A long, painful road for Illinois

In some inexplicable way, I felt sorry for ex-Gov. Rod Blagojevich on Thursday as he delivered his last-ditch argument to the Illinois Senate. There he stood, in the Senate chamber in Springfield, giving an impassioned plea while lawmakers sat silently, perhaps just counting down the hours and minutes before they dealt a fatal blow to his political life. When he concluded his speech, he was advised that he was welcome to stay and listen to the prosecution's closing argument. The ex-governor quietly declined and left the room unceremoniously. Literally and figuratively, no one stood by him. He knew as well as anyone else that his time in public office was done. That was perhaps the only grip on reality he had; in all other respects, the man was and is delusional.

Nevertheless, any sense of pity I felt was equally misguided, especially toward an individual who has willfully inflicted so much pain on my home state. Two short months ago, I was distinctly proud of being a native of the state that had not only produced the president who abolished slavery and held this nation together through a bitter civil war, but also most recently, the first African American ever to hold that office. Little did I know the ugly saga that was about to unfold and rudely extinguish the celebratory atmosphere in the Land of Lincoln. When it did, I joined millions of other Illinoisans in condemning Blagojevich's alleged crimes and calling for his immediate resignation.

And if the man had possessed even an ounce of personal integrity, he would have heeded that advice. He would have recognized the damage he would cause to our state by arrogantly clinging to power even as he faced federal criminal charges. Proclaiming one's innocence as a politician under fire is one story; acting in the best interests of the people who hired you to put them first — not yourself — is another entirely. On the latter, Blagojevich failed miserably and seemed to take pride in doing so. Instead of stepping aside to spare Illinois the trauma he knew it was about to face, the corrupt governor relished every minute he was in the spotlight — at one point, openly defying his colleagues who told him unequivocally not to appoint Obama's senatorial replacement, and at another, engaging on a media blitz while boycotting his own impeachment trial for the purpose of painting himself as a political martyr. Throughout that entire time, he did nothing to convince anyone that he wasn't guilty of every single charge leveled against him.

That's probably because his secretly recorded phone conversations — and even some of the interviews he did this past week — left little or no room for doubt. Yet Blagojevich continually cast himself as the victim and unabashedly exploited his position of authority and prominence as a pedestal from which to wage his twisted, self-righteous personal crusade. In so doing, he ignored the real victim — the people of Illinois, whose government was too busy dealing with a corrupt chief executive to tackle the catalog of problems that the state is currently facing.

Like so many others, I'm outraged and fatigued by the soap opera that has taken place in the past two months — and no less saddened by the tragic direction we've taken since that historic night in early November in Chicago. It's finally time to begin the healing process. There will be some immediate, tangible symbols of this, like the removal of $480,000 worth of tollway signs bearing the ex-governor's name. But it will mostly consist of less visible and more prolonged benchmarks. Perhaps chief among them will be the lessons that the citizens of Illinois — and Americans in general — learned from this mess about the brutal consequences of political arrogance and corruption. We can only hope.

Scenes of a brighter time

These, finally, are the last round of my hiking photos from last season. This set was taken in late October, before the snow hit, on a trail north of the town of Roslyn, Washington. (That's where they filmed the popular early-1990s television series "Northern Exposure," which was actually supposed to be set in Alaska. You can still visit the Roslyn Cafe, made famous by the opening credits of the program.)

Anyway, the hike, which was comparatively easy to the previous ones of the season, consisted of a relatively level jaunt through a gorgeous forest along a rushing river, ending at a peaceful, secluded lake. The fall colors from the few deciduous trees in the area were at their peak. Between that, the brilliant sunshine, and the crisp autumn temperature, this was a very memorable day trip.

My love-hate affair with text messaging

There was a time when I maligned the idea of text messaging at every opportunity. In fact, when I got my first cell-phone contract about six years ago — which alone was a huge step for me — I specifically opted against including text messages in my monthly plan. I truly did not understand the point of it: Why would I type out a message to someone when I could simply call the person and tell him or her what I intended to say? Especially when it takes many times longer to type out a text than it does to simply dial a number, the whole idea seemed like a waste of time. The only practical use for text messaging, in my mind, was scenarios where phone conversation was impractical — in a noisy bar, for instance, or in places that need to stay quiet. Neither scenario was compelling enough for me. I associated "texting" with 14-year-old suburban kids at the movie theater on a Saturday night.

