I can remember the feeling of fear I had that day very distinctly. It came as a jumbled multisensory package of infinite questions – usually in the form of “what ifs…” – ice-cold hands, and a fluttery abdominal tightening right below the heart but above the belly. I can’t eat anything until the experience is over. Despite all of this, on the surface everything is cool – the trick is not suppressing fear, it’s in managing it so it’s barely detectable to the people in front of me. This type of fear is the fear of failing; fear of getting in way over my head; the fear of following what feels like destiny, of growing up.
Just a few months ago I’d finished earning a degree in political science at a wonderful state school, reading books and essays about ultimately what I thought I would be doing with my life. During and prior to that, I’d spent at least 10 years as an activist on numerous issues that I was passionate about – Latino youth leadership, campaign finance reform,sustainable drug policy, anti-war protests, police brutality, etc. Fresh out of college,believed in the idea that if people come together and work hard on shaping policy along with our elected civic leaders, we could achieve meaningful changes over time So there I was at this second round job interview, like a deer in headlights on the inside,but on the outside, a strong well-spoken and determined young leader ready to experience
the growing pains necessary to evolve my skills and take part in something that I believed was larger than myself. I sat in that chair before a panel of organizational leaders and staff members, them as mush as me asking myself do I really want to do this? Do I really want to accept what it takes to be a part of this team, to organize for sustainable community change right in my own neighborhood where I grew up? The reputation was that this organization was NO JOKE – the boot camp of community
the trick is not suppressing fear, it’s in managing it so it’s barely detectable to the people in front of me.
organizing; I wanted a real challenge. I’d already had one summer too many interning at a soft union or non-profit whose staff only seemed interested in merely getting by, not in real change – just the kind that made foundations and partners happy enough to keep the cash flowing and bills paid. I wanted the kind of job that would transform lives and systems of power – youthful idealism is delicate, precious, and priceless; the stuff of revolutions, and I had it pumping through my veins to want to get something done. This fearful moment would become the beginning of what would define and transform me over the next two and half years as a major leader in the fight for sustainable housing not just in my neighborhood of East Harlem/El Barrio, but all of New York City. Did the thought of a 50-60 hour workweek scare me? Absolutely. Did 3 strait hours a night on the phones, or knocking on doors when 90% of people either don’t care, don’t have time, or are
too over-worked or sick to participate exhaust or frustrate me? Often it did. Movements for social change are often riddled with contradictions, huge egos, sickness, corruption and high expectations, but year in and year out this is what we dealt and worked with all because we believed in what we were doing as a valuable place for people to feel connected to a sense of power that affected their lives. There were times I felt amazing – like we were the ones that were going to change the greatest city in the world – and there were times I felt defeated, wasted and tricked. But in the end, it was all worth it. I truly loved running workshops and facilitating meetings, often being the youngest person in the room. These experiences opened me up
