Dear Vice President Gore,
For weeks now, I have had it in my mind and in my heart to encourage you to join the race for President of the United States. Our country needs your experience and your outlook, and I would do whatever I could to help you become the "leader of the free world." I want nothing more than to hear or read the words "Al Gore Declares Bid!"
Those are the things that I wanted to say.
Then I went on a trip.
On Thursday, June 21st, I got in a car with my mother, my husband and our 10-year-old son. We started early in the morning and made our way from Portland, Oregon to northern California to spend a few days among the redwoods.
My husband and son had not seen the north coast redwoods before. Their reactions were what you would expect from those experiencing the giants for the first time. Wonder. Amazement. My mother, on the other hand, has been to the redwoods many times in the past. I watched her and came to understand that, at 84 years of age,this time she was saying goodbye; looking at the ancient beauty for the last time. Me? I’ve been in and through. I’ve traveled the redwood highway and its tributaries many times. But somehow – this time – it was different. I fought back tears much of the time. As we explored the groves, I "felt" them in a way I’ve never before experienced; stricken with the smallness one feels in the presence of such overarching antiquity.
Please understand, Al Gore, that I’m not a person who sheds tears easily, but I actually cried as I touched the massive base of one of those astonishing beings. How small we are. How insignificant our tiresome struggles, how ridiculously self-important we become during our brief little lifespans. In the presence of that millennia-spanning, magnificent life, I couldn’t help but wonder if, on some primal level, they aren’t much, much wiser than are we.
We could end all of that. We very nearly did once, already, through logging. Today, with our thoughtlessness and our greed and our denial we could cause the demise of those breath-taking behemoths. They rely on the fog. Their lives depend on mist and clouds - the ephemeral. A few degrees change in temperature, and they will become parched and sere, and eventually fail completely.
Because of that, of course, I thought of you as I stood in the quiet of the Lady Bird Johnson Grove. As we explored the beautiful groves along the Avenue of the Giants, I thought of you who speaks so urgently and eloquently for the creatures that have no audible voice. Dammit, Al Gore, you are so good at what you do right now. Live Earth was fantastic! I know it gained you supporters. Many of them. And other things are on the horizon. Your star ascends, Mister! It's all coming down for you.
And so I am conflicted.
I want you to be our president. I’ve pledged that if you drop in, that very day I’m good for $100 and that I’ll get 10 more to join me. We don’t have a lot of money, but I’ve got time and desire. I already have 5 of the 10. Didn’t even have to pick up the phone or use my email. Potential supporters are everywhere, my friend.
The problem then, obviously, is this: After standing among those tall trees that so need your advocacy, asking you to speak for me seems horribly selfish. But I don’t think I can give up my hope that you will do just that. Regardless, please know that if you choose to step into this race for the presidency, I will be there with everything I have. And if you choose to keep lending your voice to those stoic, soaring, silent giants, then I will do what I can for you there, as well. But could you please do both? Can you shoulder all of it? I would help. I would! And so would so many others. We would help you, Al Gore, if you chose to take on the presidency and continue your environmental endevours. We would help you. You have my solemn pledge from my heart.
Please choose well, Al Gore. Please choose well. Because no matter which road you take, you are desperately needed.
With hope,
CJB
(I'll be around for a bit to chat. Really, I don't know that I have much more to say - cjb)