Personal Battles and Revolution

If you look back on history, or, okay, even better, open a newspaper and look at current events, you’ll see that revolution isn’t so much about war and rebellion so much as bringing about change. The early Americans had issues with how the English government was running our country from afar and decided to do something about it. To do what it took to change the rules, to adapt them so that they better fit the people living on this continent, rather than one thousands of miles away.

The civil war started, basically, over slavery and an intense need for those people to be freed, treated as human beings—which was a long process, granted, but served a much bigger purpose by helping shape this country into a stronger, bigger power. One in which all people would—eventually—be treated equally. Or at least, as equally as possible considering we’re all human.

That’s on a big scale. But if you look at smaller organizations, smaller businesses and even families, the same principles apply. In order to affect change, you must first question the thing that needs to be changed, then do what you can to initiate that change. Even if your personal revolution consists solely of having a conversation with someone in which you express your honest feelings by laying out the reasons the rules don’t work. If you do it right, you might find you have the ability to change something for the better.

However, there’s also a caveat to this line of thinking. Every war has casualties. Should you decide to fight any battle for change, there’s always a good possibility that the person lying on the ground in a pool of blood might be you. The question you need to ask is whether or not you’re willing to risk that, to take on that responsibility for yourself, and anyone else who chooses to back you on your mission.

And then ask yourself what you’ll do if you lose the battle. What will be the consequences to your words or actions? And what will you do next? How far are you willing to go to get what you want? At what point do you decide that the costs outweigh the benefits and consider changing course?

What makes you decide to fight one battle, but not another?

Maybe…maybe it’s a matter of thinking. In the case of the above-mentioned wars, it became increasingly clear over many years of time that something had to give. Those people—our ancestors—felt like they had no other choice but to fight, and fight they did. The revolutionaries in those cases won numerous battles and brought about more changes than we can probably even imagine.

But when it comes to smaller things, does it really have to be a war? And is what you’re after really worth the fight? Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t. I think this is where you have to think things through carefully.

If you’re a writer, this same line of thinking can apply to plot and character. What matters to your character? What are they willing to fight for and what will be the cost of the battle if they do? What happens if they win? What happens if they lose?

Basically, how high are the stakes and what can the character do about them? And how can the main character make the changes necessary to make their life, or their world, better?

In real life, what battles will you jump into, and from which ones will you walk away in order to pursue other, more important fights? Do you really want to go to a party where you’re unwanted or would you rather throw a party of your own? And why is the party important to you in the first place? You might be better off doing something much more productive with your time, and whether or not the partiers eventually miss you, will you actually, in the long run, truly miss them?

What battles are you currently fighting and how important are they in the grand scheme of your life?



**This is not meant to be a political discussion, so let's please refrain from diving into the depths of certain current events as related to opinions meant to sway people in one direction or another. This is simply a thought process which turned into a blog.



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What Happy Taught Me

By Nichole Giles

One of the things you learn when you become a parent is how to cheer for your children in their chosen art or sport. In our family, the boys are the artists and the girls the sportswomen. This took some discovering, but over the years, my husband and I have done our best to help nurture them all in whichever way is necessary. We want to encourage them to move forward with whatever sport or art in which they have passion.

Unfortunately, whenever large groups of girls play sports together, it has the potential to become a popularity contest more than a sports competition. Sometimes, it’s a lot of both, and that’s where things get very difficult. Something like this happened this year to my eleven-year-old daughter. I’ll call her Happy in this post. (As in the dwarf, not the emotion.)

It all started with an adult. The woman is the wife of one of our church leaders, and someone Happy has looked up to in the past with a bit of awe and respect. This woman decided to put together a basketball team, using all the girls in our neighborhood and ward. After coaching girls’ basketball (city league) for several years, she’s learned how to circumvent the city’s way of dividing the teams up so they are evenly matched. This woman picked her favorite and best players, leaving out only one girl in a very large area. In fact, she went to lengths to recruit girls from other areas to fill her team, deliberately leaving that girl out—for reasons unbeknownst to anyone other than the wicked coach herself. That poor lone girl is my Happy.

