Losing my personal narrative

I am trying to figure out what the story is I want to tell since my hours were significantly reduced off on June 30, 2009. So much has happened since then and so many learnings have been revealed to me that I find it difficult to find a way to express myself. All the hard work and long hours from March to June 2009 have taken away from me my communication center. I can't find the words of my personal narrative.

They, the words that is, are with me as I gently stroll through Golden Gate Park's AIDS Memorial or lay on my bed waiting for a nap or stay up with the youth on the last night of the Adobe Youth Voices Summit or wander the Des Moines Art Museum, but the moment I sit down with pen to paper they are gone. It is as if I am in a field of fireflies and my words are the tiny lights sparkling among the grasses. The moment I capture them in my glass Mason jar, they no longer carry with them the same brilliance or luster or magic. Sure, I can shake the jar and they spark for a moment, but they are not the same as their free and unrestrained brethren. They are not spontaneous or rhythmical or organic.

I am even having difficulties finding what comes next; what this paragraph should even be about. Should I write about the power of story to express complexity and voice? Should I write about the shift to more authentic and true shared leadership within the Youth Worker: Collective? Should I write about finally finding my fictional world maybe at the expense of personal narrative? Should I write about the slowing of my life and my resistence to quickening its pace? Should I...? The list is so long and overwhelming that I cannot choose, nor can I find a means to narrow.

In the past, this would have led me to not picking up a pen or opening a notebook. I would have let the overwhelmingness whiddle awy at my identity as a writer. I would have stared at the page and hoped words would write themselves. I would have turned on the television and watched People's Court.

Now, I find myself pushing through and not worrying about what actually comes out. I start with recording my wanderings and opening up to observations. I take my thoughts and fictionalize them into parables. I let my distractions guide me to the page. I still worry about cohesion and flow and grammar and spelling, but I do not let that interfere with the process of creating because I know a story is still waiting to be told.

Maybe the story here is that regularity and a slowing of the pace and the release of control to flow can and does bring change. Maybe it is that I no longer worry about a preconceived notion of a writer, adn therefore can claim it even when nothing makes sense. Maybe it is that I have many stories to tell and yet not all will be told. Maybe it is is nothing at all. All and more are possibilities.

As I sit here on a bench among the many dirt paths of Golden Gate Park, I smell the musty, humid forest air; I hear the whistling of a passerby mix with the panting of dog, the dongs of birds, the buzzing of insects, and the shuffling of feet against the sandy dirt and fallen leaves; I see the shifting of light as the sun passes in and out of the marine fog; I feel the rubber ridges of the pen in my hand and the dull itch of old mosquito bites. And I know that i am more present and aware then I have been in a long time. This brings me calm and peace. And maybe, just maybe that is the story that has just been told.

An Open Letter to Michael Lane

I am at the Des Moines Art Festival helping my best friend Michael with the Interactive Art Station. They have two projects: a "cray-pa-your-own square" of a mural of the city's skyline and a "create your own" skyline silhouette. The Festival is just kicking off today after many months of planning and hard work.

I am honored I get to see my friend at work. You can tell a lot about a person when you sit back and watch. Michael is one of those rare kinds that knows how to achieve a vision, something that lives outside of himself. He has that unique skill set of seeing the whole and the component parts. It is this skill I most admire and respect.

I'm not sure if he knows exactly how much I have learned from him over the years. He has seen me through a lot in the 12 plus years of friendship. He has showed me that hard work pays off, politics are inevitable, and compassion is sometimes wanting to tell someone to fuck off but instead saying "thank you".

What I am observing today reinforces all of this. Michael is nothing if not neurotic. He cares, like me, what people think of him. He obsesses, like me, about the impact of even the tiniest of actions. Earlier today he worried that the direction of the tables (should they run north to south or east to west) might not be the direction his colleague wants them to run. Some may view this as petty or ridiculous even. I completely understand him. I understand that something as simple as the direction of a table has significance. It creates mood, traffic flow, and can either support or hinder an activity. I understand that this decision not only impacts the participants, but the simple decision can impact the relationship between colleagues. It can make or break a friendship. And I appreciate deeply the fact that Michael understands this too.

Before the Festival started, we took a stroll through Des Moines. He showed me the Sol LeWitt paintings he helped paint. He showed the the Tara Donovan instillation he helped construct. He talked lovingly about one particular section of Tara's plastic cup rolling landscape he was responsible for and as such he fussed and fussed to make it perfect. He showed me parts of his life and how it has and continues to intersect the live of others, especially artists. And I am reminded of his humility, leadership, and grace.

Michael has an intrinsic sense of community and connectedness and is rooted in knowing how and when to step up and step back. He makes no claims that the art of Sol LeWitt or Tara Donovan or the mural being created are his. And yet he is a crucial factor in their existence. He picked up the brush and actually painted the Sol LeWitt. He placed the plastic cups one-by-one on the floor to create Tara's landscape. He helped create the system that empowers the community to "paint" a square of the mural. If he had not picked up that brush, placed that cup, or systemetized the mural, they certainly would still have been done. But he did do it. He contributed to their creation and in doing so he left his mark.

Now what matters is the narrative he tells about his involvement. His narrative rarely continues an "I". He understands and has internalized the true nature of community: we.

I am sitting here on the sidelines just watching and transcribing what I see. I hope I have an ounce of his humilty. I hope others learn from his presence. I know that if we all practiced a little less "I" and a little more "we" we would transform this world.

Thanks Michael for this important lesson.

Fables/Stories I Am Working On

I am currently working on a few more fables. It is awesome! I haven't felt this great about my writing in a *very* long time. Here is a preview of what is to come:

The Cenotaph: Turq tries to avoid the inevitable credit man that comes for him when he stops spending money and tries to pay down his debt. What awaits him at the heart of The Cenotaph? No one know. Not even the credit card company.

Infinite Depth: Charlie is gifted: he has telescopic vision. When he looks to the heavens, he sees all of its wonders in crisp detail - satellites, moons, nebulae, black holes, creation itself. But when others realize that he sees connections no one else can, his greatest fear is forced upon him. How far will he go to find infinite depth?

Fortune's Loop: Josephine sees a warning written in her own blood on her bedroom window - "You are forewarned" - on the day of her first period. After that fateful warning, Josephine starts seeing visions of the near future in the reflections of surfaces. Only they are not just visions. They are windows through time. Will Josephine be able to escape fortune's loop?

These are just a sampling of what is to come.

The Magic Sandbox: a harrowing of structure

This is a fable I wrote as a means to get back into the habit of writing. I found myself wandering a lot this past year. And the wandering was good. Somewhere along the journey, I found that I was struggling with two different concepts and notions: structure and fluidity. This is my attempt to grapple with what happens when you just ignore it all.

****
The Magic Sandbox: the harrowing of structureby: Jason Wyman
(c) 2009

Cynthia and Marjorie, the best of friends, were playing in the sandbox one hot sunny July day. The sandbox was at the edge of town and was kept enclosed by a large chain-link fence. It was their favorite place to play. They would create castles, houses, towers, so many different sand sculptures that were loved by all. Then, the rain or the wind would come and fell them. Cynthia and Marjorie would start all over, laughing and playing, always creating something new.

This day particular July day was extremely hot and very sunny with not a cloud or breeze in the air. It was stuffy, claustrophobic, as if someone had put a giant plastic bubble over the whole town and set a big magnifying glass between it and the sun.

Water was a crucial ingredient for Marjorie and Cynthia to build their sand sculptures. Luckily, the sandbox was adjacent to a big park that had a faucet, and Marjorie always carried her bucket. This combination of materials and tool made magic.

Cynthia and Marjorie were the only ones in the sandbox that muggy day. No one else braved the scorching heat.

"I have an idea." said Marjorie to Cynthia.

"Yes, Margy?"

"How about we create our biggest sculpture yet? We have the sandbox all to ourselves. We can start in the middle and build an entire city. It will be spectacular!"

Cynthia jumped up, grabbed the bucket, and skipped off to the faucet screaming behind her, "Excellent idea, Margy! Be back in a jiff."

Now, it was a sweltering hot July day. The kind of day that kills plants and makes most people miserable. The kind of day when your body is sticky and never clean. It was a day for swimming in pools, taking of showers, running over sprinklers, and carefully controlling indoor environments. It was a day of overusing resources.

Cynthia placed the yellow bucket under the faucet and turned the knob. It sputtered and wheezed and blew out warm air. It did not pour out water. Cynthia turned the knob some more, and still nothing came out. She was confused and sad. How were they going to create their great sand city?

