This bouncy and friendly girl lives by the mottos “try everything twice” and “recognize your fears and do them anyway.” Amber Wilson, contributing artist, has traveled to 19 countries, spent a semester in Nepal and a year teaching in South Korea. Amber would love to do nothing but travel around the world, island-hopping on sailboats, eating sushi, cliff-jumping into turquoise waters, snowboarding down gorgeous peaks – all the while taking an obnoxious amount of pictures.
PICTURED ON COVER: All former staff and interns. BACKCOVER: United States photo courtesy of Nasa/Gsfc/Craig Mayhew and Robert Simmon. “I Voted” sticker contributors: Ben Boyum, Ashley Hendrickson, Kimberly Halverson, Nicolle Westlund, Lauren Gallagher, Lauren Melcher and Karissa Wagner.
ALIVE MAGAZINE: APRIL/MAY 2009 PUBLISHED BY ALIVE ARTS MEDIA, INC. Executive Director Jennifer Dotson Managing Editor Nicolle Westlund Artistic Director Megan Foss Creative Director Karissa Wagner Executive Assistant Abby Zimmer Public Relations Director Lisa Teicher Program Director Emily Byers-Ferrian Poetry Editor Kelin Loe
Development Jamie Joslin Assistant Editors Rachele Cermak Adrienne Johnsen Courtney Still Graphic Designers Tiana Toso Jenny Williams Michele Ebnet Public Relations Sarah Bodeau Cheyenne Kirkpatrick Kaylee Laudon
Founder and Board Chair Heather Scheiwe Board of Directors Janelle Schulenberg, Vice Chair Jim Scheibel, Development Judy Jandro, Treasurer Martha Franke, Wellness Advisor Heather Mattson, Secretary Development Committee Jim Scheibel, chair Greg Schlichter Justin Daley Rachel Smoka
Alive Arts Media, Inc. | 1720 Madison St. NE, Ste. 300 | Minneapolis, MN 55413 p: 612.284.4080 | info@alivemagazine.org | www.alivemagazine.org
contributors
Emily Westerlund, contributing writer, is an undergraduate in international studies at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She grew up dancing and spent her summers as a camp counselor in Wisconsin. She enjoys debating international politics, learning foreign languages and looking at maps. Emily hopes to go back to Africa after graduation.
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Even with Good Intentions
As I walked through my kitchen last October, I noticed
the chore wheel posted on the refrigerator. In a house where six women live in an intentional community, we need this wheel to remind each of us what our responsibility is for the week. I saw that I was on grocery shopping duty and immediately became frustrated because my roommates and I could not decide on one location to buy groceries – do we shop at a local co-op or a discount grocery store? It had become a topic for discussion and sometimes those discussions escalated to disagreements. Although I don’t seek conflict out, it seems to follow me everywhere I go, whether I am at home or at work. But I am an assertive human being, and I was taught to deal with conflict head-on.
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By ABBy ZIMMER ILLUSTRATIONS By TIANA TOSO
were told that each mode could be used successfully or unsuccessfully depending on the situation. How could you successfully use a mode like avoiding? I looked to the woman next to me to find out her top modes. She was in her early 40s and had a nervous smile on her face. I gave her a wide smile in return. She explained to me that she used accommodating and compromising most often. I was intrigued. I had always thought that being accommodating meant being weak. Why wouldn’t you want to voice your opinion in conflict? The woman took my assumptions and turned them completely upside down. She had great examples for avoiding, accommodating and compromising! Then I noticed the pattern in her examples: She had two young children with whom she was in regular conflict.
In November I participated in a workshop entitled “Negotiation = Collaboration: A Practical Leadership “Sometimes it really just isn’t worth fighting with them,” Skill.” In this workshop we were asked to take five minutes she confessed. She gave the classic example of letting her children choose their own outfits in the morning. to complete the Thomas Kilmann “You want to wear what to school? Conflict Mode Instrument. At the OK, if you think that would be end of the test, we were told which best.” Suddenly I was thrown back of the five conflict handling modes to the day my mother let me wear we used most often: competing, checkers with stripes. I had collaborating, compromising, avoiding quickly learned that I was not yet or accommodating. I HAD ALWAYS experienced enough to decide THOUGHT THAT BEING what looked good together. I scored highest on competing ACCOMMODATING and collaborating, which were MEANT BEING WEAK. WHY I paid special attention when both high along the assertiveness WOULDN’T YOU WANT TO our presenters told us how dimension. I was not surprised. VOICE YOUR OPINION IN avoiding and accommodating But I was taken aback when we CONFLICT?
are useful. Avoiding is recommended for situations when the issue is unimportant or when other, more important issues are pressing; when you need to let people cool down in order to reduce tensions to a productive level and to regain perspective and composure; or when gathering more information outweighs the advantages of an immediate decision. Accommodating, on the other hand, is recommended when preserving harmony and avoiding disruption are especially important; when the issue is much more important to the other person than it is to you; or when you want to help someone develop by allowing them to experiment and learn from their mistakes (like when my mother let me wear those crazy childhood outfits). Since August, I have been living in a house with five other women through the St. Joseph Worker Program. Living with them has taught me quite a few things. For example, I know now that six people can share two bathrooms, even if they all have to get ready for work at the same time every morning. Six people can effectively make use of only two cars if there are enough people dedicated to commuting by bus, or even on those mornings with blizzard-like conditions, by bicycle. Six people can even deep clean a three-story house with eight bedrooms in only nine hours if they really put their minds to it. Yes, I have learned quite a bit from the women with whom I have been living in community, but one of the most important things I have learned while being a part of the SJW Program is how to deal with conflict. The SJW Program is a one-year volunteer experience, dedicated to the core values of justice, leadership, spirituality and living simply in an intentional community. Living in an intentional community is different than just living with roommates. In an intentional community, you commit to spending time together, living together cooperatively and making an effort to communicate. We don’t just live together – we grow together. But that growth has not always been smooth. As one of my SJW staff members put it, conflict is an elusive word. We are constantly trying to surround it with other words that could possibly help us try to explain how to appropriately deal with it. Conflict resolution. Conflict management. Conflict transformation. Yet no matter how we try to describe a way to approach conflict, it is still always present in our lives. One of our first conflicts as a community revolved around part of that chore wheel – we needed to decide where to buy our groceries. Being part of a program
IN AN INTENTIONAL COMMUNITY, YOU COMMIT TO SPENDING TIME TOGETHER, LIVING TOGETHER COOPERATIVELY AND MAKING AN EFFORT TO COMMUNICATE.
deeply involved in justice, many of my roommates were adamant about shopping at the local co-op where they could almost guarantee that the food we bought was organic and came from animals that were free-range and grass-fed. Yet one of my roommates strongly believed in having solidarity with our neighbors who had to shop at regular or discounted grocery stores in order to provide any food for their families. I found myself torn in this situation. The SJW program would support us financially if we wanted to buy everything at the co-op, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to want to buy everything there. I saw the value in simple and sustainable living, and I didn’t see shopping solely at the co-op as very sustainable, considering it probably wasn’t something I would be able to continue once I was out of the program. To make matters more difficult, we had chosen as a community not to make decisions simply through “majority rules” voting. While this process may work in some situations, we wanted everyone’s voice in our intentional community to be heard and to count in decision making. We finally decided, as a household, where we would buy our groceries. We came up with two lists. One was for the items we wanted to be sure to buy from the co-op and the other was for the items on which we wanted to save money by buying at a regular grocery store. We agreed that items not on either list could be bought at any location, giving each housemate the opportunity either to intentionally buy as much as they could from the co-op or to rest in solidarity with lowincome families who had no choice but to shop at a regular or discount grocery store.
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After handling this conflict and many others within my intentional community, I took a test similar to the Thomas-Kilmann Conflict Mode Instrument in January with the SJW Program. I was surprised to discover that my conflict styles had shifted. Now instead of being the overbearing competitor, I had calmed down and begun to listen more. I now used collaborating and compromising most often. I attribute this shift to the way I have grown while living in an intentional community. Our agreement to make sure everyone’s opinion is heard has helped me to make compromises on issues that aren’t as important to me as they are to other people and to learn how to problem solve in order to collaborate and reach a conclusion upon which everyone can agree. After really considering how conflict should be handled, I have begun to understand the bigger picture. I realize just how important it is to consider both my strengths and the situation, and not just decide that I am right and must win the argument. Some situations do not require my full assertive nature. It really is OK to let another person “win” a fight, especially when you live with five other women. Now whenever I pass our chore wheel on the refrigerator and remember that grocery shopping is my weekly responsibility, I am reminded that living in community is not simple. Yet if you put the effort into learning how to handle conflict most effectively, then you will find it much easier to live in community and meet conflict head on, whether you “win” or “lose” in the end.
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E
Decolonizing My Mind [ ] STORy AND PHOTOGRAPHy By EMILy wESTERLUND ILLUSTRATIONS By MICHELE EBNET
Cape Town is rather European-esque. In fact, it is arguably the most European town on the entire continent of Africa. The city is vibrant, bustling and entirely international. On any given day, one can peruse the quaint cafés downtown, meander up to the newspaper-cluttered bars and find a plethora of people from every nationality of the developed world. Whether they are business people, temporary residents or expatriates, there are thousands of Westerners of all types that reside in the Cape Town area, dominating the business district and beachside neighborhoods. However, hiding in the bustle of Western urban life are pockets of poor African lives that can far too easily be overlooked. One pocket is tucked away in a far corner of downtown in front of a huge grey brick building placed just on the other side of the freeway, out of sight. Surrounding this building are hundreds of refugees from various African countries,
often harshly referred to as makwere-kwere in the local Xhosa language, which means “stranger.” Each of these foreigners is faceless, helpless and invisible to the Cape Town population. These hundreds of faces all have stories. They all have reasons for coming to Cape Town, and reasons for seeking asylum. Be it political persecution, genocide, famine or war, all of them have incredible stories left untold and unheard. They were pushed from the comfort of life as they had known it, and entered the uncertainty of a life they couldn’t have imagined. A young boy whose immediate family had been massacred for having the wrong political affiliation. Or a young couple who had been chased off their land by an advancing rebel group. An elderly woman who had watched her grandchildren starve to death in a famine. All the diverse stories became tangled and forgotten in the mass of bodies that congregated in Cape Town.
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This huge grey building, as I was to eventually discover, was the Home Affairs refugee reception office. The purpose of the building was to register asylum-seekers and give them legal documentation allowing them to reside in Cape Town for an extended period of time. Without these papers, hundreds of people were at risk of being arrested and deported. Many of them were even scared to leave their houses to travel into town and apply for fear of being caught without these papers. As it turns out, the office was barely functioning. The intimidation of large crowds and an enormous backlog of applications dampened the incentive and motivation of the officials to do their work. For the most part, government officials were coming every day to the office, neglecting their work and clocking all of their hours for pay. Sometimes, for just a little extra pocket money, officials would take bribes from refugees in order to process their documents, a service that legally should have been free. As a result, hundreds of people seeking asylum applications would appear in front of the building in the early morning, only to be disappointed at the end of the day when not a single person was helped. They would all disperse (besides the good number of homeless people that resided outside the office) and go home, still illegal, still just a number. I became involved with this population of people when I joined a local grassroots group that aimed to change this situation. The main objective of the group was to advocate for refugee rights and get people registered. Because this was such a big goal with no obvious execution, there was a lot of investigating that had to be done in order to carry out our project. We needed the approval and cooperation of those waiting outside the office, which meant it was vital for them to trust us and support what we were doing. Ultimately, we needed to build relationships with these people. This was the most passionate part about the process for me, and the most eye opening.
THEY WERE DOING MORE TO HELP ME FIND MY CHARACTER FLAWS AND DISCOVER MY OWN PERSONAL ISSUES THAN I WAS DOING TO HELP THEM.
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As an American who had never left the United States before my trip to Africa, I was a bit uneasy about conversing with complete strangers with whom I felt no common ground. Quite timid in my own nature, I found it challenging to approach these individuals and tap into their stories. I couldn’t even imagine the kind of small talk that could be made with people who had experienced so much more pain and trauma than I had. My shyness only added to the intimidation of boldly confronting these complete strangers. It was a fear that I often let get the best of me, and one I found myself constantly battling. Thankfully, the small size of the group with which I was working forced me to pull my weight in the project. Soon enough, I began to get over the fear and intimidation, and was speaking at ease nearly every day with the people outside of Home Affairs. I learned so many things that silence would have held me back from learning. Through listening to their stories and spending time with them, I realized something about myself, and the common attitudes that can be found among Westerners regarding Africans. Being coined the ‘humanitarian aid’ workers, I couldn’t help but feel as though our group was doing a service to the people. I came to feel as though my role was that of a savior, and I was helping the refugees carry out a task that they couldn’t do on their own. A certain egoistic attitude arose within the organization, and I assumed that the people would feel so fortunate and blessed to have
people like me working to help get them documented. It was me, the able, helping them, the needy. As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, these thoughts were deeply ingrained in my mind. The more I worked with people, the more my built-in feelings of superiority emerged. I was utterly disgusted to find that these feelings could reside within me. It’s like when you go to a conference or read a philosophic book about issues of race or gender in the United States and discover that even in your oh-so-liberal mind, you find traces of racist or sexist thought patterns. My self-righteous attitude was finally being revealed to me. It was so embarrassing, and yet, I was relieved to have this experience that was bringing these thoughts to light. I talked with so many displaced people who had studied art or engineering, gone to a university, had been doctors, mothers, brothers or teachers. Many of them knew infinitely more about world history or politics than I did. They knew languages that I didn’t even know existed. I sat down with one man who started writing phrases and verb conjugations in Lingala in my notebook so I could study them and try to learn his language. He was far more confident in my language skills than I was. Every day, I was being exposed to this group of amazing, confident, powerful and incredibly positive people. They were doing more to help me find my character flaws and discover my own personal issues than I was doing to help them.
