Stories: Home, A Morphing Plan, A Surreal Musical, & A Cowboy
The First Post In Our New "Stories" Series
Shift the Country is starting “Stories” posts from people working to make this shift happen. Stories are our humanity; they are who we are, were we came from, what we’re dealing with, and where we’re going. This is the inaugural “Stories” post; soon we’ll have guest posts. Today’s stories are from Shift the Country founder Vanessa Burnett, about life stuff last weekend in central Iowa. These stories are enough for 4 separate posts but are crammed into one — because things in the US are ramping up fast and we’ve got other shift to get to.
Home — Or At Least The Hometown
I started last weekend with every intention of going to Minnesota.
I live in central Iowa, but my favourite party of the entire year is with family and their friends in the suburbs of Minneapolis / St. Paul. It’s a chili cook-off in a woodsy cul-de-sac next to a creek between a couple of lakes with at least one fire, goofy northern outdoor games sometimes involving hammers, charismatic neighbors, and the possibility of live music. There is a ridiculous amount of food, homemade fruit wine, and pickled mixed hot peppers for the very brave or intoxicated or both. Since I moved back to the Midwest from DC, I about kill myself to make it every year. It’s worked about half the time. I could share the woeful tales from missing it before, but that’s not the point today.
This year I was determined to make it. One of my cats has special needs for vet-prescribed food and would not make it through the weekend without it, so Friday at the very last minute I ran to my hometown to pick it up so I could be away for two days. Going to Nevada (in this case it’s a town not a state) is always a surreal experience in itself, but the vet’s office is even trippier. The current vet started the job while I was still in high school. I graduated in 1991. The same posters are still on the wall in the vet clinic. No need to go inside the clinic Friday, though. I called ahead; and they put the bag of cat food outside in case I didn’t make it before closing. Small towns.
It was gorgeous out, and so after the vet stop I took a short drive through town since I’d gone to all the fuss to drive over. It’s always weird. Driving down the hill into town I went past the 4-H grounds, a creek we played in growing up, and the house of my grandma who passed in 2019. I’m still getting the hang of it not being her house.
I did a loop that took me through my old neighborhood, the former houses of lots of other people I used to know, a few relatives’ houses, and what turned out to be the local community Hallowe’en celebration in the three main blocks of the downtown. If I hadn’t been in my most slobby clothes, I might have walked around the celebration to get a sense for the mood in town out in public on the same day there had been an assassination attempt on the Speaker of the House. It’s helpful to get a vibe on rural America. Our media isn’t doing a great job of that. One of the reasons I want to start sharing stories here is so that we can have yet another vehicle for getting a better sense of what’s happening out in the boondocks.
While I was tooling around Friday, I ran across an uncle out mowing his lawn. Like you do, in your hometown. I debated for a split second whether I should stop; mostly because I hadn’t dressed for visiting. But: family. And it was freaking gorgeous out. You could not imagine a more perfect, iconic fall day. I stopped, and I’m glad. It’s good to see your people. I miss them. Since the pandemic started and since my grandma on the other side of the family passed in 2019, I’ve not spent much time at all with my extended family. It’s bizarre, and I miss them. It’s good for the soul. A bit of home. We need our people.
I wasn’t there long because I didn’t want to interrupt much mowing, but it was long enough. It was good. Everything around was glowing in the lowering evening sun; the yellow and orange of fall and light and leaves that fell even as we spoke.
And then I bolted home to get back to what I was working on so I could get to Minnesota on Saturday.
An Ever-Morphing Plan & Skipping Another Party
I had the idea that I could pull an all-nighter last Friday night on Shift the Country stuff… and leave for Minnesota either mid-morning Saturday with family, or later Saturday on my own.
I have this idea that I can pull off a lot more writing, tech, and big-idea-implementing in short periods than what’s realistic given physics and biology and the thinking that’s require to bring new stuff into the world. I’m used to being a much more efficient project manager, but one of my friends advised that creating something new and with limited resources is a completely different kind of project management than working with existing teams and systems. Wise. Still working on internalizing that, though.