Cynthia turned the valve back off, and just as she got it all the way shut, a tiny droplet fell into the bright yellow bucket. She guarded the small piece of precious material and walked slowly back to the sandbox and Marjorie.

Marjorie jumped up exclaiming, "We can get started!"

Cynthia looked at Marjorie wavering at the edge of tears. "Dear Margy. There is no water. How will we build our city?"

And as she finished her question, big sad tears welled in her eyes and began running down her face. Marjorie grabbed the bucket and placed it under Cynthia's chin collecting her tears.

"Keep crying, Cyndi. We're getting all the water we need."

Cynthia let out a little laugh.

"No silly. Don't laugh. Cry!"

This sent a wave of giggles through both of the young girls. Soon their giggles turned to chuckles, and their chuckles to chortles. They both fell to the ground, and, as they fell, Marjorie let slip the bucket from her hand. The precious water and tears collected spilled onto the sand creating one very small patch of wet sand near the corner of the sandbox.

Cynthia's laughter gave way to a scream.

"Nooooo!!"

Marjorie ran her hand over the top of the small wet spot.

"We can do this Cyndi. We will make our city. It will be glorious."

"You think we can do this Margy? Really?"

"Yes, I do my friend. Anything is possible."

The hot pressure cooker of the sun was threatening to evaporate that little patch of wet sand. So Marjorie and Cynthia quickly went to work.

Nobody knows how it happened, not even Marjorie or Cynthia, but that little patch of wet sand was not so little. Maybe the pipe to the faucet burst making all of the ground underneath wet. Maybe they had more water than they imagined. Maybe it was magic or a miracle. Whatever the cause, it mattered not because it provided enough wet sand for Cynthia and Marjorie to work for hours building their city.

It was a city unlike any other. Instead of tall rectangular skyscrapers and Gothic columns and glistening domes on government buildings, they created a landscape of rising and falling curves, jagged edges cut into giant dunes, and spiraling streets. From certain angles, it looked like waves readying to crash, clouds about to explode. The scale of the city evoked deep canyons as if instead of building up they chiseled down. It threatened to extend beyond the sandbox and overtake the chain-link fence. It was their most remarkable sculpture.

Despite everyone being inside of doors, whispers of Cynthia and Marjorie's remarkable city sculpture spread out through the town. It could have been that someone saw them walking down to the sandbox earlier that day. It could have been the groundskeeper at the park who overheard the laughter and crying. It could have just been all gossip and tall tales. Regardless, what it produced was a town abuzz with anticipation of what the girls created.

It started simply with eight year old Jose in his royal blue swimming trunks and slick black hair. He was was the first to venture out into the blistering heat to see what Marjorie and Cynthia built. When he arrived, he was overwhelmed. The cityscape was larger than any other he had seen. It made him seem as if he was an ant outside an anthill.

Cynthia and Marjorie looked haggard. Their hair was caked with sand. Their skin an irritated red. They were lost inside their world, unaware that Jose or any other townspeople were outside. They just kept building, creating, sculpting.

Pretty soon everyone from the town braved the out of doors. They just had to see this magnificent and surreal city. This included Mayor Square.

Mayor Square was exactly the type of person you would expect with the name Mayor Square. He was electable because he was unremarkable. He liked his boxes and clean lines. He ran on a platform of structure, safety, security. He was the one that put the chain-link fence around the sandbox. He was concerned that some young child would run out into the street and meet a fatal end on the front of a car.

When Mayor Square got to the sandbox, he gasped. Marjorie and Cynthia's city was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. It moved him. It produced a moment of awe unlike any other. And in that moment he saw that everyone looking at this city, this sculpture, was feeling the same thing.

Then, he got nervous. He knew that if this continued to grow it would threaten his electability.

"Excuse me! Excuse me everyone," screamed Mayor Square.

The townspeople ignored Mayor Square. His voice was minuscule to the feeling produced by Marjorie and Cynthia's sculpture.

He had to act quickly or he would lose his townspeople's votes. Mayor Square saw Jose with his face pressed against the chain-link fence, mouth gaping, and he ran up to Jose.

"Hello, Jose. You seem to love this city. Would you want to help build more?"

Jose looked briefly at the Mayor. "There's no more room, and I couldn't create anything nearly so pretty."

Mayor Square responded, "Tindersticks! In this town we are all equal. You can most definitely create, and you shouldn't be banned from doing it just because there is no more room. Come with me, and we can get in on the building."

This made Jose very excited. He followed Mayor Square back into the heart of town.

There in front of his boxy house with its Gothic columns and official looking gold dome, Mayor Square spoke, "Now, Jose, here is the help I need.

"First, gather all of the hoses you see laying about.

"Second, connect all the hoses end to end.

"Third, stretch those hoses all the way from the sandbox to my house.

"Last, get out of the way.

"You got it?"

"Yes, Mayor. But where will I find all of the hoses?"

"Start with your house. Then start asking your neighbors. I have two at my home you can use as well."

"Alright!" And Jose hurried off to his house.

Mayor Square rushed back to his tool shed and rummaged around searching for the one tool he knew he would need. He found the screwdriver, the saw, the hammer, the wrench, the pliers, the drill, the... Well, he found everything except the one tool he needed more than anything. Then, he remembered.

"Yes. Yes. Yes. I banned it when we built the fence around the sandbox to keep the children safe," he mumbled.

He walked out of his tool shed into his home, and proceeded down stairs. He pushed up a tile in the drop down ceiling and fumbled around with one hand.

There is was!

He grabbed a big box and pulled it carefully down. Unfortunately, the box was a little heavier than expected and it fell to the ground with a thud. Out fell the giant chain-link cutter.

About this same time, Jose showed up.

"Hey Mr. Mayor! I have connected all of the hoses and stretched them to the sandbox. Now, I need your two and we can begin," he yelled down to the Mayor.

"You can find them in the tool shed next to the house! Connect one to the faucet on the front of the house and meet me at the sandbox!"

"Okie dokie, Mr. Mayor!"

Mayor Square lifted the chain-link cutter, rested it on his shoulder, trotted back upstairs, and staggered out the front door. The hoses were stretched out from the front of his house all the way through the middle of an ever-growing crowd. The crowd was so big now he couldn't even see the chain-link fence.

Mayor Square took this as a sign that he needed to work faster. He flung the tool over his other shoulder and stared half jogging towards the crowd. However, the chain-link cutter was too heavy, and it slowed his pace to that of a snail.

When he finally reached the crowd, it spread out as far as anyone could see in all directions. Jose was holding the hose trying to keep his spot as people jostled and bumped him as they vied to get a better view of Marjorie and Cynthia's ever-expanding sculpture-scape. Mayor Square pushed his way forward and stood next to Jose.

"What have you got there Mr. Mayor," he asked knowing full well it was a chain-link cutter.

"I have a tool for the job at hand, dear Jose. And you have the other tool. Are you ready to get started?"

Jose looked at him puzzled. "But, Mr. Mayor, I thought that chain-link cutters were banned!"

"Yes, they have been banned. But I had the foresight to know that one may be needed one day, so I tucked mine away safely in my house."

"But, Mr. Mayor, weren't you then lying to us when you said it was dangerous? That it would make us unsafe?"

"Listen, Jose. Do you want to help build this sand city? Or do you want to argue with me about this tool and its safety? You can't have both," responded the Mayor with an air of defensiveness and contempt.

"I want to build."

"Then help me out and get the crowd to back away ever so slightly from the fence."

Jose wiggled closer to the fence and started doing his best dance moves hoping his moves would entice people to step back and watch.

Well, it had the effect he was hoping for. People did watch and back away. However, people backed away because they thought he was having some sort of seizure or attack. His body was jerking and making harsh, sharp movements. People were worried he would fall and hurt himself or crash into them and make them uncomfortable.

Mayor Square took the opening and snuck behind Jose and began cutting the chain-link fence.

Someone in the crowd called 911, and in five minutes an ambulance arrived. You heard the sirens first far in the distance. Then, you noticed the flashing red, blue, silver. Finally, you saw the paramedics in their starched white uniforms holding a gurney preparing themselves for the emergency.

The crown parted making room for the gurney and paramedics. It was only as the emergency personnel started approaching that Jose realized they were there for him. He let out a laugh.

This confused the paramedics. How could he be hurt if he was laughing?

Everyone else was looking puzzled. Everyone except Mayor Square who had just finished cutting the last chain link and Cynthia and Marjorie who were too lost in creating their city sculpture that they were completely unaware of what was unfolding around them.

