Messages From The Brink

Dear New York City/State Board of Elections,

There was a time in my life when I didn’t take the voting process as seriously as I do now. I’d like to think of those as my uninformed and naïve younger years. Today, voting is a right that is sacred to me. So when there is any difficulty in the election day process I take it personally.

I live in Queens, New York. Usually, voting is easy. I walk around the corner and up the block. I show my ID. I get checked in. I vote and I walk out with a smile on my face. That was not the case today.

While my section of Queens was not hardest hit by Hurricane Sandy there were apparently other forces, in this instance “unnatural” ones working to make the process unnecessarily harder. I cannot imagine what my fellow New Yorkers in Staten Island and lower Manhattan are running into as they try to exercise their right to vote today.

First, you changed my polling site. That’s actually no big deal. I’m a New Yorker and I like walking. And quite frankly I’d go anywhere I needed to in order to vote. And then I actually walked into the polling location.

There was a line. Not a problem, because the more people voting the better. Yay voters! But then the line started growing and not in a good way. Poll workers came out and looked for people to go in one of two lines. Either you had your polling card information and could go to the right or if you didn’t you’d go to the left and they’d have to look up your information. Fair enough.

But this is Queens. Depending where you are, and I was in Jackson Heights, we are one of the most diverse and cosmopolitan boroughs in New York City. Because of that you need poll workers who are at the very least bilingual. That was not the case. Because of that voters who were just looking to find the right table to check in were misguided. So the single line became a double line which became a triple line, which equaled chaos.

Second, the time started to accrue. One young man who was several people in front of me and was excited to vote asked if he could please jump in front of others because he had five minutes before he had to leave for work or he would be fired. Now let’s be clear. This is a man who wasn’t impatient and just thought he should be at the front of the line. It was a service worker who was afraid of losing his job and was concerned because he had already been waiting on line for more than an hour. The poll workers ignored him and his fellow New Yorkers….they told him that they were in the same boat. I have no idea what happened to that young man but he did stay to vote possibly at the expense of losing his job.

Third, in my voting district, we vote hard. We’re always out in numbers and perhaps that’s why our line was so long. No, that’s just wishful thinking. Let me just be frank, our polling workers who were checking in people at my district’s table were not up to par.

When I asked a poll worker what was the hold up the frustration on her face said it all. She then proceeded to tell me that they had condensed polling sites so there were more voters at this location and it was a lot. Translation: they didn’t have enough people. She went on to tell me that people were upset who were now instructed to come to this location and weren’t on the voting registries. I asked her if there was an election supervisor there and she said that he had left.

Now I understand that the county supervisor may have many sites to oversee. However, if he were already at this location I can’t fathom that he would have thought what I was witnessing was an organized and fair experience.

People’s frustrations were getting to such a point that the Inspector who was there and realized that he had a situation that was at its boiling point, had to sit down and check-in voters because the workers who were supposed to be doing the work couldn’t keep up with the influx of people wanting to cast their votes.

Let me repeat that, the Inspector had to sit down and check in voters. So then who was left to inspect that the poll workers were doing their jobs correctly?

This is not a complaint letter. Really, it’s not. It’s a letter that the first amendment allows me to craft and a reminder that because of the 15^th and 19^th amendments and the Voting rights Act of 1965 that I’m even able to cast a vote today. I am a proud American who wants to participate in the process. And I will not be deterred.

But I am worried that those who are younger, or possibly voting for the first time may be so frustrated by what I witnessed today that they may leave and not vote at all. That’s an unacceptable outcome.

I hope that you agree. I don’t know if you do because when I called to voice my opinion to the Queens borough board of elections I was rushed off the phone, told it was chaos and a lot of people were voting. When I further explained that it was more so a lack of organization and unprepared poll workers I got an, “Ok I’ll let them know,” and click.

Please don’t dismiss when voters tell you that something is wrong. We’re not complaining. We’re trying to inform you that there’s a problem. As the day goes on I hope that the problems of the morning get worked out.

On my way out after I cast my vote, since no one really listened inside the polling location I informed the police officer outside that they should have more officers here later. I told her if the mass of people after work have to deal with what I just went through things could be bad. Her response, “I won’t be here.” I politely said, “That’s fine, but you might want to give your colleagues a head’s up.”

So here’s my head’s up to you fair Elections board. Get it together. New Yorkers deserve a better and more organized voting process.