As such, I keep having big ideas but having a tough time implementing them on the schedule I’d hoped for — and expected.
We got this new nonprofit thing up and running in July. That means we had our initial legal documents done, banking set up, a functional website, this Substack, and social media and branding established. That’s pretty bare-bones.
From July forward, I had the idea that we could set up and advertise about six weeks’ worth of online and in-person activity in August and September. This would be in the form of virtual workshops online combined with in-person example events in Iowa… with the idea that Shift the Country activity could build enough momentum through the fall to help mobilize pro-democracy many voters to vote in the election.
It was a nice idea. Despite very, very, very, very many iterations and big promises since July, we’ve not been able to pull that shift off.
I’ve had a hard time admitting that, and making a pivot. More accurately, I’ve been evolving the plan constantly since August as “challenge” after challenge hit. “Challenge” being in quotes, because “obstacle” and “cluster****” are less optimal in polite company.
The ability to keep iterating is a key point to this bit of story. Collectively, we’re going to have to do one hell of a lot of iterating and pivoting and being flexible to make this shift happen… and to simultaneously navigate the unfolding chaos and “challenges” up in this country.
Another key to the iterating and flexibility is being able to step back enough to recognize whether what you’re doing is the right move; given the big picture.
As an illustration, I’ve had a really, really hard time letting go of being able to leverage our nascent, fledgling nonprofit to help mobilize voters for this election.
For all of my big talk about being flexible and iterating, it’s been really hard to let go of that. But I’ve run out of time. I ran out of time this fall, and I ran out of time this weekend.
In the last week or two, I did finally admit that Shift the Country would be smarter to put our limited advertising funding into getting folks to online workshops we can host in November and December to start getting traction and to build a ground-level movement. Essentially the same kind of six-week plan that we’d planned in August/September… only now in November/December.
I anticipate that unrest, tension, and violence are likely to increase as the election occurs, as results come out, and as reaction occurs.
Shift the Country is well-positioned to ramp up in that environment to help out.
Our website header now says, “We Can Navigate Instability, Revitalize the Democracy, & Change Our Trajectory.” Because we can.
Still, I thought on Saturday that I could pull off implementing a whole late fall schedule — and that I should. I was trying to beat Facebook’s political advertising ban for election week (starting the night of Oct. 31) so we were ready to come out the gate after the election with people joining in on events we’d promoted.
By early Saturday afternoon, I realized I was in no state to drive to Minnesota and to be in the mood to be at the party. A weird moment. I’m trained as a life coach which is helpful in such a moment. I made sure I was okay with not going; even if I might not get this whole big ridiculous idea I had for late fall implemented in tech that afternoon. I was seeing that it was unlikely if I wanted to do it right. It needed much more thinking through, and there were way more tech steps than I’d wanted to account for.
By late Saturday afternoon I realized that I was working on the 2020 election process assumption that Facebook would decide to halt all political ads after the election, and that that was less likely this round. So why rush to run Facebook ads by November 1? I realized that waiting until November 9 to run ads to get people to join events starting a week later in November than I’d hoped wouldn’t be any worse than anything else we haven’t done yet.
It would have been super convenient if that personal paradigm shift had happenned like Thursday; because then I could have spent the whole weekend doing family stuff in Minnesota instead of missing the big woodsy chili party. Sheesh. It’s annoying sometimes the processes we have to go through to figure shift out.
Amazingly, one of my friends had season tickets to the theatre in Des Moines… and I had enough time after all the paradigm-shifting to catch that. For a musical, it was a doozy.
“Fiddler On The Roof” — A Surreal Musical For The Moment
So I did get to the theatre on Saturday… and with one of my favourite people. It was a revival tour of “Fiddler On The Roof.” It seemed a good fit for the moment, and it was.
For anyone who isn’t aware, the musical is a fictional story based in what is now Ukraine in the area near Kiev, set in 1907. The plot is about changing mores and traditions in society; particularly about the rights and choices of women or of the men who have always been expected to speak for them. So there was that awkwardness.
