1
May
Invisible Children Hangover
blog by Alexis Jones
0 Comments | Posted by thatgirl in Ms Jones' Spoon Full
Unfortunately God did not grant me a window seat on the four hour flight home, a travesty seeing as it was a 6:15am flight and I hadn’t slept in days. I had dressed in the dark, my punk sneakers reeked of “rebel” my thick red aviators and Emo beanie hid my blood shot eyes and the CK1 I sprayed on (to cover my lack of showering) made me smell of 1994. To an outsider I must have looked like a concert groupie, still up from the night before, experiencing the worst hangover of her life. The reality: I was experiencing the worst hangover of my life but it wasn’t the traditional, self-induced alcohol binge; it was so much more. I was experiencing the first ever, “post-activist, rally rebel, nine hours of sleep in three days, no-voice left” hang over of a true trailblazer.
The beauty of this kind of hangover is you’re not simply left with a migraine, nausea and vague snap shots of the night before (half of which you want desperately to forget), you’re also left with a better version of yourself because what you did. We rallied the nation. We inspired the world. Sure maybe we were tired and needed countless hours to recoup our exhausted bodies, but what we received in return was almost criminal.
If you read my blogs, you know that I was in DC rallying with the Invisible Children boys and that on April 25th we had an impossible task looming before us. Our insecurities, our doubt and our fear flirted with our confidence, tempting us to join Café Resignation but we stayed strong, determined to pull off one of the most ambitious awareness campaigns taking place in 10 countries and 100 cities around the world to end a war in Uganda.
The night before, I couldn’t sleep. The anticipation was exponentially worse than any Christmas Eve I could remember. I wanted to know if all our work would be in vain, if we were going to be a success, or fall in the wasteland of mediocrity. I awoke before the alarm went off and we went to our designated location to wait. “If you build it, they will come,” echoed in my head. We would soon find out.
Then it happened, like a miracle, an answered prayer, as droves of people came streaming in. Part of me was in disbelief, the other part arrogantly waved the flag of, “I told you so.” Either way, I will never forget watching hundreds if not thousands of people marching in front of our country’s capital, demanding change. I have never been a part of something like this, witnessed the power of our voice, the influence of numbers and the strength of a passion induced cause.
Icing on the cake: I was asked to give a talk to the Passionistas who stood before me. Humbled, honored, I took the microphone and, to this day, I have no idea what I said. I remember bright lights, cameras flashing, the crowd roaring, and the most overwhelming sensation of pure, unbridled inspiration pouring from my heart, from my entire body and my voice. If there were ever a time I wish I could have stopped time, if I could have freeze framed or crystallized a moment in history, it was then for I have never felt so alive in my entire life.
I walked off stage and the rally raged on with music, camaraderie among strangers, and pride in ourselves. Then we proceeded to endure torrential rain that was all too familiar to my infamous Survivor days, yet none of us were discouraged. Another night of no sleep, but this one sweetly welcomed as I recognized the taste of success, the smell of accomplishment, and the feeling of gratitude. The sun came up sooner than I thought and our faces betrayed our tiredness as we gathered our belongings, thanked the hundreds of people who also chose to weather the storm, and we parted ways.
I returned to our luxurious apartment. I packed up my things and I hopped on an airplane to return to the real world. Just like that, I returned to feeling normal again, like a Superhero who changed back into civilian clothes.
So, yes, to the naked eye I was a party girl gone too far, paying the appropriate consequences for my reckless behavior the night before, brutally catching an early flight home. But to those who where there, I, along with them, was a warrior. I was a girl willing to fight for something bigger than myself and offering the most essential: sleep, food, and shelter as collateral. I was a hero; we all were.
We won that battle, but the war goes on and this is but the first of many. However, the taste of victory is contagious, it’s addictive and I’ve been left wanting, needing more. We will end a war in Uganda. We will rescue the child soldiers of Joseph Kony and we will make history. But for now, I am turning off my phone, I am checking out, and I will voluntarily lose a day of my life to the allure of my bed and my sleep-deprived body’s necessity for rest.
photo by jim girardi