Today, I am birthed in a public sphere unbeknownst to me. After this post I will no longer be a blog virgin. I will have crossed a threshold. I always wondered what blogging is. How does it work? Why do it? I am now here to explore these questions. I am here to grow; maybe I'll find out what I really want to do when I grow up. I'll remember these pre-Thanksgiving Days as days of exploration. Our American Holiday of Thanksgiving is in the air and we just can't get enough of being grateful. So, I'm grateful to start this writing project of exploration in the global commons that my generation grew up with ("gen x", the internet).

There is a cold air in New York, the city I inhabit. I hear that this winter will be long and cold, just like the economic crisis as portrayed in the media, as felt by many of us who don't have jobs. Yes, I'm thankful I have a job. The rent will be paid first, the other bills next. We live in a world of numbers. Account numbers where dollars come out of and account numbers where dollars go into. Addresses and streets. All is measured. Even the pixels on this page, zeros and ones, and somehow it all stays in place, no matter what the economic crisis does, whenever it leaves, but it's just part of the cycle. Could one really learn without trying and failing? The baby had to move like a worm before figuring out how to crawl, and she had to fall before taking the first step. Just the same is our world. So many of our institutions are failing; well, then it's time to make them better the next time around.

Still, it's cold outside, and there's a homeless man on West 90th Street and another one on a street near you. And you've got to be thankful it's not you, but don't you wish he could have a warm home right now? Sometimes I wish I could do something grand like heal the needy, and then I realize that there will be needy always, but a helping hand I'll always have, so I've decided that tomorrow, I'm going to my church's feed the hungry program, called "Monday Night Hospitality" and help feed those who have not had a decent meal in days. It's the least I can do, at this point.

As I type, I can't help feeling that I'm on my journal. I write on one, with paper and with a pen. I've filled a few. They are private. This is public. Fear of exposure fills my mind, and yet, I keep on doing it. The saying of sticks and stones hurting bones and words not hurting may prove wrong, and for now, I'll just reflect on what I have done until my next post.