I COULDN’T EVEN IMAGINE THE KIND OF SMALL TALK THAT COULD BE MADE WITH PEOPLE WHO HAD EXPERIENCED SO MUCH MORE PAIN AND TRAUMA THAN I HAD. With every conversation I had, and with every passing day, more of these truths were exposed to me. It was like a stream of revelations kept unearthing new aspects of my subconscious, imperialistic attitude. Just as I felt I was becoming more sensitive and more aware of the equality that I shared with these people, another imperialistic thought, embedded deep in my mind, would rise to the surface and burst. To truly unravel these stereotypes, I had to do more than simply value these people and respect their stories and their lives. I had to fully shake the innate notions of Western superiority that are so innate in my post-colonial world. Having been brought up in American public schools, it was very eye-opening for me to hear world views and accounts of history from the lips of those whose ancestors had been colonized. I gained an entirely new perspective on U.S. society and education systems, and realized how important it was for me to challenge the information to which I was exposed and look at everything objectively. I realized that common Western accounts of history had taught me that, while the backlash of slave trade in Africa was an unfortunate effect of colonization, the philanthropic motives and charitable intentions behind colonization were what justified it. Ideas of delivering Africans from the darkness through education and introducing them to the ‘enlightened world’ were completely acceptable. After experiencing life on the other side of the world and hearing of African colonization from another perspective, it made me wonder why pressing Western education and governing systems upon developing countries had been so important. What was it that made the Western world so much more superior to the African world? Was Africa not highly functional with its own concentrated governing systems and unthreatened wildlife before the colonizers
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I HAD TO REALIZE THAT THE PRESTIGIOUS WAY OF MY WESTERN LIFE AND EDUCATION WAS ENTIRELY SOCIALLY CONSTRUCTED. came? Is our fast-paced, technology-obsessed, consumer-oriented lifestyle really something to be striving for? And here I was, yet another Westerner trying to “fix“ people, as though I knew what was best for them. I had to realize that the prestige of my Western way of life and education was entirely socially constructed. Sure, I may be getting what Americans consider to be a higher education, but who is to say that the people with whom I was interacting hadn’t acquired the same lessons of history and writing and expression through their own means? Many had seen firsthand the inner workings of politics and corruption and understood more about power and persuasion than many Americans bother to try to understand. They had learned lessons of business and marketing through the livings they earned in shops and market stands, and mastered matters of human resource by managing to navigate their ways through war-torn areas into Cape Town to find shelter and food. Westerners are trained to spend years in one chosen area of study, which creates “specialists” and “experts” who are then convinced they are helpless in every other subject. The people I met were instead forced to be proficient in selfsufficiency. I was sure there were many things at which the people I met would be more successful than any well-read Harvard graduate. The experience I gained from working with the organization was monumental in my life. It gave me a new sense of confidence and self-awareness that I didn’t even realize I was lacking. It made me realize that ‘hierarchy of race’ is not just an outdated theory of ancient colonizers and missionaries, it is an idea that I found to be still lingering around Western society, seeping into history books and political science courses and surviving even on my notably liberal university campus. While colonization has theoretically been over for decades, colonial discourse is a pattern of thinking that can be far more difficult to destroy.
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It was when I started working with the refugees on a more personal level that I really began to feel the deep connections and unity that exist among all people – racial structure is entirely horizontal. I realized that birth was an unforgiving determinant of the kind of fate into which we are each born and categorizes the whole world into different allotted degrees of worth. But it is my choice to either accept these constructions or challenge these thoughts and try to view the world through a new, decolonized mind. My experience in Cape Town has caused me to take a deeper look into who people are on the inside rather than making assumptions and judgments based on what is visible on the exterior. I learned to recognize societal norms and stereotypes and understand how they affect the way I perceive other people. Through this process I not only discovered the true and unique potential of those around me, but I learned about my own potential as well.
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PICTURING EVERYDAY BEAUTY: A project to add insight to the viewfinder. Picturing Everyday Beauty is a project of Alive Arts Media that aims to extend our perceptions of beauty beyond physical appearance to reflect the depth of character and lively spirits of everyday people. To commemorate our fifth anniversary, we’ve dug up some of the people who made Alive possible over the years: founding staff members, contributors and community advocates. Catch up on how their lives have unfurled since their time with Alive and how the lessons they learned have impacted their careers, dreams and visions for the future. With fond memories of publishing the first issues of Alive Magazine out of a bedroom closet and holding staff meetings in college dorm rooms, we now celebrate the 21,913 readers, 441 contributors, 13 board members and 67 staff and interns who have built and continue to grow Alive Arts Media. Cheers to your vision, your persistence and your commitment to new media for a new generation of women.
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DAYNA SUDHEIMER
Former Public Relations Intern January 2008 – May 2008 Age: 22
What makes Alive unique? I think it’s the people that make up Alive. You have all these women coming together with a variety of experiences and backgrounds that allow other young women to get their message out to the world. It really focuses on advancing young women in this world.
TRACY NOLAN
Alive’s first Web Developer 2005 – 2006 Age: 23
What is the most important thing you learned at Alive? Being at Alive taught me to take on the responsibilities and be confident that I could meet the needs that arose. It gave me confidence that no matter what was asked of me, I could find some sort of solution.
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MOST IMPORTANT THING YOU LEARNED?
What is the most important thing you learned at Alive? I want to work to live, not live to work. And Alive was instrumental in this lesson because I realize (in retrospect) that my work with Alive allowed me to live fully, even while in the office, because it was something so special and something I believed in so strongly.
MEREDITH (SHAY) SAMUELSON
Alive’s first Office Manager March 2006 – May 2006 Age: 25
NICOLE BRECKE
Former Graphic Designer December 2006 – September 2007
What does Alive mean to you? Alive gives young women the opportunity to pursue their dreams with confidence.
WHAT DOES ALIVE MEAN TO YOU?
JIM SCHEIBEL
Alive Board Member January 2008 – Present Age: 60 What does Alive mean to you? Alive reminds me of the days years ago when I was one of the founders of the Westside Voice. The community needed a resource to inform them of issues affecting the neighborhood, tell its stories and provide a laboratory for future journalists. I love Alive because it is a great tool for the healthy development of girls and young women, a place for creativity and will help change the stereotype of what we see in magazines. In five years, I hope Alive is read by thousands and is in libraries everywhere.
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ANNA GIZZI
Former Executive Assistant November 2007 – June 2008 Age: 24
CHRISTINA SHULTS
Founding Staff Member 2004 – 2006 Age: 23
What does Alive mean to you? Alive helped me align my feminism and my spirit. Alive is a place where I can be and express every part of me: my beliefs, my experiences, my joy and my sorrow. Alive promotes the integrity of women, not in the sense of righteousness, but in being whole and complete.
WHAT MAKES ALIVE UNIQUE? KAT DALAGER
Alive advocate Age: 50
What makes you come alive? Imagining living my life like a hobbit! I love being amongst green growing things, living simply and supporting those I love. What makes Alive unique? Alive is totally unpretentious. It treats everyone with the same high level of respect and kindness, which is very inviting to arising artists! It’s just about being real.
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What makes Alive unique? It’s amazing that the organization is run almost exclusively by young women in very, very responsible positions. It truly reflects what’s going on in the real world. You’re not just order-takers; you’re creating. It’s exceptional and unusual.
LAUREN GALLAGHER
Former Multimedia Design Intern May 2008 – August 2008 Age: 21
What makes you come alive? Truth, and really good music. What makes Alive unique? The message. I did things there that I really didn’t think I was prepared to do – but it’s those events or tasks that I think of when I’m faced with challenges now. I know I’m smart, I’m capable and I wanna be darn good at what I do.
LAUREN MELCHER
Former Managing Editor July 2007 – December 2008 Age: 23
MEG SHOEMAKER
Former Public Relations Intern May 2008 – August 2008 Age: 21
What does Alive mean to you? Alive Magazine is the first place where I felt like I had a way of giving back to an overarching community of women. Hopefully I can introduce that same passion it to others.
How did Alive influence your career path? Alive allowed me to develop strengths that otherwise would have taken years to cultivate. I learned so much about the power of social media, and how to lead a team with discipline, but still allow creativity to flourish. I can only hope that the work I do in the future will match the impact I felt that we made at Alive.
HOW DID ALIVE INFLUENCE YOUR CAREER PATH?
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What does Alive mean to you?
NATALIE NEAL
Former Editorial Intern May 2008 – August 2008 Age: 21
Alive, for me, is a glimpse into what the mainstream media could become. Never have I encountered a place more committed to creating a space in which a young woman’s voice is more important than what she wears or how she does her make-up. It’s beautiful.
SARAH TENGBLAD
Former Public Relations Intern May 2008 – August 2008 Age: 21
WHAT DOES ALIVE MEAN TO YOU?
How did Alive influence your career path? Alive gave me the opportunity to put the knowledge I’ve gained from my course work towards a cause I believe is undervalued in our society, as well as expand and nourish my skills. I now have more confidence to enter the work force.
WHAT MAKES YOU COME ALIVE?
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GREG SCHLICHTER
Alive Development Committee Member Development Consultant Age: 44
What makes you come alive? Breathing. Especially the slow deep breathes after the completion of a meaningful project, one that had a challenging goal and required concerted effort. The energy that had been applied encircles me with its pause and lifts me up so I can appreciate how I can contribute to my larger world.
Why Women Play Games by jamie joslin illustrations by michele ebnet There is a long-standing perception that the video gaming world is an all-male world. Yes, this perception says that your mother and grandmother might casually play “Tetris” or “Zelda,” but for the most part, the gaming industry is considered to be a boy’s arena. Well, times have changed. Women do play video games. In fact, it is estimated that females make up about 40 percent of all gamers, according to the Entertainment Software Association. Interestingly enough, the International Game Developers Association notes that males account for an overwhelming 88 percent of video game developers. With men dominating video game development, the gaming market is flooded with testosterone-centered games like “Madden NFL” and “Gears of War.” No wonder the common perception is that women dislike video games. There are a few popular games that are not as gender specific as the above games, like “The Sims,” “Spore” and “Civilization.” “The Sims,” well known for being the best selling PC game of all time, has a 65 percent female audience says Sharon Knight, the Electronic Arts vice president of Europe Online, in the GameSpot article “EA: Women ‘Too Big an Audience to Ignore.’” However, currently the gaming industry is primarily marketing its products towards a mere half of its potential audience – the male half. If the developers can work toward designing more female-inclusive games, they have the chance to substantially increase their revenue. Unfortunately, this seemingly simple idea is actually complicated and difficult to dissect. As a female gamer myself, I’ve tried to answer the question of how to make video games more “female friendly,” but I’ve run into some problems. Do females inherently desire a different
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kind of video game? Do we crave a more fantastical world layered with deep characterization like “Zelda” and the world-adventure games that are statistically proven to have a higher female gaming base than the more one-dimensional first-person shooters? Or is it that the content is decent, but the delivery and marketing of the games are more geared toward males? When walking down the game aisle, the shelves are lined with games depicting strong men lugging around enormous weapons; it is not unreasonable to assume these game boxes have been marketed more toward males. Some of these intense first-person shooters do have an element of narrative in which most women would be interested, but women are turned off by the exaggerated masculinity of the games’ presentation. Another element that I believe affects a female’s likelihood of wanting to play a game depends on the number of choices she has in designing or selecting her character. It would seem that women are less likely to play an overly sexualized female or muscle-bulging male character than something more realistic. I know I am. But these and similar questions are not easily answered, and only recently have studies begun to try to unlock the female gaming puzzle. One female veteran has made answering these questions her career. Sheri Graner Ray, senior game designer with Sony Online Entertainment, is well known for bringing up women-centered topics at the annual Game Developers Conference. During one of these GDCs, she sponsored a table about making the gaming industry more open to women. This table became the foundation for her volunteer organization, Women In Games International. The organization’s mission statement says it strives to respond “to a growing demand around the world for the inclusion and advancement of women in the gaming industry.”
