I know this, I really do.

This fact looms in my mind every time I think about something I’d like to share with the world.

And then I look around and see how much STUFF is out there. Online spaces are full of people writing their personal diatribes, reviews, opinions, Top 5 lists, stories, random posts, videos, and advice. Good stuff, but it’s noisy out there.

Almost invariably, this stops me in my tracks. I stop writing and feel an overwhelming sense to listen more, learn more, and know more. The next hour or two is then spent reading others’ stuff, clarifying my own thoughts, and figuring out how what I’ve learned applies in my life.

It’s at this point that I’m happy to know I’m not adding to all the stuff in the world. Like the abundance we have in physical stuff, we are bombarded by digital stuff. Perhaps A&E should develop a new series about digital hoarders – those of us with more RSS feeds and Facebook friend updates than we can ever hope to read.

(For those who ask me  – quite regularly in fact – why I don’t follow more people on Twitter, this is the reason: I actually want to read all of their updates. To know these people. To spend time listening to what they have to say.)

This probably limits my “personal brand.” I certainly can’t be called an active blogger and I don’t have thousands of loyal fans commenting on my every post.

At the same time, I’m not alone. Plenty of us share ourselves in online spaces. We learn more every day. We are inspired by others’ incredible insights. And we use those insights to form our perspectives, get work done, and manage our lives. We can participate in different ways, which is good.

Still, I have this nagging feeling that I should blog more. Perhaps at some point I will.

In the meantime, know that I’m listening. Building. Acting. Doing.

And, when I feel inclined, I’ll add more stuff in the world – when I have something to share that adds value. Not more noise.

I’ve attended the EAA event countless times, having grown up in an aviation family and, more recently, being married to a private pilot. It’s always a fun time, becoming gradually more interesting to me as I’ve learned about it. At the same time, I am not one who, personally, has my heart set on flying. I don’t yearn for the freedom of flight. I don’t have an aching desire to soar above the clouds. So EAA has been fun, but has not been a particular passion of mine.

This year, however, EAA held a few surprises for me, ones that changed my perspective.

During the morning of my first day at the show, I met John, an airplane salesperson. Upon hearing about my background and my interest in helping companies better connect with their female consumer base, he said something that would change the rest of my EAA experience: “The aviation industry needs your help.”

At once, and for the rest of the weekend, I saw the show with new eyes. Everything felt even more familiar to me: the vendors speaking to male customers and virtually ignoring female ones. The testosterone-drenched marketing efforts. The awkward attempts to integrate and appreciate women in this decidedly man’s world.

It all seemed so similar to what I’ve experienced first-hand, working in the electronics industry. All the times in my career when I was the only woman on staff.  When I went out of my way to be “one of the guys.” When I began researching and teaching men about the power of the female consumer.

Everything I saw here had a direct parallel to my life’s experience.

Later that same day, EAA held its daily airshow – featuring an all-female cast of pilots, skydivers, wingwalkers and aerobatic performers – a first in the airshow’s 56-year history. But, the show’s impact was lessened by its bookend male acts, its fumbling commentator, and its patronizing soundtrack (you guessed it: “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”).

The organization was clearly making an effort; they just didn’t know how to do this right. At the end of the day, these amazing women pilots had showcased not their accomplishments, only their novelty. The entire episode felt more like a sideshow than the day’s main event.

In the evening, a “Women in Aviation” panel discussion continued the day’s theme. Female aviators described their passion for flying and told of the experiences that brought them here. As I watched, I saw women doing all they could to fit into a man’s world. When a couple of the panelists commented that they are “not typical women” and that they “can’t cook at all,” I could relate.

For me, it was never a conscious decision, just an instinct: over the years, I had modified my words and actions – slowly becoming one of the guys by drawing a distinction between me and the girls. I highlighted certain aspects of myself (I’m not into scrapbooking) while ignoring other parts (I love baking). To be one of the guys, I learned golf, smoked cigars, and took training to install car stereos. I was busy showing and telling that I could be accepted because I wasn’t a typical girl.

Only recently have I figured out that it’s not me who had to change, it’s the industry around me. That I could do more for the business, and for women, by working for both, instead of choosing one over the other.  That being boldly who I am – both typically feminine and uniquely me – will create positive change in the industry and in society.

In recent years, the electronics industry has started to consider the impact that women have. They’re seeing the opportunity, making gradual changes, and reaping the benefits of creating solutions for the other 51% of the population.

The aviation world is not there. But it’s moving.

I’ve decided to take a more active role, to help coax it in the right direction. My life has given me great insight into worlds like this one. I can help this industry.

And all the women who love to fly.

I gave answers like, “I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but I’m going to a training about how to run for political office.”

Or, “I’ll be learning about how to campaign for office. But, I’m not planning to run for anything.”

After an incredible weekend spent with amazing women from around Minnesota and across the U.S., I’m still in a bit of shock about who I met, what I learned, and where it may take me.

