Last night people all over the world were looking at the moon in awe. As I stood in awe myself, I thought about the fact that not everyone had the safety, time, or cloudless sky to do so. There are places where violence is the norm, homes where fear rules. There are limits and laws that hold girls from education and opportunity; limits that hold boys from veering from strict ideas of masculinity.
The moon made me think about what I have. I can go inside when I get too cold. I can eat something if I wish. I can read about what’s happening down the street or in the world; I can read. I have the privilege of an education and the ability to use words to convey messages with meaning and might.
I’ve worked in health communications for a number of years. I use words to shape ideas that educate, support and change lives. I can help someone learn about their illness so they may make the best decision for their health. How great is that?
In the last year the non-profit I worked for was hit hard by funding cuts and half of the staff positions were eliminated, mine included. I know it happens all the time. You look around to see where you are; you ponder what’s next.
I’ve been reflecting on the work I’ve done and the new directions I’m discovering. I’m working with a great team on a project now; I’m eager to see what else I’ll unfold in the next months. Health communications? Social change? Literacy? Fine arts? These are a few of my passions.
No matter what happens, I’m part of a great group of people all over the world, using words to light darkness. Communicators use words to connect, create possibility, change, and hope. We work with words that carry lives within them; words that carry lifelines. How lucky I am to be part of this group. How lucky communicators are to be able to provide light.
Image: MaryRN, MorgueFile