By this point, Marjorie and Cynthia were a dishevelled mess. Marjorie's luxuriously long black curls looked like a Barbie's synthetic hair after it has been washed and brushed. Cynthia's cropped red locks fared no better. Their clothes were fraying at the edges. Their skin was sun-blistered, rubbed raw by the constant friction of sand.

Whether they felt the stings of the blisters or cared about their looks was unimportant. They were of a singular focus: build the cityscape; create; express. This focus drove them onward unaware of the massive crowd and the chaos erupting beyond the chain-link fence. It was as if the fence provided a certain safeguard, a barrier to the outside world. It provided a concrete edge to push against. It gave them the confines by which creating happens. The fence was their laws of gravity.

So it is no surprise that Marjorie and Cynthia were unprepared for Mayor Square's interference. They didn't hear the staccato snapping of the links in the fence. They didn't see Jose flailing his arms wildly as he danced. The didn't feel the excitement as the paramedics arrived.

The chaos kept building.

After the initial shock of Jose's laughter, the paramedics realized he might still be in danger, so they proceeded down the cleared pathway, gurney in hand, ready to strap Jose to it for his own safety. Mayor Square positioned himself behind Jose and signaled to the paramedics, "Hurry up and take Jose!"

Jose fell to the ground, riotous with laughter, laughing so hard his body shook with violent spasms. And the crowd became silent watching this all unfold.

Eventually, Jose was strapped down and taken away in the ambulance leaving only the Mayor standing at the end of the cleared pathway. The entire crowd turned their attention to the Mayor as he puffed his chest readying to bellow a proclamation to the crowd.

Marjorie and Cynthia kept building.

"Hello. Hello. Ladies and Gentlemen. Fellow citizens of our fair town of Suburbandale.

"I am proud to be your trusted Mayor, your confidante, your visionary. As such, I have brought you here today."

There began some muttering in the crowd.

"I mean I have joined you here today," he corrected himself, "to make an announcement. One that is an important step in the development of creativity here in Suburbandale.

"Behind me you will see the wonderful sand cityscape Marjorie and Cynthia are creating."

The crowd erupted with applause and cheers. The Mayor paused waiting for it to die down. Then continued.

"Their creation is beautiful. Magnificent even. What they have built is unique, unlike anything we have ever seen in Suburbandale.

"But I ask you, is it fair that only they get to play and create in the sandbox?" Mayor Square paused.

Everyone turned to one another and gave quizzical looks of upturned eyebrows, wrinkled up noses, and curled lips. A low murmur started from the back of the crowd and found its way to the front.

"But Mayor Square," asked a gentleman with graying hair and wrinkles around the eyes. "How can we create anything so beautiful?"

A woman in the middle of the crowd with her pink hair in curlers said, "I am quite enjoying watching Margy and Cyndi create their sculpture. Why should we disturb them?"

A child no more than five whose father was holding him securely by the wrist, but who was trying with all his might to escape his father's grasp yelled, "I want to build! It isn't fair! I want in, and I want in NOW!"

Mayor Square took this as his cue and his strong bellowing voice shook the crowd.

"Yes, my boy, you are correct! It is not fair. This city was built on a foundation of fairness. And I say enough is enough! Cynthia and Marjorie have had their opportunity to create, and now it is time for everyone to contribute. It is only fair that others be able to join them in building.

"I also know," he yelled at the top of his voice over the cheers of the children in the crowd, "that going in and destroying what they have created is not fair."

Some of the adults clapped.

"Therefore, so be it resolved," he added in his most Mayor-sounding words, "that I have found a solution! One where Marjorie and Cynthia can keep on building, and we can support their creation by building around it!"

Another murmur passed through the crowd and out of the gentleman with the few gray hairs' lips, "But Cynthia and Marjorie have built over the entire sandbox. The only way we can build around their sculpture is by tearing down the fence. Isn't that against our laws?"

Mayor Square answered, "You are correct. If we want to create, we must change and adapt. We must do away with the laws that hinder our progress! Therefore," he mayorally said, "I announce a new law effective immediately! 'The City of Suburbandale shall no longer fence in its sandbox. It will be noted that this sandbox is central to The City's identity. As such, no fence shall ever confine our creativity."

And Mayor Square walked over to the fence, gave one good tug, and the whole fence fell down exposing the entire cityscape with its towering stalagmite buildings and its river-winding streets and its dune-like sports complexes. The crowd gave out a gigantic gasp. The man with the graying hair and wrinkly eyes took a step back. The woman with pink hair in rollers let out a tiny squeal. The boy escaped his father's clutches and ran to the front of the crowd ready to start building.

The Mayor grabbed the young boy's hand and addressed the crowd.

"Yes, my fellow citizens, this is a work of art. Therefore, we must be careful to preserve what Marjorie and Cynthia have created.

"Before we begin, I must lay out some guidelines so we may create together."

And as Mayor Square started laying out the new guidelines, Cynthia and Marjorie began to become slightly more aware of what was happening around them. It happened to Marjorie first. She heard their two names being spoken in the distance, turned to Cynthia, and noticed how filthy she looked. Cynthia heard the thud of the chain-link fence falling, but hadn't placed the noise. Slowly, they became more and more present. However, it was not fast enough.

Mayor Square instructed the crowd that order was what was needed to be the most creative. It was therefore ordered that:

1. everyone who wanted to add on to Marjorie and Cynthia's sandscape do so outside of the sandbox;
2. only rectangles, lines, and right angles be used when creating buildings (It was argued that this would bring structure to 'support' Cynthia and Marjorie's chaotic sculpture.);
3. people should bring sand from their houses, adjacent parks, etc, so as not to disturb Marjorie and Cynthia;
4. the hose provided was to be used as the source for wetting the sand (The Mayor stressed that the water was coming from his house and was his personal contribution to creativity.

No one complained about the "guidelines", as Mayor Square called them. In fact, everyone seemed to love them because it provided form and a system for building. People from the crowd immediately identified what "role" they wanted to "play". Some were sand carriers. Others were sculptor-builders. One was the hose monitor. And a good number were cheerleaders. Mayor Square was the director.

By the time Marjorie and Cynthia realized what was happening around them, the crowd had built a colossal labyrinthine cityscape. Cynthia looked up at the towering skyscrapers.

"Margy, what is happening?"

"I don't know, Cyndi. Let's take a peak outside."

They walked to the corner where they spilled their bucket because it was near the entrance to the sandbox hoping to find the exit.

"Oh my!" Marjorie yelled. "The fence is gone! How do we get out of here?"

Cynthia and Marjorie set out down the crowd-constructed city streets. They turned hard corners, searching for an exit. They walked for what seemed like hours becoming more and more exhausted, which made their hearts beat faster and panic set across their faces. It appeared that there was no exit from this gigantic sand sculpture. They were trapped.

Marjorie and Cynthia became desperate. They started clawing at the walls splintering fingernails, tearing deeper gashes into their already blistered hands.

But there was some greater force at work. Maybe it was the heat of the sun bearing down all day on the sand. Maybe it was an act of God trying to teach some sort of lesson. Maybe is was something else in the water the Mayor provided like glue or resin or pollution. Maybe it was just magic. Whatever the reason, the outcome was the same: no matter how much they clawed and scraped and screamed the walls held their shape and no one heard their screams.

Outside the sandbox the crowd was fading away. What once was exciting transformed into novelty. What once was creative mutated into a chore. What once was new morphed into blandness. Mayor Square achieved what he hoped: structure, safety, security. What once was a chain-link fence became a box of sand.

No one knows what actually happened to Marjorie and Cynthia. Records indicate that they never came home that night nor ever. Articles were written hypothesizing that they were trapped in the box of sand and died trying to get out, but there was no way of proving the hypothesis because there was no way of getting to the sandbox. That same magic or act of God or stroke of Mayor's scheming created an impenetrable sand monument at the edge of Suburbandale.

The citizens of Surburbandale were forever changed. Mayor Square said something like "The death of Marjorie and Cynthia is a tragic loss to our community. Let it serve as a reminder of the risk of creativity," as he accepted another term as Mayor.

Marjorie and Cynthia's parents mourned their daughters and rarely set foot outside of their homes. They became completely reliant on others' visits to bring them food and other necessities. There was so much pity for them that the banks forgave them their mortgages, and The City picked up their utility bills. They didn't realize any of this due to the weight of their grief.

The man with the gray hair and wrinkly eyes became even more gray and wrinkled. The woman with her pink hair in curlers cut it all off and let it grown back its natural mousy brown. The boy who escaped his father's clutches never strayed out of eyesight of his dad.

