Our future is written by all of us

17 chairs set with flowers to
represent those killed in Parkland

One of my biggest concerns in middle school was whether or not my blue Music in Motion t-shirt was clean on the days we had performances. We didn't have school uniforms so making sure my choir shirt was ready to go was a new concept for me.

That was the extent of my worries back then. As it should be for eleven, twelve and thirteen year olds.

But today? Today I stood amidst 1800 middle school students who are concerned they are going to be shot and killed on their campus. They're concerned their friends might be shot and killed. They're concerned that they'll lose the people they love because all around them people are losing the people they love.

The middle school Angela works at is a representation of the best and the worst of Los Angeles, of California, of America, of our world. Of the 1800 kids who walk through those doors every day, some don't speak English well, some don't have two parents at home, some are taking college classes, some have celebrity parents and are being taught they should get special treatment because of that, some are Christians, some are Muslims, some sit down during the Pledge of Allegiance, some are transgender, some are citizens of foreign lands, some live in big sprawling estates, some share a bedroom with multiple siblings, some are sweet and kind, some have chips on their shoulders, some cry at the drop of a hat, some fight like they're in the ring every day.

But today? On this bright Friday morning in April? They all had one thing in common. They all wanted to be safe. They all expected to be safe. Because they were at school.

But that's not a given anymore. That's not a given anywhere in our country. And these kids, they know that. They know about gun violence and the horrors that surround that. All too intimately. I didn't know a thing about guns growing up. My grandfather hunted but that's all I knew. I knew I didn't like venison but I ate it. That was enough.

These kids today, they stood up and they spoke. They read speeches they'd written. They held signs they'd painted. They spoke from the heart about wanting the people in charge to be better, do better. They spoke of Congress and working for common sense gun control. They know so much more than I did at their age. And that breaks my heart.

I stood there, amidst the students, taking photos, and listening. And crying. A boy got up to speak and though his thoughts weren't coherently laid out, his emotion was raw. He didn't want people to keep dying. A girl got up and she expressed concern that it would happen next at their school, and she was terrified of that. Their concerns, and their emotions, were so powerful. So strong. So grown-up.

The world is so much different today than it was when I was in middle school. It's bigger and at the same time, smaller. We know so much more, for better and for worse. And we have so much more influence.

These kids. They have influence. They have voices. They reminded me today to have an opinion and to share it. To use my voice. To not fall into the trap of believing I can't change the world. We all can, whether we're twelve or forty or eighty. As President Obama wrote about the kids speaking up from Parkland, Florida, in this week's issue of Time Magazine:

Our kids now show us what we’ve told them America is all about, even if we haven’t always believed it ourselves: that our future isn’t written for us, but by us.

Our future is written by us. All of us. We have the agency to enact thought. To enact action. To enact change. We all do. Kids and adults alike. Thank you, JB Bears, for reminding me of that this morning.

The leadership team who created the event

Writing Every Second I'm Alive

The notebooks from Doris

"How do you write every second you're alive?" -- Lin Manuel Miranda in the Hamilton song Non-Stop. 

Well?

My answer?

How can I not.

Last week my parents headed out on the second leg of their road trip. They'd been with Angela and I on Abbey Place for just over two weeks. It was a wonderful vacation -- for all four of us. We had adventures every day. One day we went wine tasting in east Los Angeles. One day we watched a baby hippopotamus sunning herself by a cement pond. One day we watched a silly movie about gnomes while laying in leather recliners. One day we explored a pier and ate ice cream while shivering and trying not to be too upset at ourselves that we'd gotten us lost and driven an extra hour away from where we were meant to be (that last part might have just been me). But every day was wonderful. Every day was something new. Every day was putting together jigsaw puzzles and watching new television shows and discussing current events and eating new foods and fixing the toilet seat and doing seventy-two loads of laundry. It was life. All of it. It was our best life.