Sincerely,

Shanta Covington

Believe it or not I don’t have a title for this one. It’s not like I wracked my brain over it or anything. I just don’t know exactly what to call it. It’s hard to think about, let alone write about someone you’ve lost…so in this situation a title…well that shit’s just not mandatory.  

Four year’s ago today I had the wind knocked out of me. And all it took was a phone call.

“Daddy passed away,” is what my mother said on the phone. Or something very close to that effect. I remember asking her to repeat it and when she did that’s when I lost my breath.

It’s not that it wasn’t expected. But he was my daddy. It’s not that I hadn’t been warned that he was in the last stage. It’s not that I hadn’t called him the night before in a drunken state to tell him no matter what, he had done his best and been a good dad. It was none of those things. It was because he was my daddy and now he was gone.

In the years since his death I’ve come closer to forgiving myself and him for not making more of an effort. In the “formative” years he did try and as I got older he tried some more to be there. Often, it never felt like enough and I was always so angry and hurt. Those two things sometimes got the best of me and too much time passed in between our calls since visits rarely occurred.

I’m not going to cite any study which shows the positive effects of fathers in their daughters lives and vice versa. What I can share is that it’s true. Men, you do make a difference in the way she sees herself. Even if you can only be in her life a little, it can go a long way. But if you can do more than try because your “princess” will be the better for it, and it will aid in her feeling of self-worth. 

And daughters. Dear daughters. I know it’s a lot to ask but try your best to not be so angry and hold grudges. No, it isn’t fair and you do deserve more. But as you get older you will realize that not everything is as black and white as it may seem. And holding a grudge for time not spent with you can lead you to miss what time you have left with him.

I got to see my dad as a different man before he died. Old, vulnerable but still with that same devilish grin, and hearty laugh. And you couldn’t tell him anything, hospital or not he was still the finest looking man around. 

So I don’t know what to call this. I just want it on the record that I miss Emmett Covington Jr. very much. And no matter what he’ll always be my daddy.

From a perspective of gratitude and peace, being and looking OK works out just fine.

One is grateful to have all of their limbs. And to also not have any maladies or repel others when appearing in public. 

But what happens after that? What if you walk through life without reaction? What if no one swoons, compliments or at the very minimum cat-calls. What then? 

Yes it’s true that one’s worth should not be based on the physical. But with a society that is all about the outside and visceral reactions, how can one think otherwise?

For me, the amount of hair, make-up, lighting or pose really doesn’t matter. At the end of the day I still feel that something is missing. That there is some form of validation not there.

Call it daddy issues, a product of society or just a low sense of self worth, but it’s there. I write about it because I know that I’m not alone. And most importantly I don’t want my nieces, potential kids or any other young women to feel that something is missing. That they’re not whole.

The older heads who have gotten over the hurdles need to tell the young ones that beauty is….just that, beauty. Your face and self are beautiful because they just are. You don’t have to look or aspire to be anyone else. Your being is enough. It seems basic, but   I still see young girls who don’t realize this. And it breaks my heart.

I still doubt. It’s a struggle every day. But what I’ve learned is this. Beauty really does emanate from the inside. I swear. When you’re beautiful on the inside that supersedes all of the bullshit that you perceive on the outside. And since what’s on the outside is fleeting (trust me it is), work on the inside because that’s what sticks with you a whole lot longer.

I’m still learning. So being OK on the outside is actually just fine. It’s the inside that I’m working on as much as possible. 

I’m corny. No really I am. Because listening to President Barack Obama’s speech today had me wanting to shout out, hell yeah! But I was at work so that didn’t happen.

If you don’t want to take my word for it and you didn’t see the speech this link will take you there.

If you had any doubt about what the campaign slogan “Forward” meant I believe the President explained it well.

The twitter traffic on it was less than inspiring. But on my TL there was a consensus that Barack Obama was not playing around. And if you wanted to join him, here’s the line, sign up and come on board.

That’s the thing about delivering a message. Not everyone is able to do it effectively. I get tongue tied like it’s nobody’s business so I’m not judging anyone. Yet we’re in a world where computers make things accessible at a touch of your itouch/pod/pad or doohickey. That does speak to our collective lack of an attention span. More so it speaks to the fact that if you want our attention then you have to earn it. And I don’t know folks but the president kind of earned it today.

It remains to be seen what the rest of the campaign holds. If the messages/platform/promises will amount to anything. But it sure as hell kicked off today.

