It is easy for me to forget that today is a day to honor over a million men and women who lost their lives in our wars, who saw hell on earth, and then died. But there are too many for whom forgetting is a luxury they do not own.

Today I think of these men and women.

I think of them. And I think of a time which we have yet to know when wars may be no more.

According to an online dictionary, the definition of transgender is, “denoting or relating to a person whose self-identity does not conform unambiguously to conventional notions of male or female gender.”

I do not contest the validity of those who feel the bodies they were born into do not correspond with their sense of selves. However, if the above definition is taken for its word, then I too am transgender.

I have always resented restrictions dictated by society’s determined gender roles. Should my gender define my interests, what I should or should not be good at, what I can and cannot do?

Perhaps these individuals are fighting for the right to be themselves and for us all to be free of conventional notions.

“The paramount obligation of a college is to develop in its students the ability to think clearly and independently, and the ability to live confidently, courageously and hopefully.” –Ellen Browning Scripps

I recently ran across this original mission statement for Scripps College in an article by William Deresiewicz discussing the goals of colleges today. Mr. Deresiewicz is lamenting a shift from the focus of knowledge for knowledge sake–the preparation for individuals to lead fuller lives as participants in their societies, to that of solely seeking economic worth, defined by a paycheck. In what he calls neoliberalism, literature, the arts, philosophy, and other liberal-art disciplines are viewed increasingly inferior to that of commercial ones; computer sciences, economics, entrepeneurship, technology.

The mission statement for Scripps College is now: leadership, service, integrity, creativity. It is not seemingly a bad change, but rather vague, impersonal, and ironically the word “thinking” has been excised. The societies’ pendulums swing and will swing again.

But I hope we do not forget the importance of independence, confidence, courage, hope, and the love of learning and thinking, whether we are students or not.

The Bible, a collection of Shakespeare’s plays, maybe War and Peace are likely to be at the top of the one-book-to-bring-to-that-remote-island list, but I favor a dictionary. Asking for the Oxford English Dictionary’s twenty volumes is probably cheating. I would settle for the concise, single tome.

In my younger years I often heard, “If you don’t know what it means, look it up.” Grudgingly and reluctantly I would. But this sense of drudgery abated and was replaced with the pleasure of acquiring a new word.

Deciphering the schwa and other diacritical marks was enticing. I was hooked. This was when 30 Days to a more Powerful Vocabulary was a best seller. Strengthening my lexicon seemed like a good thing and much more enticing than Charles Atlas’ promise of a strong body, knowing his target audience was men.

“That’s an SAT word.” “A what?” I asked some adolescents years later. “We learned loquacious for the SATs” “But it’s a real word to be used, not just for the SATs.” I answered defensively. My detractors were not convinced.

I have been accused of snobbery, aloofness, and unnecessarily obfuscating– confusing– meaning. “You’re using a ten-dollar word when a twenty-five cent word will do.” Who knew?

My quest for clarity and precision, and my love of words has been misunderstood. I delight in the sound of “fecund”, “verdant”, and “supercilious” when gliding off my tongue.

I suspect I will be no less off-putting if I direct individuals to, “Go look it up.”

At one of the conferences I attended at the writers’ workshop I heard,

“There was a marked disparity between the number of published works by men and women, so a study was done to determine why. It found that if a woman received a letter from a publisher, stating that, “This particular piece is not of interest, but what else do you have?” or “Contact us again in the future with something new.” or something similar, the women seldom followed through. However men receiving the same letters, or even those less hopeful, submitted their work again.”

I did not bother to check the veracity of this study. I already know it to be true, but not just in the publishing world. I have experienced or heard of similar tales in education, business, and in virtually every aspect of a woman’s life.  Women doubt themselves and need far more encouragement than men.

Despite women’s achievements, insecurities linger.

Women need to think of  “no” as “yes.”

I was struck by an article I read recently. It was a man recounting his move to Hawaii at age thirteen. This was back in the 1960’s. The moment his family arrived at their new home, a cottage near the beach, he ran off, surfboard in hand to test the sea. Thirteen? Surfing without adult supervision? It seems few children in the U.S. and elsewhere experience that kind of freedom today.

I was well into adulthood when I heard the words,”play date” placed together and inquired the meaning: Parents organize the place and time for their children to play. This was an entirely new concept for me.

I had a curfew as a child and there were certainly things I was not allowed to do, but within these boundaries the days were mine. My best friend and I spent untold hours riding our bicycles discovering, exploring, venturing out on our own. There was no telephone to be tethered to and our judgement guided the way.

Are children safer today? Do they venture into unknowns with confidence? Can they plan and fill their own day?

Are certain attempts for their safety coming with a price too high?

We place an extraordinary emphasis on getting things right. Few of us like to be wrong. But who and what is the judge? Right can be wrong and wrong can be right.

If we look through the ages at history, the arts, and sciences, we readily see that time has redefined these terms many times and they are likely, inevitably, to change again. Yet we are encouraged to stay within the realm of accepted knowledge and past practice.

While we revere creative thinkers for showing us the new, what is now deemed “right,” each must have reconsidered the paradigms of the day and dared to be wrong.

New York City has long been associated with skyscrapers: symbols of grandeur, success, commerce, and a workplace for many. These iconic edifices have often provided the public a bird’s eye view of the surroundings.

But the constructions of today are of a different breed. They are arrogantly tall with dizzying price tags and they are private residences. Fifty-seventh street has recently been dubbed Billionaires’ Row . The views from the top are now reserved for only those individuals who can afford them.

Additional controversies of these elitist structures ensue. Many argue that their heights will block rays of sun that once shone on Central Park.

In more ways than one, the public is being left in the shadows.

The tragic plane crash blamed on a co-pilot’s seemingly deliberate actions naturally prompted many articles and news reports.  Possible motives are surmised.  If theories are correct, this and other heinous crimes may be attempts by certain individuals to seek infamy and we readily oblige. We see their pictures again and again, we read their stories over and over,  we speak their names. And these names become synonymous with horrific acts, perhaps committed to achieve such ends, forever.  We are at fault. We perpetuate their fame.

After an initial disclosure,  why not simply assign the murderers generic pseudonyms: John #1, Jane #1, etc. or just an arbitrary number and no name or image at all? These titles will carry no renown. These individuals will be known only by an unimpressive moniker. If in fact notoriety is their intention, their quest will be denied.

This is one step we can take to discourage those seeking infamy at the cost of innocent lives.

I undoubtedly enjoy the ease that technological advancements bring, but I am drawn to certain traditions that have survived the years.

Finding places where these old ways live on is a particular pleasure of mine. The modern world is rapidly usurping the old practices but some can still be found.

I recall wandering into a bakery that dated back well over a hundred years.There was something marvelous about eating bread prepared in the same way and baked at the same location for generations. It was not comparable to our mass produced fare.

Fortunately artisanal trades are finding a resurgence across the lands.

Some people are discovering the quality of goods that others never left behind.