A Not-So-Modest Proposal, or My Trouble with #26

I need to talk about #26Acts.  And I hope that you'll give me the benefit of the doubt and read through before you react.  {Updated to add: please understand, too, that my intent is not to diminish the #26Acts movement.  Because I agree, as Kathy comments below, that movement is serving an important purpose.}

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I wouldn't say that I was a do-gooder when I was growing up, but I was certainly no stranger to the idea of service.  We had to do service for my Confirmation in the Catholic Church, and for graduation from high school; I was a candy striper at the local hospital, and I did some other things, too.  I was a member, and then Vice President, of my high school's Social Action Club; we raised money for important causes, wrote letters for Amnesty International.  And I felt pretty good about my contribution to the world.

When I was in college, I took some courses in social justice.  And I started to understand the long-term investment and commitment necessary to make social change happen.  No, I'd never thought that I could change things overnight.  But I discovered that in order to really make change, you needed to act in a sustainable way.  And sustainability? Is HARD.

Like many other people, I've watched #20Acts and #26Acts hashtags spread like wildfire, trending on Facbook and Twitter and Instagram and blogs.  I applaud Ann Curry for promoting the idea, and I'm glad for the enthusiasm around acts of kindness.  I've done my share of random acts of kindness over the years, ever since I heard the phrase used in college.  And I don't want to diminish some of the amazing, generous projects that some of my blogging friends have started.  But there's something about the movement that bothers me, too.

You see, #26Acts, like many forms of social media itself, feels perfunctory to me.  You leave $26 in $1 bills taped to gas pumps.  You donate to Toys for Tots or "adopt a family" for Christmas (which to me is the wrong word; adoption is not just "borrowing" people to give them gifts, even if they're really fabulous gifts ... and silly as it sounds, I feel like the semantics matter).  You deliver plates of cookies to first responders to thank people for their service.  You leave 26 lovely handmade ornaments with tags on them around town, encouraging the recipients to do 26 acts of their own.  And while these are genuinely nice things to do, it feels more like chain mail, or like a popular internet meme, than a deep and meaningful tribute to lives lost.  How can I say that $120 at Starbucks, even if I give it to people anonymously, and even if my gift prompts 20 people to give 26 more cups of coffee or do whatever acts they choose to do, is worth of the 26 -- or 27, or 28, depending on how you're measuring -- lives lost in Newtown?  And am I done grieving when I reach 26?  Do I suddenly feel better about the world?  How long before the movement fades away?

Because here's the thing about grief: it doesn't last only for an hour.  It doesn't go away after a month.  It doesn't live in envelopes with surprise gift cards or on lovely Christmas ornaments left on park benches.  Grief lives on for years, sometimes hiding under the bed or in a closet or even at the mall, and then BAM it leaps out and shakes you to the core again when you least expect it.  At some point, the nation will stop grieving.  Maybe it already has.  We have to, after all; life has to go on.  But those people who lost loved ones in Newtown will grieve for years, for forever.  And there are few more terrible feelings than grieving alone, than feeling like you're grieving alone.

I don't know.  There's a lot all tied in together here for me.  The events in Newtown hit too close to home.  I have a first grader.  It could have been him.  My heart still hurts, aches for the grieving parents, for our communities; I long for a more peaceful, loving world.  And I want to make a more lasting impact on the world than doing 26 nice things.  I want to make the world a better place for my children, and for the other children who survive.  I also know too much about working for change to be satisfied with movements that are not sustainable, especially when I believe that we are capable of so much more.

I posted something to this effect on the Facebook page of #26Acts and immediately got attacked by people telling me that now is not the time for criticism.  That "you have to start somewhere."  And maybe they were right; I took down the comment.  But I felt like we had so much momentum, like there was so much potential -- and that settling for something less than heroism was shortchanging the opportunity.

Doing twenty-six really difficult things is too overwhelming.  I get it.  And that's the appeal of #26Acts.  Short, manageable.  An attainable goal.

So I'd like to propose an alternative.  {updated to add: Or maybe a supplement.}

ONE act.

Commit to one act that will change something about the world, that will change you and other people for the better in the long term, that is difficult for you, that will take effort.  Quit smoking and give the money you saved on cigarettes to an organization that provides needed mental health services for the community.  Forgive someone who has hurt you deeply.  Start a nonprofit.  Go every week to a food bank or a soup kitchen and think about ways that you can eliminate poverty.  Participate actively in an advocacy campaign.  Do something that you've been putting off, something your heart says is the right thing to do to create peace in the world.

Give yourself a year to do it.  Remember the love of Newtown for a year.  Make it something more than a New Years' Resolution; commit to it for long term, for the teachers and staff and 6 year olds who smile at us, gap-toothed and hopeful, from their school photos, and for the sake of fostering a fierce and relentless love in the world.  Be in solidarity with those grieving families for a year.  Not just for an Instagram moment.

This kind of work--this deep soul-work--is difficult.  You need a support system in order to change something that big, and it needs to be more than a Twitter feed or a Facebook page.  So I'm offering myself: if you want someone to keep track of your commitment, to remind you about it, to send you encouragement periodically, to hold you to your promise, I will do that.  You can post it here, or you can email me directly, and I'll hold in in confidence.  No one else will need to know.

I will commit to #OneAct of my own.  I'm not going to post it here.  But I promise you that I'll be working on it all year long, with anyone who wants to do so with me.

And I will guarantee you this: that even if nothing profound happens in the world as a result of your gift, after one year with #OneAct, you will be changed.  And that, friends, is a sustainable foundation for a fundamentally different, more beautiful world.

What do you think?  What would you commit to if you were to commit to #OneAct?