I still don't have text messaging on my phone plan, which means it costs me extra to send or receive texts. Recently, though, I've discovered uses for the feature that I never would have considered in my formerly close-minded mentality. Sometimes I wish to communicate something, but the thought alone doesn't merit a full phone call, which necessitates standard pleasantries and small talk that a quick text wouldn't require. Or occasionally the nature of the communication recommends a simple text over a phone call: If I need to decline someone's invitation, it's easier to text my regrets rather than call and explain in person, which would require an extensive apology and potentially awkward conversation. Contrary to my previous assertions, text messages are sometimes more practical and time-saving than phone calls. Consequently, I've been using them a lot more recently than I ever did in the past.

Nevertheless, because text messaging still isn't included on my phone plan and still costs extra, I need to be judicious in my use of the service. Thus, I offer my apology to anyone who has sent me a text and hasn't heard back. Chances are, you're in that group if you sent me one that didn't directly call for a response. Please rest assured that my silence does not stem from personal animosity. At this point, I'd still advise an old-fashioned phone call as the best way to reach me — unless, of course, you're bitter that I haven't responded to your message and wish to avoid an unpleasant conversation. In that instance, another text may be the best way to go.

Torn on Rick Warren

Perhaps the most controversial aspect of Tuesday's inauguration was President Obama's choice of evangelical Pastor Rick Warren to deliver the invocation at the ceremony. The debate was sparked by Warren's outspoken support of the repugnant Proposition 8, which passed in California last November, as well as some remarks he made recently in which he equated homosexual unions with incest, pedophilia, and polygamy.

If there's one benefit to being an American citizen that I cherish above all others, it's the constitutionally protected right to free speech and expression, even when the ideas being publicized are unpopular or even despised. Such a freedom is the ultimate measure of an open, democratic society. That's why I initially defended Obama's choice. I disagree completely with Warren's perspective on the issue of gay marriage — and frankly, found his comments disgraceful — but this alone does not entitle me or anyone else to censor the pastor's expression of those views. In fact, as the new president, Obama has an obligation to represent and be inclusive of all Americans, not just those who voted for him in greatest numbers. Whether we like it or not — and I don't — many or most Americans still oppose the idea of same-sex marriage. Let's not forget that Obama also invited the Rev. V. Gene Robinson, the first openly gay bishop, to deliver another invocation.

This debate came up last month while I was at home visiting family for the holidays. One of my parents' friends expressed her disdain for Obama's choice to include Warren in his inauguration, so I explained to her my perspective on the matter. She replied that she understood the need for diversity of viewpoints at an event as historic as Tuesday's inauguration, but that someone like Jim Wallace of Sojourners would have been a much better selection for that purpose. If Warren had made similarly questionable comments about blacks, or Latinos, or Jews, she argued, he never would have received such an invitation from the president-elect. Gays still exist on a social cusp, she contended, at which it isn't yet considered universally unacceptable to make disparaging comments about them — not in the same way that it would be if those comments had applied to a racial or religious group.

Admittedly, I hadn't considered such an argument, and its validity caused me to re-evaluate my entire opinion on the controversy. Later on, I also realized that Warren's inclusion at the inauguration wasn't a free speech issue at all: Even if he hadn't been invited to deliver an invocation, his constitutional right to express his view wasn't infringed upon in the least. He could have stood across the street and done so as Chief Justice John Roberts delivered the (botched) oath of office. Speaking at an official state function is entirely distinct from exercising free speech.

I am therefore genuinely torn on this issue. On one hand, America has suffered through so many years of polarization and hostility between groups that it seems critical to finally have a leader who legitimately attempts to represent everyone. On the other hand, giving the podium to someone like Warren — whose remarks stigmatized a group of the population that overwhelmingly supported Obama's candidacy — can and already has had unintended consequences.

Tuesday will be history in the making

Regardless of whether or not you supported President-elect Barack Obama in last November's election, I strongly urge everyone who reads this to take some time on Tuesday morning — or afternoon, depending on your time zone — to watch the inauguration of our nation's first African American president. If you see no other part of the event, at least watch his speech. I expect it will be one remembered for years to come.