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In an article by Nicole Girard featured on CNET News entitled “Explaining Disconnect Between Women, Video Games,” Girard interviews Ray, who argues that female gamers need more than fast-paced action and intense visuals to stay interested in a game. Ray advocates that we must not “trivialize the importance of the emotional experience.” One way women are able to feel involved in their game is by being able to engage more meaningfully with the characters. The article paraphrases Ray, saying that “video game companies that truly want to market to female gamers will provide a way for players to become acquainted with their characters… even allowing for an emotional attachment to develop.” ONE WAY WOMEN ARE ABLE TO FEEL INVOLVED IN THEIR GAMES IS BY BEING ABLE TO ENGAGE MORE MEANINGFULLY WITH THE CHARACTERS. Ray concludes by saying that the key for getting more women to play video games is that they need more than just action. But do we really just need more than action? I’ve played a wide range of video games, from first-person shooters like “Halo” to MMORPGs (massively multiplayer online role-playing games) like Blizzard Entertainment’s “World of Warcraft.” Action based games such as “Halo” or “Grand Theft Auto” hold my interest and attention for a while, but after about 45 minutes they do tend to get a little boring and repetitive. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy the gameplay, especially if playing with friends, but I usually don’t lose myself in an action-based game. The kind of game that can hold my attention for hours and hours is usually more strategic and has a component of fantasy. In a game like “World of Warcraft,” players
are able to give their characters professions, talents and Little Baby,” but there are elements and marketing tools pets that allow them to individualize their characters. that can be added to video games to make them more When creating the character, the player has options that appealing to females. don’t restrict her creation to something that looks like it It is hard to really know what could have come straight out of an kind of games females want until issue of Playboy, like most actionDO FEMALES INHERENTLY we get more females designing based video games. I chose to make DESIRE A DIFFERENT KIND OF video games. Currently, only a four-feet tall female dwarf with VIDEO GAME? 12 percent of video game pudgy cheeks, a pierced nose and developers are female. It looks awkward pigtails. My adventures as like if we want to start increasing the number of “female this little dwarf are open ended and I am not pigeonholed friendly” games, we might have to start by increasing the into saving a princess or conquering a kingdom – I make percentage of women working behind the scenes. my own story. The aspects of this game are not solely appreciated by women, as is evident by the 11.5 million I know that women are playing video games; I’m one subscribers currently playing, but they do serve to draw of them. I think the first step toward gender equality women into the game and can be used as a blueprint for in the gaming industry is to destroy the stereotype future games marketed toward women. that women do not play video games. As Torrie Dorell, One thing game developers are starting to realize is that diversifying their game selection opens new markets in all realms, not just to female participants. In terms of offering a diverse selection of games, Nintendo is considered one of the leading developers, especially with its new hit, the Wii Fit, which has attracted not only more females, but has opened up the gaming world to many new demographics.
senior vice president of global sales and marketing for Sony Online Entertainment, explained in an online CNN article, “Women are out there in significant numbers playing MMOs, action games, first-person shooters… What is lacking in the equation are women behind these games.”
It’s nice to have options in gaming. I’m not sure if my video game library is eclectic because I am a female or if it is just because of the type of gamer I am, but I am sure that the more varied video games become, the more I will enjoy shopping for video games.
Today in the gaming industry, the market is saturated with games designed by men, for men. An intelligent game publisher will identify women as the next best target audience to expand the industry because women are playing games. The more diverse our developers are, the more diverse games we will get – and as gamers, that is the best thing we can ask for.
Making the general population more aware of the fact that women do play video games will allow for the industry to be more accepting of hiring female developers. Once we have an equal ratio of female to male developers in the gaming world, we can hope to be satisfied that games produced are considering the needs of women. This is not to say that women should only be expected to play games like Nintendo DS’s “Nintendogs” and “My
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R
PAY
FORWARD IT
By GREG TEHVEN ILLUSTRATIONS By TIANA TOSO AND MICHELE EBNET
It was 3 a.m. and merely 10 days into my freshman career at college when I made a decision that would change my life. It was a weeknight and I should have been sleeping, but I was up with three people that I hardly knew. The four of us started talking about how we wanted to change the world. Our frustrations with the assumption that young people are inadequate and college students made poor decisions continued to surface. We decided that we wanted to take action. We launched a vision to prove others wrong and our idealism right. We created the outline for a Pay It Forward Tour, community service on wheels. We wanted to convince 40 friends to travel on a bus with us, and ultimately change the world by serving others and asking nothing in return, in hopes that those served would “pay it forward” by serving others and making an impact.
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The four of us continued to meet. We hammered out the route we would take across the country, shared our hopes for the projects and wrote our mission and vision statement. We then decided it was time to go public. Two of us shared the idea with our community adviser, also known as the person in the resident hall who was paid to be our friend. She gave us little time and blew us off quickly. We moved on. We shared our vision after class with our leadership professor. She quickly wrote our idea off as too big and gave us a lukewarm “good luck.” We found the answer we’d be looking for when Jerry Rinehart, the University of Minnesota’s vice provost of student affairs, agreed to be our adviser. For the next few months, Jerry encouraged us to work on our plan. Brian, Irene, Nick and I continued to meet. We even decided to meet once a week and not talk about
business, but rather focus on our friendship, knowing the coming months would be challenging and that it was more important to be friends than anything else. As winter break approached, we had a clear vision, a plan – and zero people signed up for the trip. WE DECIDED WE WANTED TO TAKE ACTION. WE LAUNCED A VISION TO PROVE OTHERS WRONG AND OUR IDEALISM RIGHT. When we arrived back on campus after our break, we started sharing our hopes for spring break. At first, it appeared no one was interested. Yet, we were resilient. We found one of our neighbors in the residence halls that wanted to come. Darren Frederickson, an accounting major, was our first sign-up. Then, others from Territorial Hall started signing up. We even found some friends from North Dakota colleges that agreed to be part of the trip. In March of 2004, 43 of us began the first-ever Pay It Forward Tour. It was a magical trip. We were idealists who wanted to create change. We worked at an affordable housing exposition in Chicago where we set up tables and answered questions for the 150 people who attended that day. Many of us were able to use our Spanish skills to speak with the residents. In Canton, Ohio, we teamed up with the mayor and did an inner-city cleanup project with 100 residents. We partnered with community members to fill up 45 bags with garbage. In Greensburg, Pa., we partnered with high school students from Greensburg Central Catholic at a food bank. Our role was to organize food that had been donated by the community. In Philadelphia, we did street outreach with National Student Partnerships. Each of us was asked to distribute five business cards with information on affordable housing and job interview skills, all free services. The trip ended in Washington D.C. where we worked at a soup kitchen and met with elected officials. As we traveled home, we shared stories of what we had learned. Many concluded that serving others wasn’t just
a spring break trip – it could be a way of life. We decided we wanted to continue to serve our home community, get organized and invite others to be part of this transformational experience. I personally had been changed for good. I learned more about myself in a week than ever before. I reflected on personal prejudices I held, was inspired by new friends as we shared our hopes and dreams and made a commitment to myself that I would help others find value in service. We came to the conclusion that formalizing a student group to support the Pay It Forward Tour was necessary. We formed Students Today Leaders Forever and established a formal mission: to reveal leadership through service, relationships and action. Nick, Brian, Irene and I have stayed focused on the Pay It Forward Tours since the group’s formation. In just under six years, we’ve sent out 102 Pay It Forward Tours with close to 4,000 participants. We work with 16 college chapters of Students Today Leaders Forever and 30 high schools and middle schools. We have established a nonprofit, created a board of directors and worked hard to continue our mission of revealing leadership through service, relationships and action. MANY CONCLUDED THAT SERVING OTHERS WASN’T JUST A SPRING BREAK TRIP - IT COULD BE A WAY OF LIFE. In that freshmen residence hall at 3 a.m., our idealistic, lofty goal was to change the world. Though we’d always felt we could accomplish such a goal, it wasn’t until September of 2008 that we realized other people might be hopping on our bandwagon. Students Today Leaders Forever was featured in a TIME magazine article entitled “21 Ways to Serve America.” As number two on the list, we finally felt that our goal had been actualized, and we were well on our way to propelling an even larger transformation.
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f
By CHEyENNE KIRKPATRICK wATERCOLOR By GIGI MOORE DIGITAL ILLUSTRATIONS By TIANA TOSO
he door to my tiny dorm closet seemed to bulge as my heaps of clothing threatened to break the dam and pour onto my floor. I wouldn’t mind the scores of clothing so much if I could still squeeze into half of the jeans – but I couldn’t. I knew I wasn’t the only girl on campus with a clothing problem since two of my three roommates woke me up every morning complaining about their respective wardrobes. Their clothes no longer fit, they were taking up too much space or my roommates were tired of wearing them. Whatever the issue, it was widespread. With the tiny sporadic avalanches in my closet and my roommates’ constant complaining, I knew there must be a solution to the madness. I recently heard about something called a “clothing exchange.” I remembered one being held a few years ago on my campus at Crown College, located in smalltown Minnesota. I also remember feeling shocked that the clothes were free. I got a pair of Abercrombie & Fitch jeans for zero dollars and I felt like a thief! The guidelines to the clothing exchange party were pretty simple: I got to invite whomever I wished. Everybody
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brought clothes they didn’t want, didn’t need or that didn’t fit. We laid everything out and we exchanged. It seemed simple enough, so I seized the day and began to plan. I was having trouble deciding exactly who I wanted to invite, so I resorted to inviting everyone. I put up signs, talked to my resident assistant and sent out mass e-mails telling every girl on campus about this new kind of party. When the night finally came for the clothing exchange, I left work early and headed back to my dorm to set up. I had no idea how I was going to get the tables I had reserved all the way up the hill to my building, especially since the Minnesota winter air is incapacitating in the first place. I trekked over to the main building without a plan, hoping I would come up with something on the way. The custodian, glancing at me, then back at the giant tables (an obvious mismatch), gave me quick instructions and left. I hesitated, racking my brain. I tried to pick one of the tables up, but realized I would only make it four feet before I collapsed. Just then, two student volunteers, tearing down another event, carted two tables around the corner. We had a quick discussion and I found myself
flitting behind them as they wheeled my tables up the hill to my building. Waiting there for me were three cardboard boxes, each containing a mess of shirts, shoes, pants and capris. Delighted that people were participating even before the party started, I set up the tables two hours early. Then I carefully laid everything out and waited. Slowly, girls trickled through the door and began to sift through the clothes. I parked myself in the midst of it all with a pile of cookies and “Grey’s Anatomy” on as background noise. I couldn’t help but smile when I heard all the “oos” and “ahhs” over the clothes. The girls were loving it. They tried one shirt on over another and slipped a skirt on over their pants to check the sizes. It reminded me of the fashion shows I had with my mother growing up – fashion shows that had more to do with generosity than with the clothes. I COULDN’T HELP BUT SMILE WHEN I HEARD ALL THE “OOS” AND “AHHS” OVER THE CLOTHES. THE GIRLS WERE LOVING IT. When I was a little girl, money was tight, making an overabundant wardrobe impossible. I had three older brothers, which meant that hand-me-downs were out of the question for my half-pint frame. My mother was worried. She had been thrilled to finally have a little girl and only became more excited when the frilly dresses piled up at the baby shower. She made my life a constant fashion show. She loved to play dress-up with her new little doll – my nickname is still Dolly. But eventually the fashion shows stopped. I grew out of the clothes and into the problem of a dwindling wardrobe. My mother began to make me clothes, but costs of material began to rise. Then boxes upon boxes of clothing from friends, cousins and even second cousins unexpectedly arrived. Much to my excitement, my mother and I would carefully go through the clothes, and she would help me organize the masses. To test size and fit, I had to try everything on and model it – the fashion shows were back.
Watching the girls try on their new clothes, I felt privileged to take part in someone else’s fashion show. It was rewarding to see the beaming expressions on the girls’ faces as they examined their new clothes. As everybody chomped away on cookies, I smiled to myself at the lightness I felt. Despite the economy and the “poor college student” identity, each girl in the room was indulging in a wealth of mutual generosity. The generosity of family and friends when I was younger became the scaffolding that raised me above my circumstances. I was hoping to give the community of women on my campus a similar opportunity to meet the needs of their peers. Girls that had only been acquaintances were fast becoming my friends as we shared this opportunity. Before they left, some came over to thank me. In a spirit of gratefulness, some of the girls asked if they could help me clean up. There was no need for two boys with a cart when we had six women with biceps! When the tables were put away, I came back and found girls still shopping through the clothes – now a mountain on the floor. I was happy to see them enjoying themselves, so I opted to put the clothes away later. After a little homework time, I came back to find they had finished looking through the clothes and were folding the shirts and pants, carefully placing them in bags. I was astonished at how well these girls were taking care of me. Apparently even a small gesture can go a long way in the life of another. My roommate asked me later that night if I was disappointed that more people didn’t come. I told her honestly that I wasn’t. I was pleasantly surprised at how things turned out. I wasn’t sure if I would have three guests or 300. But when the tables were up and the cookies were out, I built relationships and got to be a part of the same generosity that clothed me as a child, a generosity that moves tables, folds clothes and gives time and resources. That night, I definitely gained more than space in my closet.
Whether the intentions of our unlikely heroes were centered on sensing a need or recycling, my mother and I reaped serious benefits. My mother’s stress was relieved, and my need was met. I was literally clothed by generosity.
