Chasing Feet

As a little girl I remember so many nights, staring up at the high ceilings of the bedroom where I grew up, wondering what other kinds of beds I could be sleeping in. My bed had a wooden head board with a carved design and I would run my hands across it. I had a heavy, white embroidered quilt that was my Great Grandma's. I liked it but I liked to have my feet stick out because I got hot and I liked to rub my feet together as I fell asleep. My friends told me that even after I'd fallen asleep my feet would keep moving. They would say my feet liked to chase each other all night. I'd lay there and try to imagine where everyone else in the world was sleeping and what their feet were doing. I lived in Sebastopol, a small town in Northern California, where I think most people were sleeping in a situation similar to mine- in their own beds with lots of covers. I knew of one guy who didn't have a home – but I knew where he slept and I'd seen how he set up his bed on the porch of a church down the street. I worried about him sometimes but his bed actually looked alright. I just worried he didn't have anyone to say goodnight to.

I knew some people slept in hammocks, others with their whole families in one bed. I imagined people slept in canoes, tree houses, igloos and I wanted to know so much more. All those places sounded alright to me, some of them really fun. I wondered though, if there was a really scary place in one of the corners of the earth where I wouldn't be able to sleep because I'd be scared. I couldn't imagine it. Maybe somewhere where there were lots of guns, but I knew some people with guns were really nice so I thought I'd be okay there. I guess I thought if there was someone nice to say good night to- nothing could be that scary.

I've been stuck with this wonder for twenty five or so years, trying to understand why this is my bed and I'm not in another bed, with another family. What if I woke up tomorrow piled in a bed with a new Mom and Dad and sister- would I learn to love them as much as my family?

Last October I had a feeling that I knew the answer was yes. I woke up before my alarm on the couch in my office. I could see the Oakland Tribune clock tower- it was 4:25am. I opened my laptop, it was late afternoon in Asia. It was 10/10/10 – a day I had been waiting for. I had helped 350.org to organize an international day of action on climate change. 7,700 event in 188 countries were planned. At this point many of those had already happened and now it was about getting the photos uploaded for the world to see. I signed on to see if anyone needed help uploading the photos or videos. I opened a new tab and typed in flickr.com/350org - one by one photos from around the world popped up in our flickr feed, they just kept coming. Whoa.


This photo of an old man riding a rickshaw with a 350.org visor and a woman in the back popped up and something inside me clicked. In my pajamas, at work, sitting alone before sunrise I starred at this photo. How is this possible? Who is this person? How did he hear about the event? Look how sweet that lady looks? Where'd he get that 350.org hat? I want one. At that moment the answer to my childhood question was clear. I could picture exactly where he slept and I knew I'd be fine if he was the one I said goodnight to.

The photos came flooding in – East Timor, Cambodia, Sri Lanka, Iraq. The corners of the earth had the flickr game down, no one needed my help.

I closed my laptop, reset my alarm for 6:30am and pulled my blanket back up over me. The green office couch was a good bed for me and my chasing feet for now.

This blog was published the day after the 2011 day of action, the Moving Planet. Check out highlights from the day here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/350org/sets/72157627613240511/