Paul Strobl’s Manifesto

I’ve been buried alive several times. What I didn’t realize is that it was always me holding the shovel.

I wanted to help others, but I let societal constructs and family pressure bury me.  Everytime I began to see a glimpse of sunlight, I told myself to find a real job.

So there I was:  your typical obese, suit-wearing, stressed-out American stuffed into an office chair in a grey cubicle with a fancy degree.  I was gulping down my second cup of coffee when my father called. He had found my brother in his bath tub with a shotgun and a bloody note in his hand that read ‘Do Not Resuscitate.  Sorry about the mess.’

Everything suddenly looked different.  My career, my family and my life no longer had the same meaning.  They were imposters.  I was a fake.  It took me years to untangle the emotional knots.

Once all of the shoulds were gone, it was obvious what I must do.  I was made for it.  I climbed out of the hole, put down my shovel, dusted myself off and committed my life to helping others find their path.

For me, life itself is creating awareness or a new reality in others simply by asking the right question.

I am a catalyst.  I help people to ‘get it.’ The only problem I have to solve, the only anxiety that I feel every morning asks ‘How can I do more?’

-Paul Strobl

Manifesto Roadtrip Nation

 

The Manifesto Explained

We wrote this Manifesto after we returned from our very first Roadtrip in 2001. . . . It’s up to you to define your road in life based on what you’re truly passionate about. By discovering that sincere path, you’ll end up contributing to the world in your own distinct way. Imagine the collective impact of an entire generation discovering their own roads and using their lives to build more efficient vehicles, cure cancer, or teach elementary school kids how to learn in a fresh, new way. When we discover our own paths, we’re not the only beneficiaries; the world is waiting for us to manifest ourselves and needs us to rise up to that challenge. . . .

-Roadtrip Nation

 

Sarah Seltzer’s Manifesto

I write because I think I can live without it, and I do for a time, but then I realize a part of me is dying of thirst.
I write to give voice to the dialogue in my head and to quiet the narrative that walks me through the day.
I write to purge my bitter resentment and therefore maintain my ability to be kind.
I write for all the frustrated artists. I don’t want to be one. I’d be poisonous.

I don’t write because of the dishes, the laundry, the mess, because of my endless proclivity for getting lost on the internet, and because my other writing–the day-job kind–comes so easily and with such a reward.
I don’t write because it feels too self-indulgent.
I don’t write for fear of failure—but more because of fear of success. You see, if this actually begins to yield to me, some vague looming worry may replace my companionable writing-related anxiety.  It’s a “what dreams may come” dilemma.
I can’t be such a Hamlet.

So this year, I will write and write, through political and personal melodrama. I will access truth, unobscured by the humor that screens me from the dark places.
I will tap into the fearlessness I use when confronting Sarah Palin, and use it to confront my characters.
I will see myself in the company of my pen-wielding heroines, and I will not shrink away from the mirror.

-Sarah Marian Seltzer