Actually there were about four major elephants in the room.
The first was that focus on women and their choices and rights; or lack thereof. In the musical it’s presented as so out-of-date to think this subject is even a question. In reality, we’re still very much living these fights.
The second was the fact that we’re still in a pandemic in the real world, and about seven people in the entire sold-out theatre had face-masks on. I forgot mine in the Jeep in my rush to get there on time what with all my paradigm-shifting and whatnot. The good news since is that it’s now the Thursday after, and I don’t have covid-19 symptoms. A relief; as I’m past-due to get bivalent-boosted due to all the stuff I’ve been trying to pull off as noted above.
The third elephant in the room is the other major plot-line in this musical: it’s about the effect of a Russian pograms to persecute, destroy, and kill Jewish people and communities. Here we are sitting in a very civilized real-world theatre in 2022 watching a musical about the effects of anti-Semitism in 1907… even as anti-Semitism is on a spectacular rise in the US and we don’t seem to be talking much about it. Last week, though, our media did talk anti-Semitism more than normal — because famous person “Ye” a.k.a. Kanye West finally got cancelled by big-brand Adidas for being blatantly anti-Semitic weeks prior. The musical artfully highlights this kind of bigotry as being so outdated… yet in reality, we’re still very much living these fights.
Finally, the fourth elephant in the room is how the musical ends: everyone leaves, because they’re being chased away by the Russians for being Jewish. A community becomes scattering refugees headed off to distant corners of the world. The scenes get darker and darker… and then that’s it. It’s gone. That’s what happens when you get rid of people — they’re just gone. That’s what fascism does. That’s what bigotry and hatred lead to. That’s what nihilism brings: destroyed communities, and people running for their lives.
In reality, we’re still very much living these fights.
Right now in 2022, Russia is actively the aggressor in Ukraine… once again chasing people off their land; with genocidal intentions. We’ve watched the stories of millions of refugees fleeing, and entire cities blown away into smithereens and buried and burned bodies. For what? And what will happen in the US as bigotry and fascism rise? In reality, we’re still very much living these fights.
This musical doesn’t have a happy ending. I already described the ending — everybody’s just gone.
After the final scene and applause, the actors all stood still until the applause died down. The lead actor spoke to the audience about that fourth elephant in the room… the active war of Russian aggression in Ukraine, and the countless Ukrainian deaths and millions of refugees. People fleeing homes, and being pushed off their land — not for being Jewish, but still for being not Russian. Hate is hate. Power is power. Violence is violence.
The mood was somber. The audience was supportive. The cast dedicated a final dance to the Ukrainian people, and the audience filed out when it finished.
It was a surreal night.
My Jeep was only a few blocks from the freeway, and I figured it would be a quick drive home. Nope.
Urban Cowboy
On my way out of downtown Des Moines, I pulled over for a moment (doors locked) to set up music for the drive home. I was aware of a hammered-looking twenty-something guy nearby. He looked more discombobulated than dangerous, and like he was waiting for someone. Nope! He approached the Jeep carefully, indicating with his hands up that he meant respect and wasn’t dangerous but wanted to talk to me. I rolled the passenger window down a few inches.
He offered money to have me drive him to a different part of the downtown. He was desperate and trying not to act like he was out of his element. I have a pretty old vehicle and was dressed up, so I thought it was pretty clear I was a random person who happened to be in the area. He said he’d been at a wedding and got separated from the group. I’d been to weddings in the area; it was common. He could not get an Uber. App drama. No Lyfts. No taxis. Exasperation. And so on. I told him I would help, but needed a minute to secure the vehicle. I actually do talk like that.
I moved things around, hid my purse, texted a friend my license plate and what I was doing and to check back in 20 minutes, and sat on my phone. I let him in.
