Actually, I wouldn’t know, but that’s the impression I get when I look out from my darkened room and let my eyes adjust to the sunlight—they’re more accustomed to the blue glow of a computer screen these days. Who knew starting a non-profit would be so much work? Apparently, I didn’t get the memo.

But let me tell you about a few people who DID get the memo, because other people, shockingly, are actually kinda important when you’re trying to do something totally out of your league, which is what starting said non profit has proven to be for your humble narrator.

First of all, my dad rocks the par-tay, folks. Here’s why:

• He’s 60 and still managed to help me (and select, uber-rad friends) move all of my furniture and boxes into and out of a moving truck.

• He possessed the foresight, gumption and just enough insanity to figure out how to drive my small car INTO the back of the moving truck so that we didn’t have to drive two vehicles from Colorado to California.

•  When we stopped in Vegas to take a look at a potential RuckusRoots vehicle, he had the diplomatic skills to gently inform me that buying a 15 ton, 1985 school bus with wires poking out from places where you really don’t want wires poking out of (I’m no mechanic, maybe that was part of the aesthetic) might not be the smartest move. I believe, “Jesus, Chrissy, pull yer head out!” were his exact words and more effective, to-the-point sentiment has rarely been expressed.

• Finally, it was dad who taught me the inexhaustible wonders of bullet points.

Moving on, my friend Gina definitely got the memo. In fact, she probably wrote the memo. That’s right, beautiful, quick-witted and sassy-tongued Gina, wearer of thick rimmed glasses and pixie cuts, whose pool I peed in and whose tree house we spied from as wee Glendalian lasses. Gina, who despite being a dedicated and serious GLBT (if you don’t know what that means, look it up) rights activist and therefore very helpful when it comes to getting advice about entering the world of activism, does this in her spare time. I mean, c’mon. Anyone who co-founded a band named An Immaculate Reflection is cool in my book. (Flattery will get me everywhere with Gina, this I know.)

My friend Lauren also happens to kick major ass. Besides helping me move and being completely unafraid of this gross hairy spider that had taken up residence in my shower—I mean, she just grabbed the thing with her bare hands! What?! Who does that?—she’s also played a large role in some very exciting recent developments for RuckusRoots.  If it wasn’t for Lauren’s enthusiasm and fearlessness, I probably would not be emailing, having phone conversations and meeting with a LARGE UNNAMED CORPORATION that is considering sponsoring RuckusRoots. The LARGE UNNAMED CORPORATION will remain unnamed for the moment, but suffice to say, Lauren’s got it dialed, friends.

Those are just a couple people worth mentioning. There are other, equally stupendous people I want to talk about as well and I’ll get around to them, don’t you fret. But we can only let this blogging nonsense go on for so long. And I have a couple other important points to make.

Okay, so, here I am in California. Pretty sweet, right? Yeah, actually, it is. I might’ve been a little bit (completely and utterly) freaked about leaving Boulder and quitting my job and pursuing RuckusRoots full time, but it turns out that “real” jobs, AKA jobs where you’re doing the work to realize someone else’s dream, are way overrated. (For me anyway.) I find riding the ragged edge of risky entrepreneurship much more entertaining. 

My first couple weeks in Cali have involved a flurry of unpacking, proposal writing/sending, meetings, phone calls and schedule setting. The project is taking on new shapes and evolving every day, but what I’ve realized is that to me, there is nothing more vital in this world than art and music. And to be working within that realm towards the goal of increasing youth involvement in and awareness of issues near and dear to my heart makes me feel alive. (Think wild horses galloping through waterfalls, thunderstorms raging in the distance, a glistening, powerful Amazon cresting a mountain amid lightning bolts, that kind of thing. You get the picture.) 

And that’s when shit really starts getting done—when you care enough to keep doing it day after day. Turns out the ragged edge is a pretty solid place to be, as long as you don’t look down.  (Or you can just pretend to be Conan the Barbarian and wear a sequined loin cloth underneath your clothing. That’s a pretty effective pick-me-up as well. Just food for thought.)

TrackBack URI for this entry

Comments (0)

Subscribe to this comment's feed

Show/Hide comments

Show/Hide comment form

Name

Email

Website

Comment

smaller | bigger

Subscribe via email (Registered users only)

Write the displayed characters

Add Comment