Dr. Cornel West

I went to the speaker tonight on campus, Dr. Cornel West. He was remarkable. He was a fantastic speaker, a kind, wise, funny man who genuinely practiced what he preached while simultaneously respecting other views. He spoke of love, and not giving up, of holding on to hope despite no reason to. He emphasized the need to stop being a generation of ME ME ME right NOW NOW NOW. about loving people, completely with that risk of loss. He discussed the importance of not just getting a degree to brag and have STATUS, but to learn, to educate ourselves and truly be better than we were before we embarked on the journey of higher education.

This man changed me.

It's no secret I love. I love with all my heart. It is also no secret that particular flaw is ridiculed, usually daily, and that the very trait of loving has left me burned, scarred, and scared. I wrote in this blog no more than a post or two ago about how I thought I should stop caring about others for a while until I could figure out if 1. anyone could ever love like I do and 2. if it ever paid to care and 3. if it did who to give that love to.

I have been struggling with the me centered actions of saying no, of not doing all that I could, because no one else does. We all talk big like we do, but no. we. don't. We all say we care but no. we. don't. not like we could because it hurts to care, it is a hard and deliberate activity to love and care for others, particularly when we get nothing in return.  However, in light of last year, and the 21 that preceded it I thought everyone else maybe had it right. I shouldn't care like I do. I was the one who was wrong to believe love could matter, that I was wrong to give all I had into the parts of my life that educated me but didn't give me a grade or a score.

Cornel West showed me I wasn't wrong.

More than that though, he showed me that I am not alone. He is the first person who spoke the ideals I carry in my heart and get labeled a hippie, wussy, emotional, too invested and so on. He has earned respect and I am a no body, but that doesn't particularly matter either. I am not alone.

There are others who do in fact care and love, thrive, and live for those deep discussions, who find American culture on a serious and dangerous slope of self involved, materialistic, unmotivated, surface, status driven people. They are the majority, but others exist.

We are not alone, and I have hope.

Hope that some day our newspapers may actually report news, instead of which celebrity is dating who, or what style is in, and yes I do enjoy fashion, trashy tv, and other such vices, BUT IN SMALL AMOUNTS. It doesn't comprise the entirety of my life, not even close. I spend most of my time thinking. Considering my past, my present, and my future. I contemplate what a movie is saying, what our society is doing, and the silliness that prevails in what should be a scholarly environment. I consider human nature, the beauty of the written word. I am not as I appear, because to appear thoughtful, insightful, and overly invested is to mark yourself as an outsider. I've become more than a little skilled at portraying the easy cliches and mindless conversations that are expected of me and I've had to because I believed that despite those far and few between remarkable conversations that this was all there was. That I would never find another person who thought, felt, believed like I did.

Then I heard him speak and was reminded that no matter how dark a moment or even an entire life we are not alone. There are others. Others who care more than a little. Others who are moved to tears by a piece of music. Others who understand what matters.

While I can say that not everyone got the same impact I did (two obnoxious girls were texting with sound on, and whining LOUDLY how long the talk was) I can say, confidently, someone was changed. Someone was reignited with hope, passion, and determination.

I know because I was a someone, and I know that I wasn't alone.