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d STORy, PHOTOGRAPHy AND ILLUSTRATIONS By jENNy wILLIAMS
My bags were packed, and the car was busting at the seams with all the “essential” items that I thought I would need for the next nine months. I was on my way to Hillside, Colo., to work as an intern at Rainbow Trail Lutheran Camp. It was going to be an adventure of a lifetime, and I couldn’t wait to get there and see what this new place and experience would bring me. I had just graduated college with an interior design degree and was looking for a new direction in life. It was time to explore the options that camping ministry had to offer. I began to feel tired and weak by the end of my 12-hour drive. However, as I turned through the curves and bends of the mountain along the Arkansas River, I became more awake and in awe of where God had brought me. This is where I get to live for the next nine months, I thought to myself. How awesome! As I drove deeper into the mountains and past the non-existent town of Hillside (which consisted of one building that I later learned was the post office), I began to realize that I was in the middle of nowhere and removed from all the conveniences I was used to. I finally made it to camp and was warmly welcomed by the site manager, John, as well as his family and the other two program assistants with whom I would be sharing this experience. I was so grateful to have made it to my destination and to be surrounded by people again. We quickly unloaded my little car, and I moved into the apartment above the camp offices. I would be living with the two other girls who were also in the internship program, Sarah and Jess. There were five other people on staff and out of the group, only two lived on-site with their families. The rest lived at least 30 minutes away and about 1000 feet down the mountain. Even though there seemed to be a lack of people around, every weekend the camp would fill with retreat-ers, anywhere from 15 to100 people. I found comfort in knowing there would
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always be people around on the weekends, because during the week it was a fairly quiet place, with just a few of us doing office work and getting ready for the next group to come. Everything was running smoothly and training was going well. We all seemed to be fitting in and adjusting to our new home on the mountain until one day, Audrey, an assistant director, made an announcement that she and her family would be leaving Rainbow Trail and moving back to North Dakota by mid-October. That meant that me and the other two interns would be taking over until the camp found new directors to fill her position. I was in utter shock. We had only been there for a month and now we were going to practically be in charge of retreats! A few weeks went by after they left and, for the most part, things were going well. Retreats were running smoothly, office work was making sense and our small “camp family” was growing closer. However, it soon looked as though we were going to be losing another staff member. One of the program assistants, Jess, had decided this lifestyle and internship were not right for her. So at the beginning of December, we packed up another staff member and waved goodbye. It was down to two of us on the mountain. Sarah and I were going to be living at camp alone, and winter was coming full force into our view. SARAH AND I WERE GOING TO BE LIVING AT CAMP ALONE, AND WINTER WAS COMING FULL FORCE INTO OUR VIEW. Before coming to Rainbow Trail we knew that we would be living with very few people around, but realizing that it would only be Sarah and I changed our outlook on things. Being someone who thrives on interaction with others, I didn’t know if I was ready for such a huge change – I’d only have a few close people to spend time with. In high school and in college I was always doing something with friends and was involved in many activities and groups. It was a drastic change to go from a large social network to only having one person my age to hang out with. It was a good thing that Sarah and I got along very well, or I would have really felt alone. On most days that Sarah and I had off from work, we would travel an hour or two to go do something “normal.” We often drove two hours to Colorado Springs to go see a movie, go shopping and eat at a chain restaurant. Oh, how we missed suburbia! There were other towns closer to us, by about an hour, which had local shops and restaurants that were also fun to explore. The closest town to us was Westcliffe, about 20 miles away, which is where we bought our groceries, gas and any items we would need spur of the moment. Spur of the moment, though, usually meant at least a 50-minute drive – not the most ideal situation. When it came to shopping for necessities, we always had to think ahead. It was a wonderful blessing, though, that John, the site manager, and his family were so open and welcoming because they quickly became our very close family, friends and neighbors, even though they lived 20 miles away. And with what we had in store for the months to come, we really needed each other to make it through with smiles on our faces. Living on a mountain quickly changed my previously loving relationship with winter. January and February were by far the most difficult months out of the year. The snow was up to mid-thigh, but it was the Chinook winds that made the amount of snow treacherous. Some nights it sounded like our roof was going to blow off our apartment. There were seven-foot drifts on the sides of the road coming up to camp, and when it
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I WENT TO THE MOUNTAIN LOOKING FOR AN ADVENTURE, A NEW EXPERIENCE, A DIRECTION IN LIFE, AN ANSWER TO ALL MY QUESTIONS. was really windy the road would blow closed with three to four feet of snow. It was impossible to get in or out some days. Shoveling became a daily chore, along with plowing the roads and gathering firewood. If this wasn’t enough to keep us busy, it seemed like every week there was something that would break down – a camp vehicle, the snow plow, the Internet – and retreat groups would get stuck on the icy road. It never ended. One of the worst things that happened was when one of our main water lines burst, leaving the whole camp without water a day before a retreat group was scheduled to visit. Luckily, John was able to isolate the leak so only the dining hall was without water. While this meant we didn’t have to cancel our retreat group that weekend, we still had to haul large jugs of water over to the kitchen to make meals, and we had to haul dishes over to our apartment and the house to wash them in the dishwasher. Finally, after struggling for weeks to adequately repair the leaks, we found a solution by threading a new flexible pipe inside the existing broken one. Even though the pipe was fixed, though, we were left with the task of fixing everything we had torn up to make the repair, which had to wait until after the ground thawed a month or two later. Even though there seemed to be so many things going wrong during our year as program assistants, we always found laughter in our conversations and most of the time smiled through the pain. We all relied on each other to make it through the days and through our struggles. If we needed a break, we all jumped in the truck and went down the hill to get the mail, or we headed over to the kitchen and grabbed a cookie or two. Lunchtime became our refuge, as we relaxed on the couches enjoying conversations about relationships, life and everything in between – anything to keep our minds off of what was still on our to-do lists for the day. That time usually ended with a nap
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in the sun and a boost of soulful energy. There is something very powerful to be said about going through a hard time together as a team; the struggle becomes your bond and your bond grows stronger. Spring came, the snow melted and the camp was in shambles. The warm and sunny weather, though, made us cheerful about working to fix the damage that winter had left. There had been a huge sign made out of tree logs that read “I AM” in the middle of camp that fell down in the process of repairing our broken water pipes, so John, Sarah and I grabbed our work gloves and teamed up to resurrect the sign. John told us that it originally took 10 men to put up the sign, so we might not be able to do it on our own. Nevertheless, we gave it a shot and, with the power and determination of our team, we successfully raised the sign out of the dirt and back to its original state. By that spring we hired two new assistant directors and, with us hard at work putting the camp back together, everything seemed to be turning around. Summer was on its way and the site was beginning to look ready for summer camp! That meant, however, it was time to say goodbye to our time on the mountain. Even though we had a tough winter, probably the toughest in years, it was going to be very hard to leave our home and new family. With tears in our eyes and spring flurries in the air, Sarah and I packed our little cars and said farewell to Rainbow Trail Lutheran Camp, a place where we found that friendship was the true meaning of surviving the solitude. I went to the mountain looking for an adventure, a new experience, a direction in life, an answer to all my questions. I certainly found an adventure and a new experience, but I came to find that my direction in life will always have many open paths; I just need to pick one. And, no matter what I choose to do, finding great friends to surround me is the key.
Z Community Amber Wilson & inAnna Cambodia Husted
photograph by Amber Wilson
As our community expands, we expand. As we look at the world in new ways, our perspectives shift. As we re-examine ourselves, we learn to relate to others in a different way. What these two artists share is an expanded view on community and an insightful eye on culture not accessible to everyone. To showcase not only the culture, but also the work of these two emerging artists, we’ve combined their work to present a new view on the concept of global community.
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It’s where we live. Who we know. What we believe. The culmination of the communities we identify with are what makes us each unique, what defines us as people. Our ‘communities’ are our niches; they give us comfort in an otherwise crazy world. As global citizens we have not only a responsibility, but also an extraordinary opportunity to step outside our traditional or inherited communities and venture into the world. It is here that we will gain awareness, learn tolerance, acquire cultural sensitivity and find ourselves. The photographs shown are indicative of what I found on my own personal journey into ‘communities’ around the globe. What I came away with was a realization that, at the end of the day, our similarities are much greater than our differences.
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Amber Wilson
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With the people’s childhoods usurped by the verisimilitude of Pol Pot, even the youngest Cambodians are living the affects of the Khmer regime. Nature herself reveals the grandest corruption of a country. If she did not, humanity would be lost, for neglect of nature comes when survival of humankind becomes impertinent to survival of oneself. The Mekong River once reflected the pure blue of Cambodia, though now turned brown by the unhindered winningness of genocide. The remaining beauty lies in the people -- as they absorbed, reflected and deflected death, they grew coarse, but never gave themselves over freely.
Anna Husted
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By FAITH FISCHER ILLUSTRATIONS By jENNy wILLIAMS
“Winter is a great time for making babies,” responded a Peace House regular to Sister Donna’s request for reflections on what “waiting” means. There were chuckles and nods of agreement throughout the room. All Sister Donna could do was agree as well. “It’s so cold, there’s nothing else to do.” This was my introduction to the daily reflection at Peace House. Sister Rose Tillman opened Peace House in 1985; today it serves as a community room where homeless or underemployed folks can come during the day to talk and eat together. It was the second stop on the Sisters of St. Joseph Minneapolis Ministry Tour that I was taking. As a participant in the St. Joseph Worker Program, a yearlong volunteer program sponsored by the sisters of St. Joseph, I wanted to familiarize myself with the work of all their ministries. Trying not to stray too far from the initial discussion of Advent, Sister Donna remarked that as it gets colder, she wonders and worries about what people living in homelessness do to make it through the night. Their responses were mixed. One man recommended that this is a time of year to make amends with your family. Another younger man recounted how sleeping below the frost point of the ground was a way to stay warm. A discussion began about the various shelters and services
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in the area. Resources were listed and critiqued in such a matter-of-fact way that it became clear that transience had become a way of life for many present around the table. As the conversation progressed, people continued knocking on the front door. Even though the door was locked at 11:30 a.m. to eliminate disturbances during the reflection and meditation time, each knock was answered and an extra seat was always found. The policy of door locking was born out of good intentions, but at Peace House everyone is welcome, which is a feeling that most don’t experience elsewhere. …EACH KNOCK WAS ANSWERED AND AN EXTRA SEAT WAS ALWAYS FOUND. Though the subject matter was heavy, the participants remained jovial and the atmosphere was truly communal, with Peace House regulars, visitors and sisters all participating. Once the discussion was over, we all shared a meal together and I was able to chat with some folks one-on-one. I had a great conversation with one of the regulars, Jeff. He asked me about my life and what I planned to do with it. I told him that I had a general idea
of what I wanted to do: social work, activism… something along those lines. “You need to do the kind of work that makes you want to get up in the morning,” advised Jeff, “and you need to work to end the injustice that grates against your soul.” I smiled shyly and my lack of confidence must have been evident because Jeff continued to encourage me. “Have you ever thought about running for office?” he asked with sincerity. “I don’t know about that,” I said. “Maybe in a couple decades.” As we continued to talk, Jeff told me that he had worked with youth in after-school programs and thinks it is important to nurture the talents of each individual. His experience with empowerment was evident; I felt encouraged by our conversation. I was glad to be one of many who I am sure have been touched by Jeff’s gift. On our way to Peace House, our tour leader had informed us that on previous tours some people felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave soon after arriving. I wondered what accounted for the difference between their reaction and mine. I saw the sisters living their mission of loving God and neighbor without distinction, and I saw Peace House regulars caring for each other. What had other people seen that made them want to leave? I continued to wonder what mechanism enables us to be complacent in the face of homelessness. It may be a lack of understanding of the causes of homelessness, the systems that perpetuate it and the obstacles to finding stable housing. I would recommend to those who left previous tours that one remedy to this lack of understanding would be to have a conversation with someone experiencing homelessness. In my personal experience, these conversations shed light on many different facets of the issue. Once a better understanding of the circumstances surrounding homelessness is gained, it seems much harder to turn a blind eye on the issue.
As each person listed the places that they frequented throughout winter days and nights, I felt a deep sorrow and anger that our society allows our people to wander the streets with no guarantee that they will find refuge from the cold. The community at Peace House is like many others: a diverse group of strangers thrown together by circumstance. Yet despite their differences and stressful lives, they listen to each other and welcome strangers into the fold. I strongly feel that if society took up these attributes and behaviors we could see an end to homelessness. If policymakers who don’t support affordable housing and residents who say “I don’t want those people in my neighborhood,” could look beyond themselves and unlock the door with a welcoming attitude, we could see a day when no one has to experience a winter on the streets. ONCE A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES SURROUNDING HOMELESSNESS IS GAINED, IT SEEMS MUCH HARDER TO TURN A BLIND EYE ON THE ISSUE. While I was there, I learned that Peace House was searching for a new location, but it was having a lot of difficulty with building code restrictions and garnering neighborhood support. I prayed that Peace House would find neighbors who were willing to extend the same kind of welcome that I felt. After I left, I felt absolutely elated. It wasn’t just Jeff’s kind words; it was the gift of being present with the people of Peace House. In this little storefront filled with folding chairs, people truly come together as a community. I felt included in that community even though I was obviously part of a group of visitors. The folks there were polite to each other and prayed thankfully for the sisters and the space. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace and a closer connection with God being surrounded by this genuine community.