When my mother first arrived she asked if I had to work the next day. I quickly answered nope. The next day she inquired again, and I expanded my answer a bit. I didn't need to sit at my desk and write that day. I had known of their arrival and our stay-cation in Los Angeles. I had planned to turn in a draft of a screenplay the day before they arrived and I did. I had let people know I'd be away from email a bit and taking some time away from the keyboard. Just as I do whenever I go to Michigan or on any other trip.

I wanted to be in the moment with my family. I wanted to be downtown riding the funicular and at the Getty looking at the Monets. I wanted to be shopping at the mall with my mom and getting pedicures with dad and not worrying about work. Yes, a luxury. Yes, a privilege. Yes, a reality since I'm underemployed at the moment.

But I also knew that I would be writing every single day they were here. Just as I am writing every other day of my life. In the song the question is asked of Lin's Hamilton how do you write every second you're alive. Every second.

And my answer is how can I not. Because every single thing that happens to me, every choice I make, every emotion I experience, every piece of food I taste, every sip of wine I savor, every person I communicate with is all leading to the stories I tell. They are all a part of the stories. They are all the stories.

I grew up hearing the phrase "write what you know". And as a young writer, and an aspiring professional writer, this was not good advice. This was ridiculous advice. I knew nothing. I'd experienced nothing back then. Still today -- it's not enough. I need to know so much more in order to tell stories, to do my job. Because if I were to only write what I know, then I'd write about a woman who sits in front of her keyboard and daydreams and taps on keys.

But there's more to unpack in that phrase. If I don't take it so literally, that I should only write about teaching and volunteering and watching TV and cooking and doing laundry, I come to understand that writing what I know is writing about the experience of being me. It's writing about the people in my life, my connections with them, it's writing about the work that I do, and how it affects myself and others, it's writing about my emotional life, my life.

And so, every day that I got up and ran to the fancy donut store early to surprise my family or sat down in the living room while my parents did the dishes because I'd cooked, I was writing. I was having experiences in being me. I was having experiences to draw from. To use to color my worlds. To use to create my worlds.

Yesterday I started a big rewrite project on my SEAL team pilot. I'm creating new characters and fleshing others out. I'm exploring new worlds and delving into relationships I've never had. I don't know what it's like to be the President of the United States or a CIA agent or a father. But I'm going to write about all of those things. And I feel confident in doing that even though it's "not what I know". I feel confident because of all of the experiences I've had in my 40 years. In the last few years. In the last few weeks. Every day I pull from my life. From the life I live, from the life I watch others live, to write the best stories I can.

A year ago today Angela and I were on our spring break trip in San Francisco. It was the last night of our stay and we sat in floor seats in the Orpheum Theater and watched Hamilton. It was one of the most amazing nights of my life. Here was Lin Manuel Miranda taking everything from every single day of his life and creating this musical. This movement. This masterpiece. Yes, Hamilton is about Alexander Hamilton, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America. But it's also about being an immigrant. Being a father. Being a son. Being a scholar. Being a husband. Being a friend. Being afraid. Being strong. Being weak. Being unafraid. All things I know Lin has experienced in his life.

Being a writer is a 24 hours, 7 days a week job. It's not something I turn on and off. I may go days without putting fingers to keyboard, weeks, months even. But I don't even go a few hours without writing. Other creative types know this. And the people in my life know this. And I love that. I love the encouragement I get, to keep writing. To keep going, Non-Stop.

This past fall I got a package in the mail from one of my favorite people in the whole world, my cousin Doris. In it was an assortment of beautiful notebooks. Small, large, colorful, practical, perfect. She'd seen them in a store and knew immediately that Angela and I needed them. We needed them to write down the experiences of being us. Because we all should. I love that. So much.

We are all writing every second we're alive. We're writing our lives. We're writing our existences. We're writing our relationships. We're writing our stories. And I'm so thankful I get to write my stories into other stories for the world to hopefully one day read, and see. And I'm so thankful to open a brand new journal from Doris today and start taking notes.