And poor Jose. Once on the gurney he kept screaming, "The Mayor's got a chain-link cutter!" This mixed with his flailing arms and Mayor's signal to the paramedics that Jose was crazy only confirmed that the Mayor must be right. So the paramedics took him to the hospital to have him monitored. It is in the hospital where Jose learned of Marjorie and Cynthia's disappearance. This caused a break so deep and fundamental that Jose became mad and never recovered. He can still be heard muttering, "If only...If only...If only..." never able to finish the sentence.

The large box of sand sits as a memorial at the edge of Suburbandale. It has a placard on the Northeast corner, the corner of the original entrance, that reads "Here lie Cynthia and Marjorie and all of our creativity." And every July, when the heat is unbearable and everyone in town is swimming in pools, taking showers, running their sprinklers, or in carefully controlled indoor environments, I come down to this memorial and sit. And every now and again the walls become translucent, and I can see Cynthia and Marjorie's masterwork. And if the breeze blows just right, I can sometimes hear their crying, laughter, and screams.

This I Believe

Dear Readers:

I recently submitted an essay to National Public Radio's This I Believe show. This I Believe is "based on a 1950s radio program of the same name, Americans from all walks of life share their personal philosophies and core values that guide their daily lives." Check them out at: www.thisibelieve.org.

*****

My name is Jason Wyman, and I am a youth worker. I have been a youth worker for fifteen years, and I hope to be a youth worker for the rest of my days.

I believe that youth workers are individuals that work with or on behalf of youth to facilitate their personal, social, educational, and ethical development and gain a voice and influence in society as they make the transition from dependence to independence to interdependence. I believe youth workers – after school educators, youth development professionals, parents, teachers, case managers, social workers, healthcare workers, funders, elected officials – are the hope for healing our fractured society. I believe that in order for healing to happen we have to heal ourselves.

I was asked last night “What is true for you right now?” My response: grounded. I have been on a path towards intentionality and authenticity all of my life. This path has led me many places – theater, seminary, college, AmeriCorps, college again, San Francisco, marriage. This path has forced me to try and answer “Who is Jason Wyman?” – entertainer, educator, citizen, leaner, innovator, queer. This path has no end and no beginning. And I am grounded firmly on this neverending path.

I believe I am on this path because I have always been searching for questions; because I am uncomfortable with answers. I believe this path led me to become a youth worker. I believe this path is healing me.

I look into the media’s portrait of society, and I see conflict, violence, disparity, poverty. I look into the intentions of youth workers and I see change, passion, commitment, pluralism, compassion. I look into the faces of youth and I see diversity, life, our future. And I want to support a future where all youth thrive.

I believe this future is within our reach. I believe that in order for this future to be realized we all need to discover our path of intentionality and authenticity. I believe the search for questions is the first step on this path.

And so I pose my first question, a question that was asked of me by Maura Wolfe: “What is true for you right now?”

My name is Jason Wyman, and what is true for me right now is that I believe that youth workers can heal the world.

Iterations

I hope this blog finds you in good spirits. I know mine are lifted. I am having one of those truly inspiring moments where the weather and the atmosphere converge in a preternatural way. I find myself thoroughly engrossed in the art of learning and discovery. My mind is overwhelmed observing the connections between things current, futuristic, and historic. I see the various iterations of myself and slowly they are unifying.

Once, in what seems like long ago, I wanted to be a priest. I wanted to know what devotion and commitment were. They were holy to me and therefore foreign. The idea of devotion meant sacrifice and celibacy. It meant finding places and spaces to lock things up. And you were to keep those things only between you and god and your priest. It was there, in those sins, that you found your redemption. To have no sin meant no salvation. And so you coveted those things, those pieces of yourself that you no longer know or want or even need. They become your Pandora's Box.

Now, I have opened my Pandora's Box, and I see many reflections of myself and realize that they are still me. I am still the person that wanted to be a priest. I am still the little accident prone boy. I am still the drama nerd. I am all of these iterations with all of their dreams, values, fears, and insecurities.

I am no longer in turmoil with myself over which piece of me I like more - writer; entertainer; youth worker; cook; visionary; walker; gamer; queer; world citizen; husband; friend; family member; reader. I know my insecurities and weaknesses better - self doubt; fear of vision; gossip and idle chatter; lack of focus; accident prone. I know where I am uncomfortable - boundaries; authority; identity; conflict. I have clarity of values - equity; courage; loyalty; getting things done; place and space; vision; convergence; exploration; honesty and integrity; innovation and transformation; humor and joy.

And as I look back at wanting to be a priest, devotion and commitment are no longer foreign. They are the tools I use to ignite my passion. I devote myself to becoming all iterations.

And so I ask you, my humble reader: Who are you?

Mutant Salon: Chapter One

Dear Readers:

Over the course of the next year, my dearest friend Michael and I are starting a new project called Mutant Salon. There is no end product. Only a process. A search. An exploration. Mutant Salon are tracked correspondences. They are not hosted or posted on any website. They are between the sender and the recipient. And my hope is that I mutate as I am involved in this process.

I will most likely not be getting to a new posting before the end of the year. So...I wanted to share my initial correspondence about Mutant Salon with Michael with you. I know that future postings will be inspired by Mutant Salon. And I want to make sure there is a foundation for you as a reader to understand these future postings.

Please read on. And I look forward to our ever evolving, no ever mutating, relationship.

Peace,
Jason
*******

My dearest Michael:

I thought it appropriate that I started out our correspondences about Mutant Salon as a formal letter. The excitement I feel about this project and next step in our always evolving relationship is possibility, creativity, and movement. I have often used the clichéd crossroads as a metaphor to where I am. Now, either I have moved or I have simply realized the serenity of the crossroads. I feel that the simple formality of a letter captures momentarily a means of communication, relationship, and clarity that can translate my thoughts and feelings in a more personal manner.

To me, a salon is a space one enters, is welcomed, lets go, and leaves rejuvenated, alive, and inspired. You, my dearest Michael, provide all that for me. A conversation with you is better than a day at the salon, especially a six hour stint that results in blue hair.

When I conceive of this project, I think of intentionally injecting my art with the same inquiry, discovery, and revelation as we do our conversations. I want to explore and innovate and create. I want to be able to walk away from my art with a feeling of deep satisfaction in having grappled with some sort of hard concept, idea, pedagogy, philosophy, theory, paradigm, theology, etc. I am not looking for answers. I am seeking new questions – a new means of transformation.

And so I want to pose my first inquiry: What is a mutant salon?

I was completely engrossed in our phone conversation on December 22^nd, 2007. I originally was interested in exploring the intersection of queer and family. I wanted, and still want, to know and delve into the vast diversity of family structures within our community.

This was spurred by a visit to the Heard Museum West, a Native American art museum in Arizona. I was blown away, though not my first time, by the descriptions of clans, families, and communities on the informational posters around the museum. They got me thinking about how I define family.

You, my dearest Michael, are a part of my family. We are not blood-related. Nor did we grow up in the same town. Nor did we share many of the same experiences. Nor did we live near each other for a time period of extended length. So what makes us brothers? What is the thread that holds us to each other? How has this bond formed, grown, and evolved? How do you define something so indefinable?

This led me to thinking about other queers. I’ve known queers who have been shunned by their biological family and been forced to find family in a variety of places. They have had to create and build a new identity, a new culture, a whole new system of support. I am completely in awe of these individuals, of their bravery, of their will, and their innovation in transformation.

Similarly, I have seen people of multi-ethnic backgrounds and families grapple with culture, identity, and history. Am I “a” or “b”? Am I both? Am I neither? Am I all of the above? How do I reconcile my history of “a” with the history of “b” knowing that at one point ancestors “b” oppressed the ancestors of “a”? Do I have to choose? Why? Do I even exist? Who am I ?

And now that I think on this in even greater detail, I’ve heard this search in so many other places and spaces as well. I’ve heard it from children of divorced parents, individuals no longer connected to the religion of their ancestors, people questioning our government and policies, the homeless, those that are dying. I have heard these questions all of my life.

And so it gets me thinking. I see connections between the things that seem so separate. I look to my cultural reference point, pop culture, for answers, and all that I get are mutated images of my identity back. I ask my television “Who am I?” And it responds with reruns of Will and Grace – a looped utopian New York where everyone is wealthy, white, and in failed relationships. I ask the movies “Who am I?” And it responds “Isolated cowboys and dead trannies and flamboyant dancers and two straight firefighters fighting for their pension and porn stars.” I ask music “Who am I?” And it responds “either a catchy pop tune about dancing or sex or dead, you mother fucking faggot.”