This is not simply the beginning of change in Washington, as Obama was fond of promising during his campaign. It is an event that will be written about in the history books read by our children and children's children. It will likely become one of those historic moments that conjures up memories for years into the future: All of us who watched Barack Obama's inauguration will remember where we were and what we were doing at the time. It is a defining moment for my generation — and, no doubt, an equally remarkable one for older generations, who also saw the work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but never thought they'd live to see anything like this.

Beyond its historical significance, Tuesday's festivities are a source of national unity and pride, as evidenced by the millions of people who have flocked to America's capital from all across the country and world to be part of the experience. I wish I could be there — but regardless, I know I'll be joining with people all across the globe in observing this shared celebration. Let's seize this event and remember what it represents: The dawn of a new chapter in history whose relevance extends far beyond the borders of this great nation.

Paternity likely not in the cards

I've never before broached this subject on this blog. Nonetheless, I've always had a strong and consistent position on the matter. I don't have even a marginal interest in ever fathering children.

In past conversations with family members and friends on this issue, I've been told that many people who are opposed to the idea of having children as young adults tend to become more receptive to the notion as they grow older. Perhaps that's true, but I'm unconvinced it will be the case for me. I realize this may limit my prospects for finding a future spouse, since many women do desire to have children at some point in their lives. I find this deeply regrettable, but I can't compromise my personal opinion on that basis alone. After all, differing perspectives on the possibility of parenthood isn't necessarily a deal-breaker for marriage.

There are several reasons why I don't understand the appeal of having children. I do realize the joy and fulfillment that it can bring — but from my point of view, this is far outweighed by the indescribably enormous responsibility, stress, and loss of freedom that it entails. I've observed an increasing number of people my age who have had a baby and abruptly given up their youth — some of the best years of their lives, and years that will never return. Suddenly, going out for drinks, dinner, or a movie becomes an ordeal because they can't find a babysitter. The ability to travel is greatly limited. Spontaneous activity becomes almost impossible. Twenty- and thirty-somethings who once loved to spend time with friends outside of work suddenly need to go straight home to watch their kids. They're the ones who often barely made ends meet before parenthood; add children to the equation, and it'll be years before they have any money saved.

Yes, children are a massive financial commitment. But they're an equally huge commitment of time and emotion. The notion of fathering a child fills me with anxiety — anxiety over the reality that I'd be responsible for the very survival and development of another human being for at least the next two decades of my life. The responsibility of parenting a child is unlike any other; it isn't simply a job you take care of, move on and forget about. It's a job in which you spend every waking hour worrying about every facet of your son's or daughter's life. And in the current state of this world, I'd have serious reservations about bringing another person into it. What kind of conditions will he or she face as an adult? The thought sometimes makes me shutter. Some might call me a pessimist for this reason; I'd prefer to describe myself as a realist.

Some might also read this and conclude two other things: 1) that I'm selfish; and 2) that I'm ignorantly and inaccurately painting parenthood in a purely negative light. On the first point, I'd argue the opposite: It's selfish to bear children and then decide that you don't want the responsibility, stress, or loss of freedom. Making that determination ahead of time is simply a smart choice. On the second point, I'll again concede that parenthood can be a joyful and rewarding experience. In fact, I'm convinced it is — otherwise, no one would choose to raise children. What might be perceived as a negative tone is simply the point of view of someone who has always viewed parenthood with deep reluctance. Nevertheless, I'm not so confident in my own intellect as to presume that I'll never change my tone on this matter. It isn't likely — but I've learned that when I try to shut doors on possibilities for myself, life sometimes has a way of forcing them open. I will find out.

A new year and new perspective

At the dawn of this new year, I'm starkly reminded of the passage of time and how it seems to accelerate in speed with each year that I grow older. We now find ourselves in the depths of winter, when it seems like just one week ago I was marveling at the bright days and late sunsets of mid-summer. Shortly before that, I was pondering what 2008 would have in store. Now, that year is history, and before we know it, 2009 will be, too.

