Activist?

In my mind's eye, I see myself and I am an activist.

But I have never been very good at activism

Be it a war, a candidate - heck even a neighborhood issue - I find it hard to proclaim a strongly held belief. I know that there are two sides to just about anything. And I have perceived - judged? -activists as having an overly simplistic view of the world.

For sure I am seldom well enough informed about anything to even begin to suggest to others what they should be thinking and doing, or so I tell myself as I abdicate any responsibility at all for taking a public stand.

So, tonight when I have a chance to be part of a march/vigil for suicide prevention before my 6:30 class, I find myself torn. Why am I torn? I want to attend. I can't even pretend to be uninformed about suicide. I have firm opinions and they are far from simple.

I think that, in some way, my hesitation come from fear. The fear of being indentified as a survior of suicide. The fear of being judged as broken - or odd - or different.

And, I tell myself, my state of mind - which is basically good - could be shaken out of balance pretty easily. Might the other attendees be a bit radical for me? Can I bear to be publicly indentified with unrelenting pain and deep loss? Might I be forced into an odd intimacy with stragers?

Evidently I am a wimp.

Activism is a hard road. It is a road of identification with others. It is the road, not of being right, but of encouraging others to consider what might be wrong. And it is the only road that has ever led to a changed world.

So, I am going to go - very nervously - to this march tonight. And by my presence I hope to encourage myself - not necessarily anyone else - to own the loss of Molly's life in a way that honors her, keeps her alive, and encourages others.