The road. You know, the one not taken.

Like most Americans, I have a tendency to be an opinionated person. However, the years have taught me two important things...

No one asked, &

it's not my job to change the world.

These sobering realizations have turned many this-is-what-I-have-to-say's into what I call fish-lip motions: the mouth opens wide to speak, only to be followed by the lower lip quickly re-meeting and pulling down on the other, as if all I had intended to do was let out a few bubbles of air. The more I immerse myself into the unforgiving professional world, the more I realize how much these fish-lip motions make my life easier. No colleague, friend, relative, acquaintance, or potential client wants to hear my attempts to, oh say, expose the media's bias agenda. I get that.

Earnest people who care more about things that matter than they do social status lose friends, credibility, and favor. Totally makes sense. Again, get it.

Those who attempt to bring what they believe to be truth to the surface get less blog hits and Facebook likes (#endoftheworld). I get that, too.

But

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." 

- MLK

I see statuses on Facebook receiving tens of likes for taking stances of neutrality. It's what's in. Be cool and instantaneously rewarded with acceptance for not ruffling our feathers. Congratulations, they'll say you were "nice" at your funeral. But I remember a wise person once telling me that popularity is directly correlated with ineffectivity. And honestly, I could not agree more.

I love to hear people smugly boast, "I leave my politics off of Facebook." Politics are the vehicle of which we enact what we believe and enable the average person to help make a difference in the world, and let's face it, Facebook is the biggest audience you'll ever have. But you're right, you're doing far more with your voice and finite time here on earth by telling us you're heading to the food trucks for lunch.

I care SO MUCH MORE about things that matter than I do about whether or not someone's going to defriend me, post a status saying something in rebuttal to mine because they lacked the hootspa to shoot me a message or make a comment on mine, or shake their head. Cause people shaking their head are on the sidelines. Sorry, but in order to respect what you think I have to respect you.

MLK couldn't have hit the nail more on the head. If you stand for nothing, what won't you fall for? If life doesn't have meaning, what are we doing here? If it does, what good are your neutral stances doing for it? 

There's a huge line between "you're a BAD PERSON if you don't think how I do" and "I care enough about the direction of society to use what voice I have to occasionally make them question why they think what they think".
Huge.

It was so inspiring to see the nonstop droves of people pour through the door every hour at Chickfila. For them, it wasn't about being "anti-gay". (Puhlease. I was the one who waited in that line; I'll tell ya what it was about.) Rather, it was about standing up for free-speech. About being an American. About saying enough is enough. Millions of other Americans have laid down their lives in defense of our constitution, I think I can wait twenty minutes for dinner.

It's hard. It's frowned open. In a world where acceptance is our green light, a lack of warm teddy-bear feelings seems like a death sentence. I get that (no. I don't.), I do. Sometimes you'll be wrong; none of us are perfect. But the truth sets us free. 

Life is short. Do you wanna spend it keeping your head down? Cadavers keep their head down. I wanna make a difference. I'd rather set the world free.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

and that has made all the difference.

A better place

He shares a room outside with a dozen other guys

and the only roof he knows

is that sometimes starry sky

A tattered sleeping bag on a concrete slab is his bed

and it's too cold to talk tonight

so I just sit with him instead and think

How did I find myself in a better place?

I can't look down on the frown on the other guy's face

'Cause when I stoop down low, look him square in the eye

I got a funny feeling 

I just might be dealin' 

with the face of Christ

I found her gazing in admiration at the display towards the front of the store, which was no doubt what caused her to wander in through the door in the first place. As with every other customer at the place I worked at the time, I greeted her nonchalantly and watched for my first opportunity to engage from out of the corner of my eye. 

None was necessary. 

She made her way over to me and faced me directly. "I need some pants." She was poorly dressed and reeked of a smell like the upholstery of a smoker's old car.

I rubbed my figurative hands together and began to ramble off her options. Fit? Brand? Wash? Bottom opening? Let's start with size. 

"I'm not sure," she stated. She turned around and peeled back the waist of her pants to reveal deep, lashing stretch marks that covered her body. 

"O-ok.. um, have you seen our capris?"

"I can't wear capris." Her voice lowered. The old car smell got stronger as she leaned in. "I'm a stripper. I have cuts on my legs." She lifted the pant legs of her tattered jeans to reveal fresh cuts and scars that covered as far as my eyes could see. I stared in bewilderment. Nothing come out of my mouth for what seemed like awhile; my mind was too busy wondering how she got her scars and reminding my curiosity I probably didn't want to know. 

I moved my gaze back to her eyes and forced myself not to judge her. 

"I think you'll like these," I said, grabbing a full-length pair of jeans off the wall and snapping back to reality. 

I set her up in a dressing room and treated her like any other customer. At one point I walked past her open door and saw a man (who I like to suppose was with her) smacking her butt as she propped it into the air while holding on to the dressing room's metal railing. The next time I went to look for her, she was gone.  

But not from my mind.

What kind of journey brings a person to such circumstances?

How different would her life be today if someone had sat her down and told her she was worth more? More than her "profession"... more than the scars on her body... more than the degrading person she was with.

How much higher do we hold our standards... when we're told we can meet them?

Our words can leave everlasting imprints.
Keep them uplifting.