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V
Hip Swing
By KELLI wILKERSON ILLUSTRATIONS By MICHELE EBNET
The music was loud and upbeat, and all over the place there were people dressed in vintage clothing I had only seen in movies and read about in magazines. The men, or “leads” as they called them, moved from facing their partners, or “follows,” to side-by-side positions effortlessly with the music; their legs kicked in sync or stepped to the beat. Every once in a while, I would catch a glimpse of a girl flying through the air in a back flip over a guy’s shoulder or sliding under his legs in some sort of acrobatic stunt. Every person in the room wore a huge smile, and the energy that was pouring from every ounce of sweat coming off their bodies was entrancing and kept drawing me closer to the dance floor. Of course, I must have looked like a complete idiot the first time I tried the basic steps that my date barely knew himself. One thing I did know for sure – I was completely hooked. In the simplest words possible, Lindy Hop dancing has changed my life. Not only has it changed me in ways of which I am aware, but I am positive it has also shaped my personality and improved my life in many ways of which I am not conscious of as well. From the first night I discovered Lindy Hop, I knew I had found a passion that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
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It was the week before my 15th birthday, mid-February, 1998. A friend of mine had set me up on a blind date with a guy with whom I was not exactly thrilled to spend my evening, not to mention that I hardly even knew what a date was at that point in my life. Nonetheless, my date and I, along with my friend and her boyfriend, ventured out to a local club for all ages in Davis, Calif. That evening was their weekly swing dance and Lindy Hop night. I had always loved music of any type and had been dancing since I was a child, but when I walked through those doors, I knew I had stumbled upon something spectacular. I HAVE SEEN ALMOST EVERY MAJOR CITY IN THE UNITED STATES AND VISITED ALMOST EVERY COUNTRY IN EUROPE AT LEAST TWICE, AND I AM ONLY 26 YEARS OLD. Lindy Hop is a vernacular couples jazz dance that originated out of the 1920s Charleston, and eventually turned into one of the most popular couples dances in the country between 1930 and 1959. After Charles Lindberg “hopped the Atlantic” (hence the name “Lindy Hop”), swing music became the craze. A group of young African Americans perfected the new dance in ballrooms such as the Savoy in Harlem, N.Y. Shortly after the East Coast had discovered Lindy Hop, it quickly moved to Hollywood. After being showcased in a few movies, Lindy Hop spread like wildfire all over the country. To me and other dancers who revived the dance a few generations later, these clips and movies are the moving blueprints to our passion. Even now, I watch the old clips and try to emulate what I see the originators of my dance do.
Over the past decade or so, Lindy Hop has given me more than just something to be passionate about. I had tons of older brother and sister types hanging around making sure I was not getting into trouble, which in return, made my mom and dad very happy. I was learning how to hold myself in front of groups of people, and after competing and starting to teach, it gave me a great doorway to make some extra money and travel all over the world. I started competing about a year after the first time I danced in Davis. My first competition was called Jitterbug Jam National Swing Competition. It was held at a huge five-star hotel with a beautiful ballroom. Chandeliers hung from the ceilings and the dance floor looked so smooth it seemed as though it had a sheet of glass over it. I couldn’t wait to get my dance shoes on and start moving. There were dancers from all over the country in attendance. The whole weekend was filled with dance classes taught by world-class instructors, live bands at night for social dancing and competitions held into the early hours of the mornings. To my surprise, I made finals in the novice division, and although I didn’t end up placing, it gave me just enough spark and absolute determination to be one of those teachers and a top national competitor – and that is exactly what I became. I started traveling to every competition and dance workshop I could all over the country. I even went to Sweden in 1999 to take lessons at a dance camp called Herrang, a camp at which I eventually taught several times. Through the next few years I made my way up the ranks, changed dance partners a couple dozen times, moved to Los Angeles while earning my Bachelors degree at UCLA, broke some bones, lost and won many competitions, taught in studios and began teaching and competing on the national circuit. By my sophomore year of college, I had become one of the top five “follows” in the United States and the very next year, my team went to the World Championships and placed in the top three. I had accomplished, at that point, big things in my dance life and felt at the top of my game. The best part was that it kept getting better. Over the years, dancing has led me to so many great opportunities. I have seen the world. I met a dancer in New York, moved to Minneapolis while we dated and met some of my best friends while there. I have traveled all over the country teaching in different places. I have seen almost every major city in the United States and visited almost every country in Europe at least twice, and I am only 26 years old. It is the greatest thing to know that even though I have now settled back in Northern California, I can travel anywhere in the country and most places in the world and know someone with whom I can stay. And I can be sure to have one main thing in common with them – an extreme love for dance.
CHANDELIERS HUNG FROM THE CEILINGS AND THE DANCE FLOOR LOOKED SO SMOOTH IT SEEMED AS THOUGH IT HAD A SHEET OF GLASS OVER IT. Now I am teaching locally in Sacramento, Calif., with my original dance partner from back in the late 90s, and, oddly enough, my “blind date” is now my promoter and helps me run the local Sacramento venue, Midtown Stomp. I still travel about once a month to other cities, and my partner and I are still ranked as a top 10 couple in the country; we will be competing on the national circuit this upcoming year. I feel very blessed to have the art of dance in my life. It is what I do when I am happy. It is what I do when I am sad. It clears my mind when I am stressed, and it gives me a sense of security when I am feeling lonely. Everyone needs something to cling to in life and if you don’t know what that “thing” is, I would encourage you to try dance. Who knows? It may completely change your world as it has mine, and give you the wings you need to soar through every chapter of your life.
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SUPPORTED By
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Floating in Chlorine
Heaven By NICOLE MCCOy watercolor By MEGAN FOSS
You could tell the building was old because the paint on the balconies was thick. During my residence there, it was the brown and tan colored bricks and reddish paint on the outside of our apartment that entrapped the sins of the corrupt living inside. Even as a child I sensed the bad vibes rise when the sun set. The same clan of adults, including my mother, would gather around the horseshoe pit, which was next to the swimming pool in the center of the apartment complex. The presence of night, a lack of children and loud voices signaled to me that the horseshoe pit was for adults only; a meeting place where they could indulge in their evening activities. I worried for my mother then because I didn’t know what was going on or why she always wanted to go there. One thing I did know was that the only good part about our apartment was the pool. If it weren’t for the parental supervision requirement, I would’ve gone swimming every day. Instead, I went swimming as often as Mom was willing to go, which was about three times a week. Every time I was allowed to go, I rushed to put on my swimsuit. I’d quickly gather my towel, goggles, noodle and whatever other flotation devices I had at hand. Ready, I would wait for Mom to pack her Michelob Golden Draft Light beers, Camel Light cigarettes and my Fruit by the Foot. Walking to the pool, I was full of anticipation to swim freely in the open water. It took about three minutes to walk through the maze of cracked sidewalks in between the other five apartment buildings, but it seemed like it took 10 or 20 because I was so excited. That excitement was the reason I was the one to open the paint-chipped gate. It opened with a springy sensation as soon as the key turned fully to the right. Once I was inside the entrance, I would scope out the pool area. Finding the perfect place for my belongings was like looking for a new home; I was going to be there for a while.
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Even on hot days I found myself standing at the edge of the pool looking down at the bottom, contemplating how and when I would go in. Sometimes this had to do with the cold, stiff water temperature. The majority of the time it was because I had to prepare myself for the therapy, the peaceful moments of my underwater world. Standing at the edge, I felt anxious to start swimming because the tranquility was such a contrast to the chaos at home. I had control when I swam, something I didn’t have anywhere else. I needed a slow progression into the water on the tough days. I’d start out in the shallow end and walk slowly into the water from the stairs, letting the difference in temperature of the water and my body exchange heat in unison. When it was a good day and I was feeling confident, I’d run and jump in, embracing the shock, yet expecting the temperature difference that held on to all tips of my body.
and peals of the paper to reveal a new dollhouse. I smiled gratefully for my new gift, but Dad’s face looked worried.
YOU’VE MADE IT TO THE TOP, AWAY FROM EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER KNOWN TO BE NEGATIVE AND EVERYTHING THAT HAS HELD YOU BACK.
“I don’t want you to worry about me, OK? But I understand you know something is going on, so I’m going to be honest with you, all right sweetie?” At that point I felt older, and somehow privileged to be included, to finally know part of the secret.
Once I was in the water, I felt the independence to be whomever I wanted, to move every way imaginable and to float in my chlorine heaven. I would do summersaults, handstands, breaststrokes, backstrokes and strokes that didn’t have names. With my goggles I’d look underwater at people moving as freely as I was. Watching everyone else swimming in the same transparent liquid gave me a sense of gratitude that other people, too, enjoyed the free spirit of the water and its unifying depth that submerged us all. When I was with my parents I was quiet, reserved and apprehensive about my surroundings. Once I got in the pool, my surroundings were crystal clear, and I absorbed the free feeling. I found my haven within the water, which endlessly drew me back to it. Swimming became a regular activity for me, and I wanted to partake in it as much as possible, to feel normalcy and to swim away from the havoc at home. Why didn’t Mom come home when she said she would? Why didn’t Dad return my phone call today, or yesterday? Why did she want to spend time with other adults instead of be at home with me? How come he didn’t pick me up like he was supposed to? When could I go swimming again? I was missing something; I was the detective and the clues didn’t “click” in my adolescent brain. I only really knew one thing: I only got three months of summer heat and swimming in the land of lakes and arctic winters. Since I wasn’t allowed to know the secrets my parents kept, I was happy for the most part, and I just kept swimming along. On my eighth birthday, everything became clear. Feet rocking back and forth as I sat on the couch, not being able to reach the carpet floor below me, I waited for Dad to give me my present. Large packaging and shiny green paper attracted my attention instantly, followed by rips
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“Daddy, what’s wrong?” I asked curiously, my feet no longer rocking back and forth. “I have to go honey. I’ll be home later, OK?” he replied sheepishly. “What’s going on? Why do you have to leave?” I didn’t understand why he had to leave; it was my birthday. Why didn’t he want to stay with me? “Nicole, come here. I need to explain something to you.” My face felt hot and my feet started rocking again, but I was propelled to stand, so I could follow him to my room.
“Do you know what cocaine is?” I did. I had learned what the drug was that same month at school, and in that moment I saw the picture of the powdered substance a D.A.R.E officer had pointed out to our class. I remembered him emphasizing it as bad, bad, bad. I nodded my head slowly to acknowledge my understanding. “Daddy is addicted and needs help, but don’t worry. I’ll be OK. I’ve got to go now, though. If I’m not home tonight, happy birthday, Nicole. Your dad loves you.” After finding out Dad was a cocaine addict, I paid close attention to Mom. It was then I realized why I’d wake up and she was gone, why she cussed when she couldn’t make it to the liquor store before it closed and why she didn’t always want to take me swimming. This is when I learned to grow up, to be an adult at the age of eight. There I was, diving back into the pool’s water, moving briskly, feeling alive. After I couldn’t hold the air in my expanded lungs any longer, I was out of the water, gasping, but I knew needed to go back under. If only I had gills like a salmon, I could live and feed in my world away from the mayhem at home. Underwater, I’d thrust all the muscles in my body, letting myself crawl, and push aside the crystal clear force that held me up. Then, slowly I’d let myself sink to the bottom. Take me away, I’d say repeatedly to myself. Take me away. Where? Anywhere. Any place to get me away from myself. I was only 12 and my brain was split. Some days it told me lies and twisted around all my logic. Other days it would be my friend, holding my hand, guiding me and saying, I think I can, I know we can, and you can do it. I was trapped. My brain was at war with itself, winning and losing battles every day, constantly playing tug-of-
war with my thoughts and inhibitions, eventually closing me up like a cold jacket on a wintery day. “Wh-wh-what?” was a common response spewing out of my mouth. Unnoticed by my parents, I sank deeper into a pit of misery where no joy was present, even when I was in the pool. It was because Mom was never home, because she didn’t tell the truth about where she was going, because he was addicted, because she was afraid of looking bad, because he already looked bad enough. It was because Dad was MIA for some weeks, because he needed money, because he could count on me, because I loved him, because I was Daddy’s girl. I slept more than half of my days. I slept to dream. I dreamed to fl oat. I fl oated to lose myself in my unconsciousness. If I could’ve fallen asleep quickly, I would have. Instead it took hours to fall into that dreamy state. Lying in bed, the good and bad sides of my brain started to charge at each other with armed forces, trying to kill off the other one so that one side could reign over me. Eventually one side took charge, but it wasn’t the side I’d have chosen. I lose, I told myself, and I gave up the fight. What do you need? my mind asked when it was playing angel, not devil. “I need to swim,” I’d say, as if I was casually sitting at a coffee shop with my brain sitting across the table from me. I needed happiness, I needed sunshine, I needed Mom and I needed Dad. I didn’t care about much anymore, because my head didn’t let me care, because I was already gone, because my parents were gone, because I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to interfere with their habits, because I was terrified. The lengthy winter months of Minnesota became years of melancholy. I didn’t want to swim. I felt defeated. The depression smothered me and tied my hands back so I couldn’t swim away. I SLEPT MORE THAN HALF OF MY DAYS. I SLEPT TO DREAM. I DREAMED TO FLOAT. I FLOATED TO LOSE MYSELF IN MY UNCONSCIOUSNESS.
childhood. My feet moved naturally, swimming along the edge of the coral to keep warm, and to move quickly in the largest fish tank I’d ever seen. I saw every color as if it were the first time I’d seen color at all. The shade of gray I’d been living in suddenly came to life as a rainbow in that reef. Millions of fish swam in all directions. The plants that emerged from the coral danced with the movement of the ocean. I felt as though everything around me was alive, breathing in and out with the tempo of the current. On one side of me, I gazed into a world entranced by bright, psychedelic colors, and the other side I stared into vibrant blue mysteries. I purposefully looked back to the lively world of coral and marine life so I could remain distracted from the world of the unknown. That’s when it dawned on me that all I needed were distractions. Although my parents were like the endless blue depths of uncertainty, I had a colorful world right beside me. Swimming, sunshine and friends were back home; all I had to do is find them. There were sharks out there somewhere, which, like my parents, were the enemy to those trying to live in peace. But I did not have to be the prey. I could control my own behavior and thoughts. While swimming in the open ocean, I realized that I couldn’t control the fish and other creatures roaming the sea, but I could count on myself. Focusing on positive distractions, like the colorful marine life, made me smile. I found a niche by counting on nothing but myself. A path of understanding made way for me as I swam through the reef, and I became confident in my new ways. My journey to Australia broadened the understanding of my life. Although my parents are still wading in their drug-filled lives, I know I am on the right path. My happiness is flourishing, and I’m staying a sea creature, focusing on the positive aspects of life in my own sea of color. Swimming along in the current – just going with the flow, forgetting the past – I am who I want to be, and I can finally progress.