Warning: I’ve been up for nearly 24 hours. So this may or may not make sense. If it does yay! If it doesn’t, I’m not on drugs or drinking in celebration of Cinco De Mayo. Although, I sort of wish I was doing the latter.

I should be sleeping. Yet I’m at my desk, at work. What am I doing? I bet you thought I’d say nothing. Negative!

Well it’s close to nothing but I’m making a lame attempt to write about something. Long story short writing makes me feel alive: blah, blah, blah. No it does, but remember I’m tired.

So Beastie Boy Adam Yauch died today. Smooth transition don’t you think?

Courtesy: Chris Polk (FilmMagic)

I’ve kind of become numb to death. That’s actually a lie. I do that sometimes. If you lie enough it helps you get through things. But then it creates bigger problems. At least they’re not the same problems you started with. 

So back to Adam. Dude, 47 was mad young to die. Or maybe that’s what I tell myself because I’m staring that number down. It’s still at a distance but it’s definitely in my line of vision and we’re getting closer to each other every day. 

But 47 was the end for him. Yauch had been sick for some time. Cancer ravaged his body for three years. That disease is a merciless bastard.

Yet from the outside it seems that Adam wasted no time. He co-founded a rap group that is now in the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame. He wore his consciousness for the plight of Tibet on his sleeve, or on the front of his T-shirt. And then there was filmmaking.

Yes, his time was cut short but he lived. As someone who’s lost a loved one I know that’s not much comfort for the family right now but in time I hope it will be. They’ll realize that he spent his time here, living. And that’s more than half the battle.

I don’t mean to be preachy. Especially since I don’t attend church, practice a religion, and the last time I was in a house of worship was for a funeral. I’m just trying to remind my lazy ass that I’m fortunate for the time I have, and maybe sleeping can wait.

So to Adam Yauch, tonight I say No sleep til….well I can’t say Brooklyn because I live in Queens. But I see you man. Rather, I saw you.

Maybe I’ll worry about sleep after I’ve concentrated a little more on enjoying this thing called life.

I have just finished running the most fantastic relay with a wonderful team of people. Yet, I find myself up at this ungodly hour wondering what’s next? And it’s not the question itself that is causing me chest pains but rather the reason I’m asking it. 

By now we’ve all seen or even used the ubiquitous hash tag #firstworldproblems. For those of us in the proverbial “first world” it serves as a reminder of inconveniences that when weighed against “real problems” aren’t well, shit.

For instance a first world problem can include: one’s iPhone dropping calls (you AT&T users know what I mean), or our DVRs being full and not recording whatever heinous reality show strikes our fancy at the time. 

These inconveniences translate to nothing. If we had no iPhones we wouldn’t care if the cell tower didn’t pick up our signal. If we didn’t have a bazillion channels on television or an innumerable amount of ways to record certain mindless programming then it wouldn’t be an issue. Yet it is. We worry about the trivial, the things out of our control while the important things in life get ignored. 

I could write about a million of them (and I will in the future) but right now I want to pause. By talking about all of those things that are important, I in turn run away from the responsibility of getting past those things that aren’t.

Instead of appreciating the fact that I am able to run, let alone walk I ponder what more can I do? What other feats can I accomplish? Many. And I will. Right after I calm my self down. Forget about what’s next. And appreciate what I have been allowed to accomplish. There will be plenty of time to work on what’s next. And if there’s not, then that’s ok too.

I’ve never been one to say that I have all the answers. Quite honestly because I don’t. There were times when I was much younger where I acted like I knew it all. As each year passes I claim to know less and strive to learn more.   

Writing has always been a passion of mine. I never had the time to truly cultivate it because I was always busy. Busy working. Busy traveling. Busy taking care of any number of things on a given day. So honing my craft was always placed on the back burner. 

As I try now to finally make an effort at doing what I love, I’m genuinely surprised at how much resistance I’m met with.

First, there’s what I’d like to call the shiny object people. It’s the, “oh sure you can do that but you’re so good at THIS. Look over here little girl!” It’s the method of let’s try and keep her where she is because it benefits us and who cares what her dreams are for the future.

Second, there are the “professional” writers. Oh how I love this group. I do hope you noted my sarcasm with that previous sentence. This is the group that’s been writing for a few years, most likely in a professional capacity. They know EVERYTHING. There are a few who will give you genuine constructive criticism. But then there are those few that, well, I can only term as…assholes. They have a way of “critiquing” you. Their main objective is to tell you in veiled language how your writing will never match up to theirs, “but you keep trying kiddo.”