And none of these images or responses are answers. They are just muddled attempts by others to make me into their image – an image that is one-faced and self loathing and stereotypical. I am none of these things. I am.

For me, Mutant Salon is a place and a space I can turn to open this dialogue and create art. It is a crossroads, a gathering space, a place of options. Mutant Salon is not about seeking out a reflected image, it is about collaboratively and collectively creating a pluralistic image that mutates as more and more become involved. It never stagnates. It never reflects. It never consumes. Instead, it holds correspondences. It engenders dialogue. It inspires. It moves. It mutates. It is.

I am looking forward to hearing your ideas, thoughts, inspirations. I am excited to see where we are next year. For it will not be where we are right now. It cannot be where we are right now.

My dearest Michael, thank you for the gift of family.

Your most humble and affectionate brother,

Jason Wyman

p.s. Happy New Year!

Sacrifice

Major themes always have a way of repeating in one’s life. For me, the themes of failure, transformation, and honest keep repeating. These themes are also related to a larger theme of healing. My name means healer, and I feel very connected to that meaning both in the sense of one who heals and in the sense of one who sacrifices.

The latter sense has found ways to be both helpful and hindering. The act of sacrifice, for me, has traditionally meant losing my self to others. I grew up Catholic, and the ultimate sacrifice was martyrdom – dying for one’s convictions. I could never live up to the pressure of dying for my beliefs.

Instead, I sacrificed parts of my identity. I would deny and sometimes kill pieces of me that I knew others had a hard time with. I am queer, and I have known this since Kindergarten. However, being queer was tantamount to suicide – pure evil in the eyes of Catholicism. I hi, lied, denied, a cut it out of me – even when it was staring both my family and me in the face.

And I thought this was my duty as a son and as a Catholic. I thought that everyone was the better because of my sacrifice. In some ways, others were better. My church was better because it meant that I could still volunteer my time and skills. My family was momentarily better because there wasn’t any division among us as a family unit. And I thought I was better because I didn’t need to confront the conflicts that would arise due to coming out.

The burden of sacrificing my identity became unbearable. I found myself alone in an unknown sea. I didn’t know how to escape drowning, so I came out. Through a series of coincidental events, everyone in my life knew in about one month. Then, I began understanding the sacrifice Gandhi writes about: “Sacrifice is the law of life…We can do nothing of get nothing without paying a price for it…True sacrifice lies in deriving the greatest pleasure from the deed, no matter what the risk.”

I thought I was sacrificing myself by denying a part of my self. However, there was very little risk involved in hiding. Personally, I risked suicide. But in relation to my community, I was complacent. I didn’t risk the humiliation that I knew would happen. I didn’t risk the challenges and conflict that could move my community towards social change. I was scared, and I let that fear dictate my path and decisions.

Thirteen years later, I still find myself grappling with the notion of sacrifice. I find myself repeating similar patterns of denying parts of my identity, or even acknowledging pieces of my identity others perceive.

I am a leader in the field of youth development. This is a position I am really uncomfortable in. For years, I have been in position of middle management. These positions definitely had influence – influence in logistical details, relationships with youth and families, and school and community collaborations. But I had very little true decision-making power. I could recommend, advise, and critique. Ultimately, the decisions resided with others higher up.

In these previous positions, I was always sacrificing. I remember a very concrete sacrifice I had to make. I was working on a collaborative literacy project. This project helped middle school youth find their voices through autobiographical storytelling. I was the facilitator of the collaborative helping keep everyone informed about what was going on. At the table were two schools, a literary arts organization, and my organization.

The first three years of the collaborative were amazing. We assessed the needs of youth, parents, community, and school and crafted a project that met their stated needs. In the first semester of the program, we had our rough patches. Youth were not that interested in the program and parents kept pulling their children early from the program. With a few minor changes, we solved these problems and the program saw tremendous growth.

The close of our third year saw the collaborative come back together and determine a future course. This meant reapplying for funds together and embarking on a strategic planning process. About a third of the way through this process, I was pulled into a meeting with my supervisor. I was told that the literary arts organization was going to be cut out of the grant after we were awarded a renewal. I was also told not to tell the organization, to pretend that everything was moving forward as it had for the last three years, and to take the literary arts organization’s curriculum and train my staff on it.

The reasons given to me for this were understandable: our organization was facing a major budget shortfall and this was the only way to ensure that we could keep all of our staff. I was not sold that this was in the best interest of the literacy development of our youth. My staff were amazing youth workers. They were not literacy experts. They had a hard time understanding content standards and their application. I knew that the youth would suffer if this organization was cut out completely from the grant. I also didn’t, and still don’t, believe in the backhandedness of non-disclosure.

Instead of accepting this position I was placed in, I decided to inform all parties of what was going to happen. And on all sides I was between a rock and a hard place. I was told that there was very little I could actually do. My organization was the lead organization and if, after receiving the funds, they wanted to do something different they were at liberty to do so.

I remember many sleepless nights: nightmares of the world spinning out of control. I remember coming home and getting into arguments with my partner because of my lack of control on the job and need to find it somewhere. I remember becoming an unbearable coworker because I no longer trusted the organization as a whole. I remember feeling like I had lost a piece of my identity. I was sacrificing my values in order to be a part of the process.

Ultimately, I left this job. I remember finally looking inward and asking myself where I drew my line. Where was that point of sacrifice where I was no longer myself?

I found it during this process, and I vowed not to cross it. I was sacrificing quality programming for youth for the self preservation of my organization.

My ultimate commitment and responsibility in my career has been to youth. When youth are compromised, I can no longer be a part of what I am involved in. I need to find something that I can connect to and commit to fully. That was and is my greatest learning.

Now that I am in a new position, on that has much more power and influence, I must continue to keep these learnings at the forefront of my mind. I must also continue to grapple with the concept of sacrifice. Compromise – the giving and taking to accomplish a larger collective aim – has many points where sacrifice must be made. If was as a field want to change the world, we must be willing to sacrifice in order to realize out vision. By we must also know the power we hold and not sacrifice the progress we have made for simple political expediency.

This means honestly evaluating our failures and shortcomings. We must take this one step further – we must openly share with one another these failures. Gandhi wrote “the work before them [young Indians in South Africa] is not work of a day or a few months but…the work of years, nor is it work which can be done without strenuous labor.” We have our work cut out for us. And to continue down this path means years of labor. My hope is that love, courage, honesty, and intentionality ground our work and that we seek continuous self and collective improvement. For the true beauty of sacrifice comes not from the losing of the self. It comes from the releasing of one’s self from the bonds of the ego.

Reflections on Investing in Youth Workers: A Reconnection to My Core

Dear Readers:

It has been a while since last I wrote. I am someone who needs aspects of my life to inspire my writing. Recently, I have been very inspired. It just hasn’t been written about. Now, I am hoping to capture some of that inspiration.

**************************

Living a values-centered life is invigorating. I find myself with so much more clarity, intention, and passion than I ever have. Even in moments of feeling overwhelmed, I find myself seeking connections, direction, hope.

Recently, I had the pleasure of helping craft a convening called Investing in Youth Workers organized by Community Network for Youth Development. The intention of the convening was to bring together youth workers of all types together and unite them on common ground. The goal was to determine whether or not we would collectively pull together a regional task force dedicated to solving some of the major workforce development opportunities and challenges for our field, youth development.

At times during this process, I found myself getting incredibly frustrated. We were on an incredibly short timeline to pull off an event that was going to (will) impact our field for years to come.

I hold myself to incredibly high standards. I have spent a good amount of time clarifying, defining, and intentionally living my core values, and I wanted all of us at a planning level to clarify, define, and live by our collective core values. Our short timeline forced us to skip this step. We jumped right into getting work done and not enough time on how to get the work done.

For me, my three core, non negotiable values I wanted for the process were honesty and integrity, equity, and innovation and transformation. At times, I felt very connected to these values, especially the value of innovation and transformation. Other times, I found myself wishing for more communication, transparency, and accountability.

I never, however, went back and reflected on my values. Instead, I just kept getting more and more irritated when things did not go as planned. I was confused, disoriented, and unable to tap into my best thinking. Thus, I felt like I was failing youth workers – a feeling I was (am) incredibly uncomfortable with and ashamed of.

It is amazing to me how failure can immediately take me away from my purpose. I believe I exist to connect. I almost always seek win-win solutions. I believe there were many times throughout the process that I did seek win-win solutions. I believe that there were other times where I was only concerned with me – how I would be perceived. And in those moments of discord, I found myself alone, sad, hurt, and defensive.