It was at 19 that I finally felt free enough to reintroduce myself to the water. I walked up to the platform that led me to the ocean. The wind and winter in Australia told me the water was cold, yet it still startled me when I felt it surround my ankles. Thoughts about how or when I would go in didn’t run through my head because now I felt bold. You’ve made it to the top, away from everything you’ve ever known to be negative and everything that has held you back. It is here that you will not be afraid and let yourself go, free yourself from the troubles constantly at home. You will be OK, my mind told me. The jump into the ocean captivated me. I left every issue in Minnesota and began swimming in the Great Barrier Reef at Knuckle Reef Lagoon. My body trembled as wintry water encircled it, taking me back to the days of my
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city rocks
By MICHELE EBNET ILLUSTRATIONS By jENNy wILLIAMS
All my friends from school were in my living room. Bright pink balloons and streamers hung from the ceiling and a pile of presents, which I anticipated tearing open, sat on the table. Everything was in place for the perfect birthday party. The cake, with neon frosting swirls, stood tall with a number seven candle stuck on top. “Open this one!” my best friend Kayla said, almost more excited than I was. “You’ll never guess what it is!” The gift was in the shape of a Barbie doll box – she wasn’t fooling anyone. After destroying the wrapping paper, there she was before me: Hollywood Hair Barbie in all her glory, with long blond hair and that awfully disproportionate body. I wanted nothing more than to untie the twisty ties holding her in place and use the little stencils to spray pink colored hearts down her golden locks. But this was only the first present, and I was determined to find out if I would be lucky enough to get the one present I had been begging my parents to buy me for what seemed like years. Inspecting the other presents’ sizes and weights, I was disappointed to find that none of them came close to resembling rollerblades. “The Little Mermaid” on VHS, a makeup kit and a bucket full of Legos followed, but still no rollerblades. I tried to wipe the disappointment off of my face as my mom walked into the room and said, “There’s one last present.” I noticed the size of the box and anxiously snatched it from her hands. A few seconds later, they were revealed – a pair of shiny plastic black and pink rollerblades in size six. “Thanks, Mom!” I shouted while clutching them in my arms. “I promise I’ll take care of them!” I couldn’t wait until my friends went home so I could try out my new prized possessions. For the rest of my party all I could think about was how cool I would look on my new blades.
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Unfortunately, during the entire process of wishing and hoping to one day have them, I had forgotten one minor problem about owning this magnificent invention of shoes with wheels. While all my friends lived in town where paved roads surrounded their houses in fancy culs-de-sac and sidewalks galore, I lived in the country, a 15-minute drive from the closest town, surrounded by cornfields and dust from our gravel road. The gravel road and driveway leading up to our house were going to be pretty difficult to glide gracefully on. I WANTED STREET NOISE AND TALL BUILDINGS AND PEOPLE EVERYWHERE. But the pavement necessary to use my new blades was not a problem that my parents or I had foreseen. Instead of giving up my rollerblading dream, I resorted to the nearest hard-surfaced area: the garage. Unwilling to succumb to the disappointment of the lack of paved streets, I glided in circles and crazy eights after school for hours at a time in our two-car garage. From this moment on, I wished so badly that I was a city kid. They had neighbor kids to play with, nearby playgrounds and stores to buy candy from. I couldn’t understand why all I had were fields and trees. Of course, making forts out of fallen sticks and skipping rocks in the stream was fun, but I wanted more. I wanted street noise and tall buildings and people everywhere. I remember watching in amazement while riding the school bus, looking at the skyline as we would pass through the city for a class field trip. I thought about how lucky other kids were to be living there. It felt like I was passing an entirely different world filled with activities and attractions made just for kids. I would return home, my heart filled with envy as I watched Nickelodeon TV shows filled with city kids. Someday, I told myself. Someday, I will live in a big city, and I won’t have to rollerblade in the garage anymore. One day after school I went to my cousin Emily’s house in town. I brought my new rollerblades, and we explored
the sidewalks while clutching each other’s arms, both trying not to fall. The sidewalks in town were in poor condition with cracks and rocks everywhere. Instead of gliding gracefully, our teeth chattered as we struggled to make it down the block. We approached the top of a hill and, without hesitation, continued to awkwardly shuffle our little feet along the busted concrete. Fearless, we sped down the hill. It was only then that I realized that I never had to use my breaks in my garage. Screaming my brains out, I panicked, hit a rock and skidded down the sidewalk feeling every little pebble and grain of sand scrape my hands and knees. After catching my breath, I unbuckled the plastic straps on my blades and threw them on the ground. Embarrassed, I walked back to Emily’s house barefoot and angry at the world for letting me fall. As I cleaned my wounds, I thought about how disappointed I was in myself, and how if I had been at home in the garage I would have never fallen. Being safely contained in my garage, however, gave me no reason to get back up and try again. With inevitable pain comes growth and lessons learned, and if risk is not involved, it is hard to learn. This is why I believe I became so keen on living the city life. After growing up in the solitude of the country, my safety bubble needed to burst. AFTER GROWING UP IN THE SOLITUDE OF THE COUNTRY, MY SAFETY BUBBLE NEEDED TO BURST. With my recent move to Minneapolis (I’m finally a city kid!), I’ve developed an appreciation for space, nature and diverse lifestyles. I’m patiently waiting for my first fall, my first challenge to dust myself off and learn from. When I return to my roots, I look up at the night sky and can actually see the stars and smell the fresh air, which is different than the air of the city. After having experienced both country and city living, I have found a happy medium and can appreciate both lifestyles. And without my childhood as a country girl, I would not love being a city kid so much.
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T Serve Over Rice By MARIDEX ABRAHAM ILLUSTRATIONS By MICHELE EBNET
As I sat eating my lunch during work one day, I thought about how vital food is to our lives. We feel nourished after each bite since our bodies are energized from the nutrients stored in food. Cooking food is also considered therapeutic for one’s soul because we release a lot of tension when we turn our minds away from our personal worries to the more immediate task of preparing a meal. Yet food isn’t just an individual necessity; it also plays an important role in establishing community. Growing up, my family almost always ate dinner together. My mom would come home from work and start cooking right away, whether her day had been stressful or relaxed. She believed it was important for us to eat dinner together, so there was always a meal ready for us by the time my dad came home from work. Some days we had traditional Filipino food such as chicken adobo, fried fish with vinegar or sinigang (a tamarind-based soup with onions, green beans and seafood or meat). Other nights we’d eat less traditional food: ready-made lasagna, burgers, takeout from a Chinese restaurant. These were quick and easy fixes that took a huge weight off my mom’s shoulders, especially when she had a long day at work. I helped out by doing any necessary preparation such as chopping vegetables, thawing meat or making shakes if we had strawberries or avocados at home. On a regular basis, I set the table and made rice to have with our meals. Rice is a staple in a Filipino diet, and we ate it with most of our meals, even when we weren’t having Filipino food. When dinner was ready, our whole family would gather at the table and chat while we
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ate. My parents would usually ask my siblings and me how our days at school were. Honestly, school wasn’t always a happy topic of conversation, especially when I was in high school and the pressure to perform well increased as college applications became more of a reality. Although it annoyed me when my parents would nag about grades or future plans, I still enjoyed talking about how our days went or what our weekend plans were. When we were finished eating, everyone helped clear the table, and each night we took turns washing dishes – although, being the oldest, I did them most often. YET, FOOD ISN’T JUST AN INDIVIDUAL NECESSITY, IT ALSO PLAYS AN IMPORTANT ROLE IN ESTABLISHING COMMUNITY. When I left for college, my siblings took on some of my dinnertime responsibilities. It was a nice break, but I missed the bond that developed from having meals together. While my mom and I worked together to prepare the food, the entire family worked together to clean up. I realized quickly that food plays a similar role in community building at a college level, though it manifests itself in a different way. At the dorms we didn’t prepare the food ourselves since we had cafeterias within walking distance, but my friends and I did have meals together, and we got to know each other over slices of pizza or mashed potatoes. I learned about my friends’ hometowns and what their high schools were like. Some days we talked about the classes we were taking, swapping stories about boring professors or scatter-brained teacher’s assistants. At times we would fret over exams to the point where we’d seclude ourselves in our rooms or the library to study, but take a break and reward ourselves with a scoop of Babcock ice cream.
When I moved out of the dorms, it became more difficult to eat meals with my friends since we all lived off-campus. This made it even more meaningful whenever my roommate and I had the chance to sit down and have a meal together – whether we cooked it ourselves or ordered from the nearest Chinese restaurant.
When we cook chicken adobo at home, we really don’t follow a recipe with precise measurements. Here are some approximate measurements if you want to try this at home.
Going out to eat was also a way for me to reconnect with people. My friends and I had many different commitments beyond school, so after we moved out of the dorms, we made it a point to hang out at least once a month. Food was involved the majority of the time we got together, perhaps out of convenience. Despite our non-stop schedules as college students, we all needed to eat at some point during the day. What Chicken Ad better excuse to take time out of our busy obo lives to catch up than to go out to eat? Plus, 1 medium c going out to eat was a better atmosphere hicken (cut up) o live oil or v for conversation. When we went out to eat, 1 head of g egetable o arlic (crushe il 4 we could sit down and relax, which made it whole blac d) 1 tsp black p k pepper c epper lo v 1 es 3 drie easier to focus our attention on each other cup water d bay leave s 1 cup soy sa as opposed to seeing a concert or watch2/3 cup of uce v in e g a r ing a football game, where the attention is more focused on the performance or play. Cut up the chicken and clean well, into serving I REALIZED QUICKLY THAT FOOD or buy chic pieces. ken that is PLAYED A SIMILAR ROLE IN COMalready cut H e a t o il a nd sautee th MUNITY BUILDING AT A e crushed g arlic in a po COLLEGE LEVEL, THOUGH IT Once chick t. Add chic e n ken. is te nder, add th MANIFESTED ITSELF IN A (covered)un e re st o d f e th r m e edium heat ingredients DIFFERENT WAY. and cook for about 3 0 minutes. Serve over Stir occasio rice. nally. Now that I have graduated, I work 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. most days and live with five other women, but the bond created by sharing a meal hasn’t lost its value. I work for a transitional home for women where I’ve witnessed the residents help each other out with cooking and cleaning, and they don’t hesitate to share their food. I have had the tremendous opportunity to facilitate the cooking schedule and menu of their weekly community meal on Wednesday nights, and the women have shown me just as much generosity as they show each other. I am honored to be able to share a meal with the women for whom I work, and I am equally blessed to come home to my roommates, with whom I do the same. My roommates and I eat meals together three days a week. We take turns cooking and clearing the dishes and have great conversations about our days at work, just as my family does back at home. The tables may have turned slightly – I may be the one coming home from work and cooking dinner – but the bonding is still very present. And, instead of talking about homework, we talk about our jobs. We eat pasta with locally produced cheese and organic seasonal vegetables instead of chicken adobo or dorm cafeteria food, but despite these minor differences, one thing remains constant: Having a meal together draws people closer, as they are in communion with the food and with each other.
