Moved

 Hello!

On this observance of the late, magnificent Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., I feel moved to write. And my friends, it's days like this when creativity is a useful outlet for our emotions, whatever they are. So I return to my old favorite art, one I discovered my aptitude for in high school and has never quite deserted me. Though Heaven knows I've let my talent fall by the wayside and not considered it much of a gift for years and years at a stretch.

Throughout my life I've had long, long moments of grief and silence where I needed to withdraw to collect myself, and didn't feel at all like giving  back to a world that had robbed me of something I loved. Indeed my only focus at those times was what I then lacked, and what I longed for. I wasn't thinking clearly or creatively. I thought only of a gaping black hole, freshly opened in my life, where my grandmother, father, fiance or best friend had been. And it felt like there was nothing that could ever fill the void. I refused to let there be one.

It certainly didn't seem like a few worthless lines on a white screen could ever heal me. What did my thoughts even matter? How could giving them a voice for the world to hear make any difference at all in my life or the lives of others?

Far too often, the Disabled are made to believe that we should stay silent. Because our thoughts do not in fact, matter. And our creative expression is not good enough to be seen by anyone but those in our immediate circle--if at all.

Most of my life I was led to believe this. I'm not sure the authority figures in my life intended to make me feel inadequate. I think they thought they were being helpful, trying to give me realistic expectations of how I would be perceived by the world.

"You'll never be a leader," they told me, "don't aim for that job." "Don't try to get published in that magazine," or "don't set yourself up for disappointment." As if they knew. As if they thought it foolish of me to try.

Thank goodness for a free online outlet for my creativity. Thank Goodness I'm not as sad and broken as I was when I couldn't think of one word to put on paper. Thank Goodness the cycles of my life have shown me that there is always a low ebb, followed by high tide. Nothing does last forever. Life goes on no matter how much it hurts for a moment. So I should just keep writing. This is my life.

Before I leave you with that, let me say one thing. Anxiety and fear are pervasive bedfellows. If one member of a marginalized community feels it, it is safe to assume we all do. And safe to assume that the fears for that person are just as legitimate for others. The question of "who's next?" might come up in the next four years. Frequently. Don't discount it.

Please don't forget what makes us a really wonderful country. Don't let the violent rhetoric of a few dictate your own actions. Remember to love people because they are people. Not on the condition that they fit into the right box. Help people because it's the right thing to do. Don't expect applause. Don't scoff at what scares you. Confront the discomfort and do the right thing. We are all going to need it.