Rounding out the resistance factors is my own inner critic. I don’t know about yours but I’d like to tell mine to shut the hell up. Except in doing so I’d be carted off to the nearest asylum because in essence I’d be speaking to myself.

My inner critic is a sensitive creature. She assumes that everyone hates everything. When one of the “professional” writers actually gives constructive criticism it’s the end of the world. It’s just coded language for, “they hated everything.” Yeah, shutting her off isn’t easy.

Often with this trifecta of aforementioned positivity against me I often refuse to write for weeks. Why bother? It won’t be good anyway.

But then I’ll receive a kind word from someone who’s read my stuff. And then I’ll actually receive another. Then that gets me back in front of the MAC tippity tapping away.

Then the shiny object people will keep me so busy with other tasks so there’s no time for writing. But my confidence is up so I make time. 

Even the professionals weigh in by not weighing in at all. I take this as a sign that they know they haven’t defeated me. Or they are too busy making someone else feel inadequate at the time.

Then here comes “Miss Positivity” aka my inner critic to weigh in, “Well it won’t be good anyway so why are you wasting time?” And I actually answer her back. I do it quietly but I’ll admit that it’s a raging inner dialogue. It’s often quite entertaining. At least to me.

HER: You suck.

ME: Thanks.

HER: Thanks? Even that isn’t original. Why don’t you go drink or something?

ME: My pleasure. Would that drown you and make you die a slow and painful death?

*SILENCE*

So I keep typing away. Maybe my writing does suck. Oh well. I’ll read it and continue to make changes. I’ll continue to learn. And maybe one day the trifecta of positivity can kiss my ass when the read my first published book.

The moral of the story. Write. Stop listening to the critics. Just tell your story.

It’s my right to rest. So tonight I think I’ll do that.

What I’ve learned in my old age is that in sleep we dream, create and most importantly plot.

I wish you all abundant dreams. 

We’re all guilty of having been insensitive jerks at one time or another in our lives. Sometimes it’s intentional, other times it’s completely by accident. I’d like to think that it’s more the latter than the former. But the truth is our words can and do get us into trouble whether they be sung, typed, written, spoken, screamed or hurled at one another.

Everything is open to interpretation and that subjectivity leads people to different conclusions. But there are times when no matter how hard you try to clean up a situation, it doesn’t work. What you might find funny or colloquial is just hurtful to someone else. 

Should we care when a clear, informed, non-hurtful point has been made in a written or on-screen format and people want to disagree for the sake of disagreement? I say no. Should we care when we make a joke that “my boy” or “my girl” would have understood but instead we insult a whole group of people? I would say yes.

I still vividly remember the unusually cruel taunts from childhood, and the misguided racial and gender comments that I still field on a day-to-day to basis. They hurt. When I realize it’s a person that is misinformed or not fully educated about the situation I will correct them. I’ll TRY to understand that it’s because of a lack of knowledge, and not from a malicious place. When it’s a situation where a person uses me as the subject of their joke or ignorant comment - well let’s just say I don’t have the same reaction I had as a child. 

Our words are our responsibility. We can choose to have them uplift, inspire, educate and inform. Or we can choose to wield them like unguided missiles. In doing so we forget they’ll have real targets that will suffer emotional casualties because of our callousness. I say choose wisely because your words can sometimes be the sharpest weapon of all. 

Today’s decision by the U.S. 9th Circuit Court of Appeals to deem Prop 8 as “unconstitutional” had me thinking all day. Now you can insert your own joke here or you can follow along with me. 

People who call themselves strict constitutionalists claim they want to adhere to the “true spirit” that the founding fathers had for this county. By what - trying to add amendments to state/federal constitutions to declare what your specific idea of marriage should be for everyone else? 

We needed a Constitution to set up the framework of what this country has become. We needed the Declaration of Independence for what it directly implied. And while these documents are forever the foundations by which we go by; they cannot be where we end. Nor should they be hijacked to foster unconscionable beliefs that serve to tear apart long-term families and unions.

I’ve never quite understood why we try to impose our will on others when people just want to live their lives and love their families. As someone who will probably never marry, I say more power to the couples that are willing to take the plunge and commit their lives to one another, gay, straight or otherwise.