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By ADRIENNE jOHNSEN ARTwORK By KARISSA wAGNER
Chalk sticks rolled across my driveway, finding the tiny hands of those who called for them, and little pebbles stuck to my knees as I rose to finish our masterpiece. I sidestepped the plump cumulus cloud hovering by the anthill and hopped over the overflowing pot of gold now partially hidden under fresh grass clippings from my recently mowed lawn. As I swept the final majestic arc of color over the top of the rainbow, my friends stood back to admire our artwork. On summer afternoons during my childhood, bland concrete driveways would blossom with color. Hopscotch squares, exotic animals and smiling self-portraits decorated the cul-de-sac. When one cement canvas was filled, my neighborhood friends and I would migrate to the next, swinging our buckets of worn-down chalk at our sides. I imagine a similar playful attitude was at work in the local residents and volunteers who came together in summer 2008 to decorate part of their own neighborhood in my hometown of Rochester, Minn. Instead of chalk, though, they used gallons of paint. The vibrant colors of a 60-feet-long goose, Rochester’s unofficial mascot, stretch along Second Avenue as part of a street mural that was splashed across the pavement in June in an effort to encourage community building and enhance the surrounding neighborhood. The larger-than-life art project was organized by city resource center RNeighbors and is part of an ongoing program called RColorful Corners which plans and carries out neighborhood beautification projects. My fellow Rochesterite and good friend, Heather Cederholm, served as an intern with RNeighbors last summer and was enthusiastic about how well-received the street painting event was. “Across the age spectrum, the neighbors were all really excited,” she told me. “Common areas are the starting point for talking about what a neighborhood needs.”
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Inspired by a St. Paul, Minn., program called Paint the Pavement that had already completed two street mural projects, RNeighbors researched the process and effects of creating community art. Their exploration soon led them to the Portland Intersection Repair Project in Oregon. As a branch of the City Repair Project, Intersection Repair promotes the community fellowship and growth that is gained from creating public squares. The goal of the program is to assist neighborhoods in designing, constructing and maintaining their own healthy community spaces. As an office coordinator for the organization, Matt Phillips has had a lot of experience working with volunteers and community outreach programs. “Culture is created in these natural gathering places,” he said. “They’re a focal point, in a way. They’re very symbolic.”
The Intersection Repair Project has established a process of “placemaking” that encourages citizen-led action and initiative. Community members are responsible for generating mural ideas that represent their unique culture and for collecting approval signatures from their
neighbors. Intersection Repair assists them by guiding them through the city’s legal requirements and providing logistical support. “Ultimately, the projects are thought up, created, designed, funded and maintained by the community,” Matt explained. “We help in interacting with the city.” Heather explained the process in a similar way. “The physical project is one of the goals,” she said, “but the other goal is to get people talking to each other. We do the legwork, but they’re really the body of the project.” As much as these efforts contribute to building community, initial interest in neighborhood street murals is often sparked by pedestrian safety concerns. Matt described some of the projects as “intersection interventions” designed to calm traffic. By painting an intersection with bright colors and vibrant designs, drivers tend to slow down to admire the art, but also because they expect pedestrians. Many roadways that were previously dedicated to the sole purpose of vehicle transportation have now been reclaimed as shared community centerts.
Similar street art projects have sprung up around the country as neighbors gather to improve safety, beautify their shared spaces, and get to know one another. From the geometric sunrays on an intersection in Portland, Ore., to the desert flowers in a public square in Tucson, Ariz., communities have invested time in creating street mural artwork. Bold pictures and bright patterns now lie in place of faded pavement, and each colorful design was developed as a team effort to positively impact a neighborhood. These projects often inspire other types of community beautification as well. In addition to painting intersections, neighbors may plant communal gardens, install public benches or set up informational boards where people can post community news. Each of these elements adds life and variety to a neighborhood’s public square and reflects the unique personality of the area while offering more ways for people to interact and share experiences. Like all of these projects, the swirling, ornamental border that surrounds the painted feathery goose on Second Avenue. tells a story. I can see neighbors rising up and brushing the little pebbles from their knees as they stand back to admire their hard work, just as my friends and I did as we finished our chalk rainbow. Like Matt said, community art represents the cultures of the people who gather to create it, and across the country, neighbors are joining together to construct unique spaces and lay the foundations for new relationships.
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a GRIEF RELIEF by chelsea frank-byrne illustrations by jenny williams
The first thing that often comes to mind when thinking support group at a local hospital, and after much research about Girl Scouts is cookies, cookies, cookies. However, and consulting, they decided to plan six sessions, with Girl Scouts do much more than sell Thin Mints. One each session centered on a different theme. of the most important aspects of being a Girl Scout is involvement in the community. Phylicia Short and Cassy “I decided to start this project because I knew that our community didn’t have a place where Norton, both from Waconia, Minn., have been children and teens could go to express Girl Scouts since first grade. After aspiring to their feelings. I thought that it would be earn the Silver Award, they decided to go a great opportunity to provide such for the Gold, the highest award in Girl a place. With my own experience Scouts. Their years of volunteering “WITH MY OWN losing somebody close to me, I and helping others prepared them EXPERIENCE LOSING knew how difficult it was, and for reaching their goal. Even SOMEBODY CLOSE TO ME, I I wished that I had someone though earning a Gold Award is KNEW HOW DIFFICULT IT WAS, AND to talk to when I needed it,” a major commitment (it usually I WISHED THAT I HAD SOMEONE TO Phylicia said. requires more than a year of TALK TO WHEN I NEEDED IT.” time), these two high schoolers Once they decided on a Gold -PHYLICIA SHORT saw a need in their community Award project, the next step that gave them the inspiration was to get it approved by the to turn their plans for the project Girl Scout Council. Once approved, into a reality. the hard work of planning and executing it Because Phylicia had experienced the deaths of two sisters and Cassy had also lost family members and friends, the two young women decided to start a grief support group for children and teens. They wanted to hold the
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began. They spent many hours researching and contacting other grief support groups to ensure that the sessions would be successful. They received much of their guidance from talking with Jane Veitch, who has
Before beginning their Gold Award project, girls must earn three awards relating to the Girl Scout Law, complete 30 hours in a leadership role, spend 40 hours doing career and post-secondary education exploration, assess the needs of the community around them and brainstorm ways that they could solve these problems. Each project addresses a need within a girl’s community, allows her to demonstrate her leadership skills and creates sustainable change. For many girls, the leadership skills, organizational skills and sense of community and commitment that come from “going for the Gold” set the foundation for a lifetime of active citizenship.
run grief programs at Children’s Hospitals and Clinics of Minnesota, for many years. Phylicia, Cassy and other hospital volunteers then had to figure out what each meeting theme would be and how they would tie them all together. In all, they spent over three years working on the project. They took part in career shadowing, hours of volunteering, budgeting, talking with hospital administrators and advertising throughout the community. Finally, the day of the first support group came. “Every time was a unique experience, and I could really tell that people were getting a lot out of it. It was nice to hear at the end of the sessions that what we were doing was helpful in their lives. They said that it was a nice place to go to and express their emotions and thoughts while having someone listen,” said Phylicia. “The group proved to me that there was a need for this in the community,” said Cassy. “After the sessions, the kids who were in the group said this had taught them that they can’t hold things in and that they needed to tell and express their hurt feelings to those they could trust and talk to. This group gave them such a place and people that understood them.” Cassy and Phylicia said each session was memorable in its own way, but it was the overall experience that really touched them. Coming into the group, it may have been hard to foresee the hurt that could or would come from talking about and remembering someone who died. But however much it hurts to talk about losing loved ones, Phylicia and Cassy knew that not talking about it would hurt more. “Through the sharing of my own grief, I have been able to help others open up and receive the support they need,” said Cassy. “Starting this group up felt both hard and wonderful at the same time. Memories of those that I lost hurt, but I realized creating this group would both help me cope as well as help others cope with situations that are very hard.” Sometimes when one person, especially a young person, tries to make an impact and change the community
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“THE GOOD T HING ABOUT THE GO LD AWARD PROJEC IS THAT T T GIRLS C HESE HIGH SCH OME AR OOL A NEED OUND A THAT PE ND SEE OPLE HA TALKIN VE BEE G ABOU N T FOR Y THEY JU ST DO IT EARS AND .” -SARA H KUENLE
around her, people doubt it will actually succeed. However, Girl Scouts are changing their communities every year as they journey toward earning the Gold Award. Sometimes, all it takes is that determination needed to get something done. “The good thing about the Gold Award project is that these high school girls come around and see a need that people have been talking about for years and they just do it,” said Sarah Kuenle, Girl Scout program specialist. “Sometimes us adults can sit around and talk about these [needs in our community, but] these girls in high school just don’t let anything stand in their way.” By bringing together teens and children, Cassy and Phylicia were able to help them talk about their feelings in a safe environment, allowing them to release rather than bottle up all of their grief. This enables people to work through their grief in a healthy way. Phylicia and Cassy were able to accomplish something amazing by helping young people in their community deal with the grief of losing a loved one. Through the medium of the Girl Scouts, Phylicia and Cassy used their resources to uplift a community and earn the Girl Scout Gold Award. Only 5 percent of Girl Scouts nationally earn the Gold Award each year, which makes it a great accomplishment for every Girl Scout who puts in the time and effort necessary to achieve it. More importantly though, is the way each Gold Award project promotes service in the individuals involved while also positively contributing to the community around them.
The Girl Scout Gold Award is earned by girls in grades 10 to 12. To earn the Gold Award, a girl must fulfi ll requirements related to leadership, career exploration and community service. The Gold Award project is developed by each girl to match her interests and passions. Each girl must spend at least 65 hours planning and implementing her project and she must work with others in their community to put her plan into action.
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U Testing ourselves on Western highways, I am nauseous from map reading while he controls the country on the radio. In the Mojave Desert, gas stations are farther than a half tank of gas apart. He assures me hitchhiking is an option.
BY RACHAEL BAIRD ILLUSTRATION BY KARISSA WAGNER
Steaming from the day’s sunburn, we argue the Big Dipper through the moonroof: he has spent a lifetime looking at the Little. We laugh at the Grand Canyon: there’s no bridge across? Next time, we will bring our wait-not-yet children. Abandoning camping, we sleep in musty motel rooms. Too exhausted, we fold our bodies like closed parentheses.
I wrote this poem after a weeklong road trip, When the sky relaxes to exotic shades of sherbet, during which my matching memories of postcards, we send up boyfriend and smoke signals of wildfire. I drove from San Diego, Calif., to the Grand Canyon. It was the longest period of time we’d ever spent together, just the two of us. Even after several years of dating, I was worried how we’d act as a team and wondered if we’d get sick of each other. In the end, we had a wonderful time, and (I know it’s cliché) we felt we grew even closer.
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L FINDING MY VOICE AT TH E
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By ELLIE ROSCHER ILLUSTRATIONS By jENNy wILLIAMS
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t a very young age, I became acutely aware of the power I had in the world as a rich, white, heterosexual American. It was unsettling, as I liked to earn the space allotted to me in life, and this was handed over without question. While I was invited to speak, others were silenced. I was granted wealth, security and societal success while others fought for their mere survival. Although society granted me the voice, I realized that my power gave me the responsibility to listen to and learn from the voiceless.
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had created – boundaries of age, gender, nationality, religion, sexuality, race and socioeconomic status. All I knew was that this intermingling of stories, this holy encounter, this invitation to a table at which the world told me I did not belong, challenged me to own my privilege and work for justice in a way that offered more access to more people. I felt God open my eyes to see and hear human beings that had been made invisible and silent with institutional and systematic oppression. As I crossed these boundaries of fear, my circle of compassion grew, my pool of “life professors” deepened and my spirit became more beautiful with each interaction.
My Catholic school, devoted to social teaching, sent me out into the world in my pleated jumper to interact with people who society classified so differently from me. It did not happen naturally, so I actively sought out people without my same privilege. I was not sent out to act or save, but to listen and learn. It was my task to recognize my privilege and power as a rich, white, heterosexual American. I accepted invitations to come to the table at AIDS hospices, soup kitchens, homeless shelters and different countries in hopes of encountering stories and encountering truth. I sat at a table with homeless mothers, their small children running around our feet, laughing. I listened to their stories of leaving shelter beds at 4:30 a.m. to catch a bus in order to provide their children breakfast at the soup kitchen before school. I sat at a table with my Uruguayan house family, eating parts of the cow I never thought I would be able to swallow, listening to them tell me of times of military dictatorship when liberal people were killed and imprisoned for thinking progressively and working for social change.
After learning the importance and power of listening to others’ stories, I started to feel the importance of telling my own story. I was born privileged in race, nationality, sexual orientation and socioeconomic class. But I was also born a woman. While thinking about holding my privilege gracefully, I realized when it came to my gender, I would have to find my voice in order to liberate the privileged men with my female experience so that we could all be transformed. I was sitting in philosophy class in my Catholic high school studying an article by a feminist Marxist named Sandra Bartky. As she talked about the mystification, fragmentation and objectification that happen in the economic, political and psychological oppression of women, I came to life. My teacher saw the “aha” moment and remembers it to this day as my awakening as a feminist. He quickly assigned me a 10-page paper answering the question “Are women free?” My answer, most definitely, was no. I knew from that day – in addition to listening to stories of people experiencing oppression because of income, race, sexual identity and ability – I was called to find my own voice and tell my story as a woman.