In my opening remarks at the convening, I stated we must “reflect, inquire, listen, connect, dream, act, and then start the whole process all over again.” I am back at the beginning. I am sitting in a café with my core values splayed all over the table. I am reviewing my list of what I need to live by my core values and what hinders my ability to live by them. I am reflecting on how both my contribution and lack of contribution affected the planning process and my ability to be fully involved and engaged. I must take this opportunity to be honest and joyful, explore and transform, and love and seek equity. In other words, I must reconnect to my core values.

One thing that hinders my ability to live by my core values is the need for power and control. I know I am excellent at inclusive planning. I have a lot of my ego wrapped into that belief. That is one of my greatest flaws because it hinders my ability to just be present. I find myself analyzing and critiquing processes that are not fully inclusive. During my involvement in planning this convening, I found myself continually angry by processes that I felt were not inclusive. In those moments, I wanted, no needed, power and control. I wanted to direct the process. I needed to be heard. And I know that those needs and wants impacted how I stated ideas and worked with members of the planning team.

I believe that the event was a success. In fact, I believe that we as a field are finally grappling with difficult concepts on how to build a coalition that works towards a prepared, stable, supported, and committed workforce. This is a major win. I am proud, hopeful, and joyous about this collaborative win.

I must also continue to live by my core values. This means a constant reconnection to and review of my values, what I need to stay committed to them, and what takes me away from them. In essence, I must reflect, inquire, listen, connect, dream, act, and then start all over again.

I am honored to have worked with so many amazing people on Investing in Youth Workers. I learned so many things, expanded my thinking, and transformed into another iteration of myself - one that is deeply committed to living a values-centered life.

I thank you dear reader for coming along on this journey, this path, with me. I am always astounded when I run into one of you and you bring up my writing. You all help hold me accountable to what I have written. I am eternally indebted to for your commitment to supporting me on my part. Because of you, I now realize that I am not on a path of leadership, a path that ultimately leads me towards an ego. Rather, I am on a path of intentionality – a path that ultimately leads me towards a release of and freedom from my ego. Thank you.

My Core Values

Through coaching I did with a fantastic coach named Dewey Schott, I was able to identify 12 values that are incredibly important to me and guide the way I live my life. Of those twelve, six are core values - values that guide my actions and reside at the forefront of my mind. And six are secondary values - values that support my core values. Listed below are my six core values, my definition of them, what I need to support these values, and what takes me away from them.


Love and Affection: The ability to verbally and physically express emotions, feelings, and the true self with others over time.

What I need: a sense of self; openness; failure; connections to my emotions; loyalty and commitment; honesty; being okay with 'touch' (being touched both physically and nonphysically)

What takes me away: personally constructed barriers; self loathing; internalized oppression


Exploration: The ability to let go and be immersed in the world.

What I need: inquiry; release of power and control; sense of something greater than myself; not needing to be right or correct; being open to possibilities; vision; selflessness; ambiguity

What takes me away: tunnel vision and narrow mindedness; dogma; authority; self doubt


Honesty and Integrity: The ability to openly express thoughts, feelings, ideas, and emotions in a consistent way.

What I need: communication; sense of self and self worth; feedback; active listening; transparency

What takes me away: fear; failure; shutting down the feedback loop; uncertainty; self interest; personally constructed barriers


Equity: The ability to be fair, impartial, and just.

What I need: sense of self and identity; intentionality; willingness to try and not be afraid of failure; ability to check privilege; ability to differentiate needs and wants; willingness to give up power and control; interdependence; innovation; long term commitment; transformation

What takes me away: cookie cutter equality; need for power and control; societal isolation; continually shifting commitments; oppression in all its forms; lack of identity


Innovation and Transformation: The ability to look at things from multiple angles and see patterns, ideas, and concepts organically emerge.

What I need: creativity; a sense of possibility; risk; structure; vision; knowledge; resources; failure; sense of something greater than myself; openness to change

What takes me away: unyielding bureaucracy; pessimism; ignorance; closed-mindedness; fear; stodginess


Humor and Joy: The ability to see suffering in the world and remain hopeful.

What I need: laughter; analysis; self deprecation; connection and disconnection; empathy; smiles; openness; communication; absurdity; willingness to fail; hope; bravery and courage; youthfulness

What takes me away: authority; censorship; despair; being lost in suffering; taking on the suffering of others; the need to 'fix' things; stress; ignorance

A Brief History of the Youth Development Peer Network

Dear Readers:

As I stated below, I am posting some of my other work. This is a history I wrote about the Youth Development Peer Network. The YDPN is near and dear to my heart. I am proud to be a servant of youth workers across the Bay Area. Every time I hear a youth workers story as to why they do the work they do, I feel reconnected to my own work. It is always amazing to me how the simple act of listening can be rejuvenating.

*******

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was space—vast, expansive, and filled with wonders. Space shifted and moved and by some marvel galaxies, solar systems, stars, and planets were created. In one solar system, there was a particular planet, the third from a star called Sun, that was teeming with what we know to be life.

On this planet, Earth, people came to be. What was phenomenal about this is that people interacted with their environments in vastly different ways than any other life before it. People changed the landscape of the Earth with houses, monuments, villages, industry, agriculture, wars, and technology. People interacted with each other in different ways as well. Societies were built, destroyed, and built again. Lines were drawn to differentiate one group of people from another. These lines were called class, caste, ethnicity, religion, language, tribe, clan, gender, and so on.

And as time ticked ever forward, the Earth, once thought gigantic and impossible to connect, became smaller and smaller and more connected. The impact of conflict or war in one country effected the economy of many. Businesses set up shops, stores, and business centers in many countries rather than just one tying people who once had no connections to each other. Industry polluted the environment and the toxins released in one part of the world created massive storms in other parts, melted ice caps of mountains and the artic, and warmed the ocean. Technology birthed the internet and the World Wide Web and suddenly people in Thailand could communicate with people in Canada, people in Pakistan could communicate with people in Egypt; and information was available at the click of a button.

The common theme throughout all of this is connectivity and networks. Or as Jorge Luis Borges said “everything touches everything”. Soon, we learned that the greatest distance between two people is six degrees of separation. And this theme has been explored again and again by the likes of Stanley Milgram and John Guare and Frigyes Karinthy. If we use our networks, we can reach anyone in the world. For it takes only one link in a network to expose you to the entirety of the network.

The Youth Development Peer Network capitalizes on this theory by linking youth workers to each other in an effort to legitimize, professionalize, and celebrate the field of youth development. The power of the YDPN is the Network. Our ability to transfer learning, knowledge, skills, experience, and expertise between each other and to inform others about the important work of youth development is our strength. We exist to connect.

In order to truly understand the impact of the laws of networks that govern the YDPN, we must understand how the YDPN came to be. It all started with the Community Network for Youth Development. In 1992, CNYD was conceived from a study of Stanford University Center for the Study of Families, Children, and youth. This study highlighted the need of youth-serving organizations and youth workers to come together for the purpose of professional exchange, staff development, and access to training resources. Sue Eldredge, CNYD’s founder and current Executive Director, and an advisory group of organizational leaders and youth workers responded and established a three-year demonstration project to build a professional network for youth workers in the Bay Area culminating in 1994 with a Bay Area Youth Development Conference that brought together over 600 professional youth workers.[1]

Over the years, CNYD became a leader in the field of youth development providing trainings, resources, and technical assistance to organizations and youth workers and working at a systems level with funders and policymakers to ensure that outcomes and resources more effectively and consistently supported community youth development efforts. CNYD created Youth Development Learning Networks that helped organizational leaders and youth workers become more intentional with their work, build consensus and commitment to effective youth development practices, and provided a real measure of the developmental impact of their work. Through this process, CNYD provided 2000 youth workers from over 600 organizations with a broad array of professional development opportunities.[2]

In 2000, CNYD recognized that youth workers and organizational leaders also needed to be engaged as an active voice within the field to move it forward effectively. CNYD staff asked past Learning Network participants if they wanted to continue to meet to discuss how to make their voice more powerful within the field. And thus, the Youth Development Leadership Council was born.

Initially, the Youth Development Leadership Council was comprised of funders, executive directors and youth workers. CNYD played a crucial convening and facilitation role during these instrumental years. Additionally, CNYD helped secure the resources needed in order to sustain such an effort.

The YDLC met regularly from 2001 to 2003 when it became clear that it wanted to be the voice of the workers and wanted to focus its activities on building skills, fostering intention, networking, and advocating for workers. The YDLC expanded their vision and decided to establish a local network of workers. So it decided to change its name from the YDLC to the Youth Development Peer Network in an effort to better capture the work it was trying to achieve.

