Erin Kelly reflects on her journey as Social Justice Editor at The Good Men Project, and the lessons she’s learned about serving the good of man along the way.
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Webster’s Dictionary defines purpose as “That which a person sets before himself an object to be reached or accomplished; the end of aim to which the view is directed in any plan, measure or exertion.”
If this definition is to be applied to man—to the human race—one has to assume it means serving yourself or others in some form or fashion. It gives way to the notion that it doesn’t matter how you serve. It just matters that you do. I’ve never thought of myself as “someone who serves” or even an asset to society.
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I’ve just always followed my heart and done things that I enjoy. By the same token, I didn’t give much thought to what might happen if I ever became proficient at something I like to do—proficient enough that people might look to me for guidance, answers and perhaps inspiration.
It wasn’t until I got older and landed my first job as a columnist for my local newspaper in Altoona, Pennsylvania that my thoughts began to shift from “Oh, I can write!” to “I have a responsibility!” and “Hey, I might be able to turn this into something potentially worthwhile!”
I was just writing about things that happen in my everyday life as an individual with a disability. Granted, I thought these things were mundane and boring because they became so embedded in my daily routine—and still are. I thought, ‘Who’s going to want to read about how I get out of bed in the morning, or what I think about while I wait for someone to get me out of bed? Nonetheless, people responded with such grace and positivity that I had to keep going. I was telling my story, but in the process, I felt as though I was giving my hometown something it hadn’t seen before. I was addressing disability—an issue that’s long been kept in the dark around the world or usually talked about in a negative tone—in a light, humorous manner.
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Three years after that—in 2012—I was hired at The Good Men Project as a writer. Two years, a million words and many, many late nights later, I was appointed Social Justice Editor at GMP. It was a move that I admittedly didn’t think I was prepared for—nor did I think it would end up having the deep, profound meaning to me that it does today.
It was a monumental moment when I was brought onboard at GMP to begin with, because it was completely unexpected. In fact, October marks my third year of working with an incredible group of incredible writers, Editors and thinkers. I undoubtedly owe this part of my career to Cameron Conaway, who put his faith in me as a writer.
When he initially approached me with an opportunity to work for GMP, he said I had something that the publication hadn’t seen before—the ability to write about disabilities in a humanized, relatable way. That being said, I not only feel a tremendous sense of responsibility to incorporate everything he has taught me into my job, but to also continue to be a voice for—as well as to give a voice to a demographic of people who are too often silenced.
Disability isn’t just a men’s issue. It’s not just a women’s issue, nor is it just an issue that effects youth. It’s an issue that encompasses everyone, regardless of age, race, gender or sexual orientation. Thus, it deserves to be deemed as a social justice issue—and if it isn’t, I’ll continue to write however many words it takes to change that or at least give people something to think about.
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I don’t think I’d even be expressing my viewpoints about disability in this way if I hadn’t started at the bottom the pile—if I hadn’t struggled to find a job as someone with cerebral palsy in the first place. I don’t think I’d be fit to be Social Justice Editor, let alone a writer, if nothing I’ve written or researched has lit some sort of fire underneath me.
To that end, I couldn’t help but to feel selfish when I first started writing about the brutal violence and injustices that occur against those with disabilities, almost on a daily basis. I felt sick to my stomach because I was oblivious to this violence—and I still feel that way. Not only that, but the fact this was happening to a demographic that I’m a part of was unfathomable and unacceptable to me.
That’s another reason why my position as Social Justice is so close to my heart. It has opened my eyes to the often unfortunate ways of man—to the point where I need to write about them. At the end of the day, it’s not my goal to be a stuffy journalist who shoves my opinions down readers’ throats. Nor is it my intention to single myself out and make readers believe I’m an authority on anything or I’m the one going through a certain situation. I just want to do my part to contribute to the good of man.
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So, to my colleagues at GMP, thank you for an incredible three years thus far. Thank you for helping me push my boundaries as a writer every day, as I’ve been successful under your guidance. Most importantly, thank you for helping me expand on my true purpose in life. I especially thank you for looking at me for my abilities, not my disabilities.
Here’s to another three years!
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