My life is weird.
During college, I made a name for myself with a style of activism that mixed fucking with people with serious rebuttals. It worked for me and I had fun (I give a talk about it here).
Now I’m kinda grown up, no matter how much I fight it (and boy, do I fight it). For everything that’s happened to me over the last few years, I still feel really small. I still feel like a college student fucking with people for lulz. But when I speak, people come up to me and tell me I changed their lives. It’s still hard to believe, which makes it hard to express my gratitude.
I’m grateful because hearing stuff like that (or this or this) helps me feel like I can do some of this “big” stuff and that I actually belong as an activist, not just someone tweaking the bad guys. It’s actually a more difficult mindset to get into than you may think.
But as flattered as I am by the praise, I must say I’m not amazing. I’m simply not. I’m a guy with a particular skill set who got lucky (and who is trying to put that luck to the best use possible while I have the chance). The fact is that I’m one voice out of millions. I honestly feel like every success I have belongs to a gajillion people who have, for lack of a better phrase, grown up with me – whether they’re people who saw me speak when I was first starting out or blog readers now.
Even if our roles are different, we all have significant parts in this movement (even the reluctant warriors). The person who arranges a weekly get-together for atheists to go bowling is working for social change just as much as I – it’s just my skill set often puts me on a stage. But we’re the same – neither more amazing than the other.
A good comparison would be Greta Christina for me. I read her every day in college. I molded my style of writing to match certain qualities of hers. When I met her, I was floored and probably couldn’t have managed to wipe my ass. Ditto with Matt Dillahunty. Now I’m friends with both of them, and both of them jump straight down my throat if I even mention the word “hero” around them. It took a while for me to get used to it, but eventually I did. I still admire them, but I’m close enough to them now to realize they were never heroes – they were normal people fighting. Their normalcy has led me to admire them even more.
I’ve said it before, I’m honestly (and not just being falsely modest) the least capable employee at the SSA. It’s not that I’m incompetent – I know I’m pretty good at my job. It’s just that they’re all so phenomenal. Working with them makes me a better activist.
I just sent a response to a praise email that pretty much sums up my feelings after all of them.
These emails always present me with a conundrum. My immediate reaction is to say “thank you.” But that always seems a terribly inadequate way to express the breadth of my gratitude for both your support and your willingness to part with your own money to make things better for students.
However, I can’t think of anything more expressive than “thank you.” It’s the best I can give, but know that I mean so much more.
I hope I never feel big. It’s an unappealing thought to me. I hope I always feel like the little guy having a blast while being an activist.
It’s been a very wild ride for me over the last several years. Without everybody else I bumped shoulders with, I wouldn’t be who I am today and I wouldn’t be where I am today.
Thank you to all of you. Thank you for your support of me, which helps me to do my job better. Thank you for your support of this movement, through donations and the giving of your own time. Thank you for your friendship, your compassion.