The YDPN launched its first event in February of 2003. And it was a huge success. The event brought together over 80 attendees from all across the Bay Area to network, foster intention, and build a regional support system for, with, and by youth workers. At the launch event, current YDPN Steering Committee members recruited more youth workers to become Steering Committee members in an effort to ensure a broad representation from across the Bay Area and constituencies served.

From 2003 to June 2005, CNYD supported the efforts of the YDPN by providing a .25 FTE for project management and meeting facilitation and monies to support events and meeting food. The Steering Committee governed the direction and activities of the Network and talked extensively about becoming a non-profit, the role of workers in the professionalization of the field, and the future of youth development. Steering Committee members worked in all types of settings and held a variety of jobs from health educators to program directors to executive directors. In addition to the Steering Committee there was a Professional Development Committee that oversaw the execution of collaborative skills building workshops, a Networking Committee that produced networking events that connected workers to each other, and an Advocacy Committee that had difficulty in crafting a policy agenda for youth workers because the needs of the field were so great and finding a starting point was overwhelming.

The number of Steering Committee members fluctuated because people left the field (mostly due to needing to find a better paying job with better benefits). Sometimes there were 12 people, sometimes there were 5 people. There was always a small group of dedicated individuals that wanted to see the Network succeed, flourish, and grow. And thanks to the support provided by CNYD, the Network did.

Highlights of YDPN events from 2003 – June 2005 include:

· The First Annual Summer Resource Exchange in April 2003 that brought together 63 youth workers to share ideas and resources for summer programming;

· A Speakers Forum on Youth Grantmaking co-sponsored by CNYD and the Youth Leadership Institute in December 2003;

· A Diversity and Equity Institute co-hosted by California Tomorrow in January 2004;

· June 2004’s Safe Summer Event in response to summer funding cuts and wanting to make sure workers were connected to each other to keep our communities safe;

· The Third Annual Summer Resource Exchange in April 2005 that brought youth workers together to learn summer activities, connect, and learn about the amazing work being done across the nation to professionalize the field (a first into the forum of workforce development for the YDPN), which was a major success;

In November 2004, CNYD was asked to participate in a national Wingspread convening that addressed attracting, developing, and retaining youth workers for the next generation. Jen Fornal, then the facilitator for the YDPN Steering Committees, asked current Steering Committee member Kica Gazmuri if she would like to represent the YDPN at the convening and to provide a frontline perspective and ground the discussions. Upon her return, Kica Gazmuri helped bring the YDPN into the spotlight as a voice of workers within this national effort to professionalize the field.

Then, in June 2005, Rebecca Goldberg and Jason Wyman, two YDPN Steering Committee members, attended a meeting in Washington, D.C. convened by the Next Generation Youth Work Coalition, which grew out of the Wingspread Convening, about setting up a study of the youth development profession nationally. This was a seminal moment for the YDPN because it established the YDPN as a voice for workers in the growing conversations and agenda for the professionalization of the youth development field.

During all this time, the YDPN still grappled with whether or not it wanted to become its own non-profit. There were benefits to becoming a non-profit such as generating a larger budget for the Network, having independence to really voice the concerns of workers, and establishing ourselves as a leader unto ourselves. And there were drawbacks such as not having any money and losing the support of such a supportive lead agency. We were going through our own transition from dependence to independence.

Then, during the summer of 2005, the YDPN needed to become more independent because CNYD was no longer able to provide a .25 FTE support. Instead, CNYD said they could provide a budget of $6000 for operating expenses for the 2005-2006 fiscal year. And then we would be on our own.

At this time, the Steering Committee was also undergoing a major transition because many of the members were leaving the field of youth development. The YDPN dismantled its subcommittees and decided to have two co-chairs that would help lead the Network through this transition. The co-chairs decided that it would take a year of concentrated effort to really build a sustainable and lasting collaborative. So instead of producing lots of events, the YDPN worked on building infrastructure, developing our own identity, building relationships with funders, and recruiting new Steering Committee members.

Concurrently, the Wingspread Convening led to the formation of the Next Generation Youth Work Coalition. Kica joined on the Steering Committee of the Next Gen Coalition and helped keep the YDPN informed about emerging national issues. Additionally, the Next Gen Coalition continued to develop the workforce study and was looking for local organizations that could collect data on workers.

The San Francisco Beacon Initiative was undergoing an excellent study of its workers and the YDPN had connections to youth workers outside of the Beacon Initiative and San Francisco, so the Next Gen Coalition approached the YDPN to interview local youth workers about the issues they were facing to broaden the data collected by the Beacon Initiative—thus, cementing the YDPN’s ability to bring a worker voice into the dialogue.

YDPN’s involvement in the Next Gen Coalition study led directly to conversations with the Evelyn and Walter Haas Jr. Fund about funding the YDPN to undergo a strategic planning process. The YDPN was beginning to see where its market really was. However, the Program Officer, Darlene Hall, at the Haas Jr. Fund wasn’t convinced that the YDPN really needed a strategic planning process. Instead, Darlene asked “Is there a there there?” She wanted to know if the YDPN, in its current structure, was a feasible organization for the long haul, how it was different than other youth development intermediaries, and how it could become financially sustainable.

Before the YDPN could receive a grant from the Haas Jr. Fund, it needed to address the issues of fiscal responsibility with CNYD. CNYD had been graciously providing seed monies to support the work. But if the YDPN wanted to seek grants independently, it needed to formalize its relationship with CNYD. So during the summer of 2006, the YDPN co-chairs met with CNYD staff and formalized the relationship between CNYD and the YDPN as that of a fiscal agent with a memorandum of understanding that clearly stated the terms of the relationship. No longer would CNYD be providing monies to the YDPN. It was now time for the YDPN to seek its own funding.

In the fall of 2006, Jason Wyman, a co-chair of the YDPN, met with Darlene of the Haas Jr. Fund to discuss more in-depth what Haas Jr. would look for in a proposal. Darlene reiterated “You need to establish ‘Is there a there there?’” This led to YDPN’s first independently written grant of $10,000 to support a feasibility study. This was also the beginning of a process that re-connected YDPN to workers, ensured worker buy-in into the direction of the YDPN, and reemphasized the need for workers to come together as peers.

While this transition was happening, the YDPN also started crafting workshops that sought to bring youth workers outside of their jobs for rejuvenation and self-care. The first Day of Rejuvenation and Self-Care took place at the San Francisco Buddhist Center, with the Buddhist Center being a major contributor in the planning and execution of the event. The day was a major success. Youth workers loved the time and attention being given to them. They also loved the opportunity to hear from others and connect with intention. In response, the YDPN sponsored two more Days of Rejuvenation, one in Oakland and one in Richmond.

The YDPN also took time and intention to craft another major event…Incorporating Youth Media into Your Program held in August 2006. This event was created using a completely different process than the YDPN has used before. Instead of a Professional Development Committee just taking the lead and crafting an event, the YDPN asked members at the end of its 3^rd Annual Summer Resource Exchange, what topics interested them. Youth workers wanted to explore technology.

Jason then started meeting with leaders in the field of youth development and technology across the Bay Area in the fall of 2005, and asked them what an event of this sort would look like and how it could be most successful. After numerous conversations, the YDPN found a host, the Bayview/Hunter’s Point Center for Art and Technology, and built sponsorships with World Savvy, CHALK, and San Francisco Art Institute’s City Studio. This successful collaborative process produced an event in which over 70 youth worker from across the Bay Area (Livermore to Marin to Oakland to San Francisco) came together to look at the intersection of youth development and technology. Youth workers reported a high level of satisfaction and affinity for the event. It was one of the most successful skill-building workshops the YDPN had ever sponsored.

The 2006-2007 fiscal year saw the YDPN propel forward momentously. In addition to receiving the Haas Jr. Fund grant, the YDPN was encouraged to apply for monies from the San Francisco Foundation. The YDPN wrote a grant to San Francisco’s Department of Children, Youth, and Their Families to support field building in San Francisco. The YDPN launched its first fundraising campaign and raised over $3000 from individual contributions. By the end of fiscal year 2006-2007, the YDPN had increased its budget from $9500 (most of which supported the feasibility study) to a budget of over $70,000 for fiscal year 2007-2008.

The YDPN also increased its Steering Committee, only about five in Summer of 2005, to 12 members by June 2007. The YDPN presented a workshop at DCYF’s State of the City’s Children Summit on the state of the workforce locally, state-wide, and nationally. CNYD, the Oakland Community After School Alliance, and the YDPN co-hosted three workforce forums with the Next Gen Coalition and local youth workers—one in Oakland, one in San Francisco, and one for funders, policymakers, and intermediaries.

