There's a passage in "Letters to a Young Poet," a Rilke favorite, that lauds the experience of passion. That if you are passionate about writing, you must write. Absolutely must. As essential as air.
I love to write, but I don't have this zeal. I do find inspiration and my brain churns with ideas. It's a never ending scroll up there but little makes it to here or elsewhere. And so it is. I've often wanted a microchip that would store these thoughts, sort them, see what I think of most often. Something tells me racism and crime are at the top. Unrelated in my head but related in my purview. Of the four young men I met with today, three had convictions, two were felonies. They are coming to us, to me, in earnest but the truth is there is little to be done. If it can't be expunged, well, life gets shitty quick.
I'm passionate about approaching this issue strategically. About fighting for them, taking on the statistics and turning them on their head. I met with my advisor yesterday, talked about my pondering a teaching certificate, or a Ph.D. I want to be in the thick of it and get dirty, then pull back and pull strings.
I've taken to listening to rap. I've always liked it but not like this. It helps crack the code for motivations, inspirations and a way in to make change. Misogynistic? Truth. Cutting and violent? Indeed. But it's a narrative to explore.
I struggle with how to best apply this passion, for empowering young people, where the most good can be done. I think there's little else I can do but pick and prod and poke around down every hallway that opens until I make progress I can live with. I'm antsy about it, but this education takes time. This, my friends, is something I must do.