the battle, the war, the narrative
I don’t know what’s going to happen in Europe. But I know I was right on Friday afternoon when I came home from school and settled in at my desk to donate my weekend to the war effort:
Ukraine’s best chance for a free future hinged not on weapons, but on telling a story that would BRING weapons.
They bought themselves the time. We told the story — thousands of us, in shifts and stages staggered across time zones and around the globe.
My fingers are physically sore from typing. That hasn’t happened since the final days of my dissertation drafting
I used everything I learned from that, on this.
My work was a drop in the bucket; I don’t even have much of a following, anywhere. But my Tweets and links and shares got picked up by people who did, and I got to swim with a helluva lot of other drops in that bucket.
That is, in essence, the power of shared narratives. They emerge like constellations, each individual retelling a tiny point of light.
Collectively embraced, they translate into action.
They change the shape of the possible.