The passage of time and the aging that comes with it are two fundamental aspects of human existence. In the past year, I received a variety of lessons on these points — seeing family members, friends, and acquaintances coping with the hardships of growing older, and in some instances, coming to terms with the one inevitability we will all face at some point: death. Observing this has been particularly profound: At my relatively young age — and at the peak of my physical and mental health — it is exceptionally easy to develop an illusion of invincibility. Like most people of my generation, I don't yet deal with arthritis, chronic fatigue, short-term memory loss, or general physical deterioration. Given the human tendency to overlook realities beyond one's present circumstances, it's easy to assume I never will face those things.

The notion of living in an intellectual bubble was reinforced for me last Sunday, when at church the pastor held up a newspaper during his sermon. It was peppered with news of the current fighting in Gaza; the ongoing civil war and mass rape of women in the Democratic Republic of Congo; the economic crisis in America; potentially catastrophic environmental degradation; and political corruption, both here at home and abroad. He asked the congregation to make a deliberate effort not to be removed from the plight facing our world — and to do something about it in whatever way each of us is equipped. It isn't enough to simply write a monthly check, he said, or to assume that there will always be more time to take action on the economic, social, and political crises and injustices we hear about every day.

Such a statement was particularly convicting for me. Like most Americans, I find it easy to forget about people on the other side of the world who face horrors I can't even fathom — war, disease, starvation, natural disasters, and political oppression, just to name a few — because I live in a society where I am well insulated from such tragedies. But I also forget about those who are suffering right here in our own backyard — those who are homeless or hungry, those who are on the verge of bankruptcy because of medical bills they can't pay, those who are jobless, and those who simply struggle to provide for themselves and their families. Likewise, I'm not personally affected by such problems, which makes it easy to overlook or even ignore others who face them. It's easy enough to make my monthly donation for my sponsored child, to occasionally make an extra donation for clean water projects around the world, and to say that tomorrow I might even do something beyond monetary contribution.

Of course, telling myself what I'll do tomorrow operates under the premise that there will always be more time — a false notion that, at my young age, I've gotten used to and comfortable with. Having seen people near and dear to me face the difficulty and pain of aging, I'm beginning to come to terms with the reality that time is not infinite, and neither is the blessing of good health that enables people like myself to live meaningful lives. At the end of his sermon, the pastor reminded the congregation of this fact and implored us not to treat human suffering — both locally and globally — as problems that can always be dealt with tomorrow. A look at the news these days reveals that action on the world's biggest crises cannot be delayed.

As this new year gets underway, and the ever-accelerating passage of time is evident, it's a good word to live by.

Snow in Seattle, again

I just got home from a 4-mile walk in a snowstorm. My coat, stocking cap, and shoes are soaked and drying off over a radiator. Meanwhile, I'm sipping a hot beverage and reminding myself to be thankful that I had a warm place to go after that walk.

During my two-week holiday vacation in the Midwest, I explained to friends and family members how badly the city of Seattle is crippled by snow. It's rare here — except, apparently, this winter, in which the city has seen more snow than it probably has in the past ten or so years combined — and the geographical and political identities of this place don't lend well to such an event. Between the city's very steep hills and its refusal to use salt on the streets over environmental concerns, driving is an excellent activity to not be doing when flakes start to fall.

I'm also an environmentalist, so earlier on Sunday afternoon, I rode the bus to church — before I knew that we'd be having at least 2-3 inches of snow in the evening, which weather reports conveniently failed to predict. Ordinarily, it's a fairly easy, economical, and green alternative to driving. But when the streets get slippery, the city's public transit system essentially becomes incapacitated. On the way back, when I saw buses unable to navigate a relatively small hill — and because there was a much more formidable one between there and my apartment — I knew I'd end up walking. No cabs were in sight, and I'd be way too cheap to take one anyway, especially given the likelihood that it would become stuck somewhere just like the buses I saw.

So here I am, back at my warm pad and no worse for the wear, save a few articles of wet clothing. I intended to devote my first blog post of 2009 to a reflection on the year past and the year ahead, as has been my custom in years past. Frankly, though, I'm exhausted after the aforementioned walk and would rather simply watch a movie or do something else that requires equally little thought (like sleep). Therefore, I'll suffice it to wish everyone a happy New Year with the promise that more intellectually stimulating posts will follow in short order.