The Next Gen Coalition sponsored another summit in November 2006. Through Kica’s active involvement in the Coalition’s Steering Committee, the YDPN was able to send two additional members to represent workers—Vicky Valentine, and Marquez Gray. This summit marked two years of YDPN’s deep and committed work to ensuring worker voice in efforts of professionalization.

And the YDPN deepened its networking by training middle school youth as Community Ambassadors that helped plan, outreach, and lead networking events that had two components. One component was a time for youth workers to connect to each other. The second component was hosting successful outreach fairs that connected youth and families to youth development organizations and programs. Both events were well attended by youth and families and modeled what quality youth development is.

The YDPN in all of its growth and transition always knew, and still knows, that success is determined by the connectedness of its Network. The YDPN’s motto is “Power through a Network of Peers”. But what does this mean? The protest march “The people united shall never be divided” is an excellent example of the meaning of our motto. By linking arm and arm and weaving a network of support, learning, and advocacy, the YDPN can take bold steps forward to professionalize our field and change society for the better. We can make a difference.

Peers are essential to carrying this work forward. By looking at each other as peers we break down the hierarchical power dynamic and create a new power dynamic of unity, camaraderie, and equality. We move forward together. And through this power shift we become the change we wish to see in the world.

Youth development, at its core, believes that young people can transition successfully from dependence to independence when provided with supports and opportunities. The Youth Development Peer Network takes it one step further. It believes that youth and youth workers and community members and parents and all humanity can stand side-by-side as equals. It believes that through creating avenues of equality and equity, supports and opportunities, ALL can move beyond dependence and independence to interdependence. Gandhi stated “Interdependence is and ought to be as much the ideal of man as self-sufficiency. Man is a social being. Without interrelation with society he cannot realize his oneness with the universe or suppress his egotism. His social interdependence enables him to test his faith and to prove himself on the touchstone of reality.” And John Muir wrote “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” Or… “Everything touches everything.”

The YDPN’s purposes are to hold people together as peers and to promote the worker agenda through equitable avenues. This task is enormous and its responsibility and accountability to the workers is vital to its growth. The YDPN must ensure that avenues of worker buy-in exist and are representative of all youth workers in the Bay Area. It must continue to be a Network of Peers.

Five years down the road, the YDPN will be more connected and interwoven. Youth workers from beyond the Bay Area will feel invested in its future because the agenda of the YDPN is the agenda of the worker.

Ten years down the road, the YDPN will have made enormous strides in ensuring workers rights in our field and will have advocated for livable wages, respect, benefits, career ladders, and continued learning opportunities–not only for youth development, but for other workers in similar situations.

One hundred years down the road, the YDPN will have affected systems of governance by proving that by standing shoulder to shoulder we are stronger and can be a positive change agent.

One thousand years down the road, the YDPN will no longer exist and the lines that once used to divide now are used to unite.

Ten thousand years down the road, the Earth will be in harmony and the true depth of interdependence will be realized.

One million years down the road, space.

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[1] Taken from http://cnyd.org/cnydstory/index.php

[2] Ibid.

The Path of Intentionality

Dear Readers:

I work part-time for the Youth Development Peer Network. Below is an article I wrote for their bi-monthly communications. I realize I have not posted much on the blog as of late. Partly that is due to be extremely busy. Partly that is due to not being completely inspired by the written word. (I have been doing more cooking and doodling.) Partly that is due to redefining my Path Towards Leadership. I am now not sure Leadership is the right path to be on. Instead, I feel the Path of Intentionality is better suited for me.

I will be exploring intentionality in the months to come. Please be patient. I will post more new work. In the mean time, enjoy this post. I will also post a couple of other work related posts as they capture a lot of who I am.

And thanks for all of the support - spoken, written, and silent. I feel blessed to have you a part of my life.

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Violence is on the rise across the Bay Area. In Oakland, there have been more than 100 homicides so far this year. San Francisco has seen more than 75 homicides. And conflicting reports put the number of homicides in Richmond between 18 and 20. These rates don’t even cover other violent crimes including assaults, non-fatal shootings, robberies, etc.

If we as youth workers (those that work with or on behalf of youth) want to address this issue head on, we need to be connected. All of us have specific jobs with specific obligations, hours of operation, geographic focuses, and so on. The youth and families we serve often are hindered by our disjointed and disorganized means of operation.

Take for example an after school program in the Excelsior neighborhood of San Francisco from Spring 2007. The after school program started at 3:30pm and operated until 6pm Monday through Thursday and held special events every Friday. The school had only about 240 students. The after school program served 40 students on average. That left about 200 students without programming. Where were all the youth?

The school I am talking about is Excelsior Middle School (EMS). I was Director of School-Community Relations at Excelsior last spring. I knew from the outset that our after school program would not and could not serve all youth. So I started bridging connections to other service providers throughout San Francisco. And I started finding some of EMS’s youth. They were attending programs at the Marsh, the Greater Mission Consortium, the OMI/Excelsior Beacon Center, Huckleberry House, Excelsior Boys and Girls Club, and more.

I was excited to see youth from EMS engaged in so many different programs. I didn’t view these other agencies and programs as competitors. Rather, they were able to meet the needs of EMS youth better than our program, and for that I was/am grateful.

When it comes to violence and emergencies, knowing exactly who to contact saves vital minutes – minutes our youth and families may not have. I remember receiving a phone call one evening from a guardian of a youth who ran away from home. I had not dealt with a runaway teen in over a year and a half, so I was somewhat at a loss for exactly how to help.

Enter Will Corpuz. I had worked with Will when I was at the OMI/Excelsior Beacon Center, and I remembered that he was now a part of the Community Response Network. Luckily, I had Will’s cell phone number on me. I told the guardian to be patient for a moment while I placed a phone call. I talked to Will, got some great suggestions for the guardians, and called them immediately back. We found the teen that night, and most importantly she was safe.

We as youth workers must seek out opportunities to connect on many different levels. We need to know each other as people, as professionals, and as change agents. We have the capacity to connect our youth, families, and communities and promote human rights. It is our duty to “be the change we wish to see”.

The Youth Development Peer Network is setting off on a year of intentional connections. Our Steering Committee members seek to become hubs, youth workers highly connected to the diverse aspects of our large Bay Area community that can intentionally connect you to other workers. Our goals in doing this are:

• To increase the intention of why we are doing youth work;
• To build an interdependent system of prepared, committed, stable, and valued workers;
• To maximize the impact of our work with youth, families, and communities
  

To accomplish this aim, we need you…the youth workers!

We launched our first Brown Bag on Friday, October 12^th from 12noon to 2:00pm. It was a huge success! We had fifteen youth workers in attendance. Workers talked about barriers to getting teens reading and into libraries and hopes they had for getting more teens reading. I shared a statistic that I learned from Streetside Stories: Arizona uses the illiteracy rate of 4^th graders to determine how many prisons to build. (Update: California has now adopted the same policy.) This spurred all in attendance to make personal commitments to getting teens literate. Some of the commitments include:

* Getting staff engaged in conversations about reading and its importance;

* Becoming a living example by reading;

* Seeing to have collaboration with the libraries on financial literacy;

* Bringing youth from an organization’s youth advisory board to the Library Commission meetings to give feedback about how libraries can become more youth friendly.

We need to do everything in our power to ensure that our youth have the skills necessary to succeed in life. Literacy and reading is one of those skills.

Kudos to Jennifer Collins, Teen Services Manager for San Francisco Libraries for helping get this off the ground.

We will also be co-sponsoring a Brown Bag in early November to prepare youth workers for CNYD’s Investing in Youth Workers Convening on Friday, November 16^th. We are a workforce of over 132,000 strong in the state of California. That is amazing. And it poses amazing opportunities and challenges for how we professionalize our field. The YDPN is dedicated to promoting your voice as a worker at tables with decision-makers. In order for us to accurately represent you, we need your help in crafting a worker-centered agenda. Our Brown Bag in November will start this process. We will follow it up at CNYD’s Convening. And then we will host another Brown Bag in December to craft a more detailed agenda. If you would like to support this effort, please email me, Jason Wyman, at ydpn.bay.area@gmail.com.

I am proud to be Project Manager for the YDPN, and I am excited about all the possibilities that exist for us as workers. I am also very concerned about the alarming homicide rates throughout the Bay Area. I know I am not an expert on solving the problem of violence. I am someone who can point in the direction of others who can help. I am a servant of youth workers. I exist to connect.