March 1, 2003.
What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?


This seems like the best time to introduce to you my new secret alter ego: 'graffiti girl.'

Yes, I have taken to tattooing random public places in downtown Atlanta with my own curious brand of political statement.

Okay, okay. I'm not a true graffiti girl — just a daydreamer. I'm not using spray paint — just white chalk (picked it up at the grocery store for 79¢!). I like chalk — it's fun to write with, and it doesn't cause permanent damage.

It's not easy being a graffiti girl. You've got to be very quick about it. You can't let anybody see you. And you have to pick the right kind of message when the time is right. You have to think about your audience and you have to be inventive. Just scrawling "AmeriKKKa" on the side of a boxcar won't cut it.

So far in my graffiti-writing career, I have focused on two or three main phrases. I have left them in parking garages, on cement columns, in a cinderblock stairwell.

One phrase always pops into my head when I've got chalk in my hand: "Your eyes are widely opened flowers..." by Alice Walker. Because it is a phrase full of mystery. When I'm leaving a message, I'm not trying to incite a riot. I'm usually trying to just toss out a nonsequitur for the stiff executive vice president whose head is wrapped up in the Avery proposal due this afternoon.

Another phrase that's been popping up when no one else is looking: "What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" by Mary Oliver, from her lovely poem, "The Summer Afternoon." I wish I had the time and the space to write that whole poem on the wall somewhere.

Writing on the walls is a weird rush. I can't recommend graffiti-ing enough. People, next time you're at Kroger, drop by to the dinky school supply section and pick up a box of 79¢ white chalk. Find a parking garage. Find a secret alley. Find a cinderblock wall. Scribble your soul's Magna Carta. Paint a clever picture. Write just one sentence that is completely true. Then leave it behind. Let it wash away in the rain. Carry the little secret inside you—and smile at the next person you pass on the sidewalk.

When I slip a stick of chalk into my coat pocket on the way to work, I'm fixed on where, when, and how I can leave the next message. I'm making plans for the next big event. Toting that piece of chalk around is like carrying a concealed weapon.

Curiously, the message I've been writing most frequently doesn't have to do with the beauty of your eyes or with summer afternoons. It is a simple little sentence, and when I leave it on the walls, I'm trying to blow up one of the most pervasive lies of 21st century life here in the United States. Can you see where I've written it here?




Yes, you there in the Hummer. Look a little closer.



I guess I like this sentence because it is universally true. It is equally true for garbage collectors and lawyers. Everybody needs to hear it.

What words are you scrawling on the walls of your parking garage? What secret message do you want to whisper to the sad-faced middle-managers shuffling off to the office with sleep in their eyes and the newspaper under their arm?

Find it. Write it. (Then, send me a snapshot of it.)