Supplies: Gatekeepers: Jumping the Fence

Wrought Iron fence

Wrought iron fence by the Baptist church on Polk NE in Minneapolis

In a way, I’m born to jump the fence. It’s just my natural instinct borne of a curiosity about the world. Also, my key drive is my sense of mischief. While I never want to harm anyone, I do like to mess with people a little – especially stuffy, controlling people who control for no good reason. It’s really why journalism appealed to me. Most of it is fence jumping 1o1, via the Freedom of Information Act.

It’s why, whenever someone brings up an injustice – a judge who issues a sentence that is mind-bogglingly misogynistic, thousands starving because of warlords, an oil spill that screws up penguins – I always want to know if there’s another way. I hear all the dolorous things about how there never is. I just ignore that person and ask someone else if there’s another way. Petitioning judges or governors for overturns, putting penguins in sweaters, hiring some modernday Xena types… the solutions are out there. You just have to cheerfully ignore the subject matter experts that say that there aren’t.

I believe solutions exist. No one has called me a Pollyanna to my face – and no one would think I’m the type if they saw the circles on my 750Words.com ratings, that nearly always insist I’m “Introverted, Negative, Certain…” although feeling seems to have replaced thinking as part of my mood de jour when I use that program.

Really, to me, the greatest Gatekeeper is simply the “Impossible! That’s impossible!” one. That’s the one I ignore. Makes me wish I’d tried poll vaulting. It would be funnier that way.

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