What a jam-packed drive; even in like 10 minutes. You never know with an intoxicated person. Had I been younger, I’d have considered him more of a danger. I’m at the forty-something age past where women are visible to most men in their twenties. I’ve gotten used to that. It can be an asset. I’d never have helped someone like this when I was younger. Way too risky. But mostly: white guys in their twenties are the most dangerous people in the world. This guy was in cowboy boots and had the walk of a farm guy (there’s a different swagger), but he didn’t seem to have the dangerous aggression that often shows up. He was clearly out making his way in the world. I learned a surprising amount about him in such a short period. I won’t share that because it’s a small state and easy to identify people, but those details explain why he’s about as close to an actual cowboy as we get to in Iowa.
He was super grateful as we headed out. I made sure to tell him up front that I have a tendency to help people on the highway, like how one time when I worked in DC I stopped next to the Pentagon to help a woman with a disabled vehicle on the side of freeway. She was nervous and had a CIA ID, so I showed her my Homeland Security badge to help her be more comfortable as I ended up giving her a ride. His ever-so-slightly-a-badass attitude had a bit of a shift. You don’t work with men through your whole career and not learn how to throw down a bit.
So we made our way through downtown Des Moines, over the river, and to the other half of the night life area. I dropped him off in an area loaded with bars and crawling with people; right across from the city’s oldest and most fabulous gay bar. He was going elsewhere, but this was close enough. He went to pay me and asked which app to use.
“What?” I asked; my face crinkled up in confusion.
OMG. He thought I was part of a ride service. Apparently the 22-year-old vehicle wasn’t a clue that this wasn’t an Uber. Or Lyft.
He was confused. He had the door open and one leg out, and leaned back into the Jeep with incredulity. “What? You’re not… like… you’re not on some app?”
No, I explained. I’d been heading home after a night out. Thus the fancy dress.
“So you’re just a random woman who gave me a ride? Wait! Why did you give me a ride?”
Well that led to a whole discussion about how he could pay me since I wasn’t on an app and you know… the young people don’t carry cash. Insert laughing emoji here just because I said “the young people.” He offered Venmo, and didn’t understand how I don’t have it. I said I have PayPal, and he didn’t understand why I’d have that. It was pretty entertaining.
I said that, you know, it’s not a big deal if you don’t have cash. “I didn’t give you a ride for the money.”
“What?” he asked. “Why did you give me a ride then?”
“Well, you looked like you needed help. Sometimes we need to help each other out. Look after humans. You looked like you needed it; like a bit discombobulated. So I helped.”
He was completely floored. “What???”
I repeated it. He continued to be floored. I don’t know that he’d run into this kind of situation before. I had. People have helped me when it didn’t make sense but when I was seriously in need.
“Sometimes we just need to take care of each other,” I added.
“You really mean it,” he said.
“I do,” I confirmed.
It takes a lot to shock-and-awe a 26-year-old white guy on the way to meet his friends out partying at the bar without him. And it can be a rare moment when you truly connect with any other human — at a fundamental and basic level. When you see each other for who you are; in the moment. Nobody in this conversation was invisible.
It took a moment, and then he got his wits about himself. He said some very lovely things in gratitude. And then he gave me his full name, the name of his farm, and the name of his hometown… and he said if I ever needed anything to reach out to anyone there and tell them he sent me. He meant it, too.
And that right there is some of the stuff I’ve learned about looking out for humans. Including to pass it along. We help each other through.
Our humanity is going to be critical for what’s coming next up in this country.
We can counter authoritarianism, fascism, meanness, aggression, bigotry, and bullying with fierce humanity. That’s a big piece of what we intend to help bring here at Shift the Country. There’s so much we can do.
FANTASTIC:
“We Can Navigate Instability, Revitalize the Democracy, & Change Our Trajectory.” Because we can.
Wow. Just wow. It takes a lot to be vulnerable, to share our humanity. You showed yours when you picked up the young man (and I was equally impressed with the steps you took to ensure your safety). That young man now has a story, and so do we. This is the kind of connection we need--person to person. Thanks, Vanessa.