There’s more to explain here, but that would make for a long story. Suffice it to say, all of Happy’s friends got on the team. Except Happy. Who is a very good basketball player and has no idea why she was ousted. Neither do her parents.

Even more unfortunate, none of Happy’s friends understood why she wasn’t on the team. They asked her about it. Repeatedly. Telling her how they were recruited and wondering why they don’t get to play together. The friends didn’t understand that they were making Happy feel even worse. Happy was heartbroken.

She cried herself to sleep for two weeks. So did her mother.

Happy was hurt. But I was angry. So angry at this wicked, awful woman (I’m trying to be G rated here) who had the nerve to hurt my child so deeply. And guilty. My DH and I became certain that it was somehow our fault—that we’ve somehow done something to make this happen. Offended someone or said the wrong thing. But it didn’t matter at this point. No degree of arguing with the city people would get her on that team. Even if she wanted it anymore. Which she didn’t. (Side note, wicked, awful coach-lady wouldn’t return our calls either. She knew what she’d done.)

I could think of no solution to help my daughter feel better other than to offer for her to not play basketball this year.

That was the wrong thing to say. How dare I even suggest it? Happy loves basketball. Always has. And she’s good at it. Very good. Why wouldn’t she play just because some stupid crazy-lady wants to create a ringer team and not invite her? Happy tells me she’ll play anyway. In whichever team the city places her. And she’ll practice hard. Very hard so that when Happy’s new team plays against the ringers, she can wipe the floor with them. All by herself if necessary.

Fast forward a few weeks. The holidays came and went, and when the season started, Happy went to her first practice and realized that her new team of strangers has a good coach and some pretty decent players. All was not lost. They won a few games. Happy felt confident. And smiled because she was happy again.

Then the day came when the two teams played each other. Happy had been preparing herself mentally, physically, and emotionally for a long time.

*Switching to commentary mode*

They tip the basketball. Happy is off. She has the ball. She’s fast. She plays hard. She is aggressive. She runs, she shoots, she scores, she rebounds. She’s…amazing. Incredible. Fantastic.

The other parents stop watching their own children because they can’t stop watching Happy. The husband of the evil-coach is heard exclaiming in amazement about Happy’s abilities. Other parents know she is my daughter and ask where she learned to play. (I have no answer. Not from me. My guess is that she’s channeling her emotions much like I do when I write.)

Happy doesn’t miss. Happy’s coach is ecstatic. Doesn’t want to take her out. She wouldn’t come out anyway.

**End commentator mode. **

In the end, Happy’s team missed a few too many baskets and lost by one point. But Happy felt good. She played hard. She showed them what she’s made of, what they missed out on. She kicked their butts to China and then brought them back on a wooden platter. She shined the floor with them. Even though the other team won.

Everyone who mattered saw. And she knew it.

This time, for her, it wasn’t about winning or losing or about who likes who more than someone else or who doesn’t like someone else or who was popular. It was about proving to herself that she has value. That she is as good as them. Better even. And that she doesn’t need her friends (even if she loves them) to make her into a good player. She is already good. And the rest doesn’t matter. She has won. And the tears were worth it.

Epilogue: Mom and dad are now thinking we have a star on our hands and wondering about putting her in a more competitive league where she can learn and grow. Where other players can give her some competition and make her even better. Can we say scholarship material? Yeah. It’s like that.

And since I’ve been experiencing a similar-type snub, I’m trying to learn from Happy’s example. I don’t need my friends to make me good. All I need is to keep going, keep pushing forward and working hard. Put my heart and soul into my work, the way she did in that game. The rest doesn’t matter. I have already won. And the tears I’ve shed will be worth it.

(*Evil coach lady couldn’t look at us in church today. Even though she teaches Happy’s class now. (Bad form, even for an evil coach.) She is embarrassed and humiliated. She should be.*) Tee hee.

Lesson of the day: Carry on and be like Happy.