Unfortunately, I found that I was more comfortable listening to stories of people who are oppressed than telling my own experience as a woman. I was afraid to complain. I was afraid to get angry. I was afraid that no one would believe me, or even worse, that no one would care. And gender oppression is an interesting By listening to stories, I learned quickly that the ones beast. It is the only oppression in the United States where the numerical majority is the oppressed group. We are labeled “other” were sacred souls like myself, created taught to believe that how we are treated is by a loving God. I learned that doing service normal. Status quo, the repression of actually meant being served, being filled stories, is essential to keep men in up and filled out, set straight and OUR COMMUNITY IS power. The acts of oppression taught and nurtured. My youthful STARTING TO TRANSFORM. are subtle. How can I make innocence could not understand WOMEN ARE STEPPING you believe the stares, the why the world was so scared UP TO THE TABLE, AND discounting, the discrediting to cross boundaries that we THE CONVERSATION IS that happens a million times as power-pursuing humans CHANGING. a day, sometimes when I am I sat at a table with a man, one month before he died of AIDS, stringing bead necklaces he would later sell to raise money for his hospice care in Minneapolis, listening to him tell me stories of when he brought the house down singing “Gloria” as a drag queen.
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not even looking? Men and women both met me with disapproval when I started to tell my story as a female student.
I WAS AFRAID TO COMPLAIN. I WAS AFRAID TO GET ANGRY. I WAS AFRAID THAT NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE ME, OR EVEN WORSE, THAT NO ONE WOULD CARE.
At first I didn’t trust the legitimacy of my own experiences and wanted to go back to listening to other people’s stories. But the more I listened, the more I realized gender oppression is still very real, and telling my story is speaking truth to the oppression that happens. As I listened to others, they empowered me to see how the world tells me daily and subtly that I am inferior as a woman. I am the “other.” I am voiceless and powerless. My gifts of communication and compassion are not of value. My salary is lower. My stature commands less respect. My feelings are belittled. My story is forgotten or merely tolerated. My body is objectified. I am stereotyped, dominated and alienated. Due to countless coincidences, 10 years later I found myself teaching at the very same school I attended. A decade after speaking out as a student, I found it just as imperative to tell my story as a female teacher. In my first year, I was sexually harassed by six sophomore boys. I was mistaken as a student multiple times a week. When I acted with strength in the classroom, students dismissed me or pushed back instead of showing respect. When I acted with emotion, I was labeled overly hormonal. While my male counterparts got automatic respect from students, I had to fight for it. I would be outwardly ignored in meetings. Boys would flirt with me to make up for their laziness and missing work.
But I knew it was not my fault, that how I was treated was not acceptable, so I kept telling my story. And this year, female students have found their voices. They are speaking truth. Horrible stories of harassment are being brought to the table, and their stories are empowering others. Our community is starting to transform. Women are stepping up to the table, and the conversation is changing. I believe that people who have had their voices taken from them still have stories to tell. There is radically liberating, life-giving good news stirring amongst the powerless and suffering, the invisible members of our human community. We will all suffer and be a little less than beautiful until everyone is invited to share at the table in a community of truth and equality. At times, I am asked to listen and claim my privilege. As a woman, it is time to use my voice to speak the truth to power in love.
I would go home at least once a week in tears, absolutely exhausted from working upstream, from fending off stares and sexual comments and inappropriate jokes. Often I could not even put my finger on one comment or one student who I could blame. The pure exhaustion came from systemic gender oppression in my school, a microcosm of society. And when I brought this to the attention of the staff and administration, I was disregarded. I dreamed of what it would feel like to come to school for just one day as a man, with broad shoulders and a deep voice and societal power. I was told to change how I dressed, change how I taught and create more boundaries with my students. In other words, my difficulties with students were my fault.
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staff&interns
Jen Dotson, executive director, is fairly certain that life is best viewed through a lens of imagination. As such, she lives in a world where playgrounds are meant for adults and cartwheels are a commonplace occurrence on city streets. She takes her greatest inspiration from her 92-year-old grandmother who taught her that the most effective way to get a new perspective on life is to climb a tree. Nicolle Westlund, managing editor, thinks that “Island Caretaker” sounds like the best job in the world, especially if the island is off the coast of Australia. In her limited free time, she can usually be found watching an episode of “Gilmore Girls” or singing along to the soundtrack from the musical “Wicked.” She wishes she knew how to surf, but thinks her intense fear of sharks may prevent her professional surfing career from becoming a reality. Megan Foss, artistic director, mastered the craft of graphic design post-college and now manages the Alive design department. She loves animals, cupcakes with pink frosting, monster truck races and the previews at the movies. She dreams of one day owning a black Chevy El Camino and traveling around the world meeting lots of fascinating people. Karissa Wagner, creative director, is a graduate of The Art Institutes International Minn. She is a master of all things creative, and spends her time developing new Alive ventures, coordinating the design team and surprising the staff with handmade Alive accoutrements. Her other interests include traveling, rollerblading, reading, lifeguarding, swimming and painting. Abby Zimmer, executive assistant, is a St. Joseph Worker living in community with six other women in Minneapolis. She enjoys taking the time to walk to local coffee shops, to read into all hours of the night and to dance in the rain. Abby looks forward to experiencing more of the city life around her.
Lisa Teicher, director of public relations, has a passion for the arts and an obsession with Irish dancing and music. She has the ability to change any rock song into her own operatic version. Lisa also finds pleasure in the simple things in life such as jumping in rain puddles, taking afternoon drives and smelling fresh laundry. Emily Byers-Ferrian, program director, recently completed her editorial internship at Alive and has begun work with Alive staff to develop new workshops and programs in 2009. She has spent most of the last three years in Spain as she pursued her English major at St. Louis University-Madrid. She loved the journey of learning to speak Spanish fluently and has fun with the complexities and play of language. Danica Myers, graphic designer, loves traveling and becoming a cultural collage of a person. She couldn’t live without nature, music that has soul and being surrounded by genuine people. Her favorite books are children’s stories that are deeply philosophic and poetic. She has a great propensity for inventing words and making simple things in life into elaborate metaphors. Kelin Loe, poetry editor, just graduated from St. Olaf College. She moved from the contented cornfields of Northfield, Minn., to the lakes and questionable urban planning of Minneapolis. Everyday she writes, reads and studies for the GRE! In addition to reading poetry for Alive, she interns and takes classes at the Loft Literary Center. She hopes to attend a Master of Fine Arts program in poetry come next autumn.
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Alive Arts Media, Inc. is a nonprofit organization that exists to empower young women in their creative, educational and professional pursuits. We accomplish this by offering a high-level internship program, through the publication of Alive Magazine – an online and print publication featuring young writers and artists – and Picturing Everyday Beauty: A project to add insight to the viewfinder.
Today's teenage women are tired of being talked down to, talked about, targeted only as consumers and being left out of the conversations that shape our culture. This generation of women are digitally savvy, well-read, deep thinking, articulate individuals who are burgeoning with leadership ability. Given affirmation of their talents, feedback to cultivate growth, the education and tools to succeed and a firm understanding of others' experiences to ground them in the reality that their dreams are attainable, these women will become the business and community leaders who will shape the culture for tomorrow's children. It is a story that speaks of hope. Alive Arts Media operates under the belief that everyone has a story to tell. As such, every level of AAM's business model and programming creates opportunities for individuals to tell those stories. Utilizing a framework of mentorship and community, we facilitate dialogue between individuals at different stages of professional development to aid emerging writers and artists in their adolescent and early adult years. As an organization, we are primarily run by high-level internships that function as short-term staff positions (editorial, graphic design and public relations). By keeping the entire production of Alive Magazine in the hands of women 25 and under, we eliminate their competion with professionally established individuals, offering them greater responsibility than would otherwise be available at such a young age.
“DON’T ASK WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS. ASK WHAT MAKES YOU COME ALIVE AND GO DO THAT... BECAUSE WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS IS PEOPLE WHO HAVE COME ALIVE.” -howard thurman
Alive Arts Media responds directly to the following areas of societal need:
- Leadership & professional development/advancement of young women. Women still make 76 cents to every dollar made by men and, although women earn a higher GPA on average than men, their post-college professional goals decline as college progresses. Alive Arts Media constructively fosters professional acceptance for women in the working world, and equips adolescent women with tools to succeed.
- Need for media reform, specifically the lack of positive media available in the young women's market. Alive Magazine presents a constructive solution that presents intelligent, realistic models for young women. - Personal development for young women, including body image, self-esteem and confidence. - Advancement of underserved women and youth in the local community with education and professional opportunities for college acceptance and post-graduate employment.
staff&interns
Sarah Bodeau, public relations intern, is a recent grad from the University of Minnesota where she majored in English. She is a lifetime devotee of Paul Bunyan Land. She loves that her parents still have, and display, many of those “old time” photos from childhood trips. Her ideal living situation would include many bookshelves, a dog and a garden. Rachele Cermak, editorial intern, spends hours at her computer and loves it. Whether it’s managing Web sites, writing blog entries or just updating photos on her profile, she is constantly posting information to the Internet for the world to see. When she needs human interaction, she enjoys going to shows and supporting the local hip-hop scene. Michele Ebnet, graphic design intern, is in the midst of finishing her Bachelor of Fine Arts from St. Cloud State University. Her passions lie in traveling the world and seeing beauty in any form of design. She can easily find humor in awkward situations. She often daydreams about exploring the Mediterranean while selling her art in the streets of exotic cities. Adrienne Johnsen, editorial intern, is studying English and religion at Hamline University. A seasoned people-watcher, she spends most of her time observing and contemplating the world. Adrienne enjoys playing softball, laughing too hard at jokes, looking at old family photos and yelling at the TV when watching “Lost.” Jamie Joslin, development intern, is a mom to a dog named Jake and a cat named Kitty, who love to play in the snow - and chase each other around the house. Jamie grew up in Dallas and attends the University of Minnesota, where she is finishing up her degree in English. She is an avid video game collector and player and is looking forward to getting married this spring and traveling across Europe this summer. Cheyenne Kirkpatrick, public relations intern, grew up in Minnesota but continues to be utterly shocked by the weather. She is studying media communication and psychology at Crown College. She loves to write and has a habit of smiling and singing to herself. She thinks the world would be better if people were transparent with each other. Kaylee Laudon, public relations intern, is a senior at St. Cloud State University. She looks forward to the changing seasons, would rather eat a salad instead of a dessert and enjoys a rainy day lounging in an old pair of sweatpants. She grew up dancing but secretly wishes she could be a boxer. She thinks the world would not turn without love. Courtney Still, editorial intern, is close to graduation with a degree in English from Bethel University. She loves to spend the afternoon in a bookshop, discovering new authors. She also enjoys old movies, museums and playing guitar. Her passions include poetry, creating inspirational works of art and learning through everyday experiences. Tiana Toso, graphic design intern, graduated from Luther College with a degree in art. After college, she worked as a video editor, freelance wedding photographer, and later pursued an additional degree in digital design at the Art Institute International. She is a lover of nature, swing dancing and learning about different languages and cultures. Jenny Williams, graphic design intern, is addicted to spontaneity and believes that new experiences make life worth living – and good people to share them with is what makes those experiences unforgettable. She dreams of using her creativity to enhance a good cause. That, and to drive around the country in a RV taking unique pictures.
read. share your story. join the movement.
www.ALIVEMAGAZINE.org
We want to hear your voice in the next issue of Alive Magazine! Submit your creative essay, painting, poem, drawing, travelogue, photography or article by Friday, May 15, to be considered for the August/September issue of AM. Read our guidelines and submit your work anytime at www.alivemagazine.org/submissions.php. Submissions received after May 15 will be considered for future issues or published on our Web site.
For now, you can view issues of Alive Magazine and read new content weekly on our Web site for free. To purchase print copies of the magazine, visit www.magcloud.com/alivemagazine. To support the future publication of AM, please consider making a $5 donation (through PayPal on our Web site) for each online issue that you enjoy.
When we went all-online in 2007, we didn’t want to be just another blog or magazine on the Web. We wanted to offer our readers timely content, but also reserve the chance to incorporate artwork and stories in a similar way as we did with our print magazine. So, we have the best of both worlds: new articles twice a week on our homepage, plus a fully designed, viewable issue of the magazine every other month.
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We were founded on an audacious vision: That a new generation of women – given the opportunity, access and vehicle to do so – could change the world. This vision found its wings through the establishment of Alive Arts Media, Inc. whose message is simple: her voice in the media, her place in the world. The bi-monthly production cycle of Alive Magazine is fueled by our internship program, where college-aged women design layouts, work with writers and publicize Alive Magazine and Alive Arts Media events. To apply for an internship with Alive Magazine at our headquarters in Minneapolis, Minn., visit www.alivemagazine.org/internships/index.php. We cannot produce Alive Magazine without our amazing supporters and donors. We want to specifically thank this powerful community that has demonstrated their concern for the next generation of young women. In the past year, our loyal donors have given gifts ranging from $5 to $15,000, providing a tangible opportunity for these young women to create the changes they wish to see in the world. Please consider joining them today at www.alivemagazine.org/donate.php.
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TS ME
we don’t accomplish anything in this world alone... and whatever happens is the result of the whole tapestry of one’s life and all the weavings of individual threads from one to another that
creates something.
-sandra day o’connor
Alive Arts Media, Inc. 1720 Madison St. Ne, Ste. 300 Minneapolis, MN 55413 Change Service Requested