I saw women from all backgrounds, some who hold office now, others who insist they’ll never run. Some college students, others who, within a decade, will be retiring from lifelong careers. Women interested in municipal government in their towns, tribal council in their villages, state congressional seats. And a few who long to be president.

During the weekend, these women learned how to raise funds, select staff, and run their campaigns. Most importantly, they learned to tell their stories, honestly, clearly, concisely.

This last skill is the one that still has my head spinning. These women told their stories – in heartfelt conversations, speeches, and even songs – of moments that changed them. Of personal heartache, refugee camps, homelessness,  violence. And, of survival and perseverance.

They told why they wanted to lead, why they could – and would – make a difference in the world around them.

I have no doubt that they will.

This experience has inspired me, slowly bringing me to the understanding that I, too, have a story to tell. That I want to make a difference. To lead a “political life.”

Not the politics that focuses on deceit, broken promises, and bureaucracy. But the kind that makes real change. That creates a society where  lives are better because I got involved in creating a solution for the world around me.

My story is still unfolding. I don’t have one clear mission for what I want to accomplish in the political arena.

But, I’m not going to make excuses anymore. I want to get involved. Whether this means running for office, supporting others who do, or involving myself in the issues of my communitiy, I want to lead a political life.

In all these reports, I have noticed one striking theme in interviews with Iranian citizens: that their concern, what really drives their passion, is this “landslide” victory – not its end result which keeps Ahmadinejad in power. As I read articles, watch news reports, hear radio commentaries, these citizens comment that if the election results had been closer, more “believable,” then the Iranian people would likely have accepted the outcome, and would not have risen up in anger.

Which brings me to the question that’s been on my mind: Why would the Iranian government  skew an election to yield such unbelievable results? If the objective was to remain in power, and they were intent on a particular election outcome, then couldn’t they have achieved the same result with a closer, let’s say 52% to 48%, victory? One where challenger Mir Hussein Moussavi could have received majority votes in more than two of Iran’s 31 provinces? In short, a result that appeared more plausible?

It seems to me that this is an issue of vanity. Someone – Ahmadinejad, supreme leader Khamenei, or others in power – wanted to be part of the winning team. Not the team that just barely won, but the team that won handily. This desire may have blinded them to the fact that a landslide victory would appear implausible to the people of their nation.  And would spark protests and reactions from the rest of the world.

In stark contrast to the government’s focus, the people of Iran have reacted by showing the strength of their community. In the midst of the Iranian government’s crackdown on journalism and social media – attempting to focus attention on back its own agenda – citizens have continued to hold silent protests, to share their stories, to document their experiences.

To me, this feels like a monumental example of how society is changing: The focus and power of “one” is giving way to the voices of many. Vain attempts to focus attention on one person, one entity, one “solution” is simply not realistic. Vast numbers of people, with their ability to organize and to distribute their message, are demanding that their voices be heard.

Of course, I don’t deny that there is a societal force to create icons from individuals – President Obama being the most obvious example – but I see changes in this iconic mentality as well. In the midst of an increasingly collaborative and participatory society, the icons themselves are asking for the community to get involved. Maybe it’s self-preservation, because the strength of any one personality will never withstand the scrutiny of the world. Maybe it’s the latest fad in sociological study, as all sorts of books and academic dialogue would suggest.

Or maybe it’s because the voices of the crowd, even without forethought and organization, are simply more powerful than the vain who wish to concentrate power unto themselves.

On Thursday, I visited Becky* and her family, who live a couple hours’ drive outside of Minneapolis, on a communal farm. Hers and four other families live in a “fellowship,” where they live simply, share what they have, homeschool their kids, and spend a lot of time in worship.

Becky – who now goes by her given name, Rebekah – has two children. Malachi, nicknamed Chi, is twelve and little Calla is six. (Becky’s husband Greg wasn’t home so I didn’t get a chance to meet him.) The kids are beautiful, polite, sweet. They told me about their lives, and their love of the fellowship’s animals: horses, chickens, and sheep, among others.

Soon after arriving at Becky’s house, we meandered to the kitchen to prepare lunch. Becky makes many meals from scratch, both giving to and taking from the fellowship’s communal cupboard. For lunch, she used ingredients from bulk containers – a gallon of honey, a quart of mustard – to make dressing for our chicken salad. (The chickens had been raised by the fellowship last year.) Our dessert, fruit with yogurt sauce, included homemade yogurt from another fellowship member.

After lunch, we moved to the living room and continued our conversation. Becky showed off her family’s new television, a 19″ tube television connected to a VCR. Videotapes sat in a cupboard – Daniel Boone, Old Yeller, My Friend Flicka, and other staples of a bygone era. I learned that twelve-year-old Chi has already become enamored with the TV, wanting to watch it more often than his parents find appropriate.

I didn’t see much of Chi – he was outside in the barn for most of the afternoon. Beautiful Calla stayed in the house with us, often carrying one of the family’s two-week-old kittens. She talked of her favorite TV show, Daniel Boone, and showed off her homemade rifle, made from a long tree branch, with a bit of hardware fashioned into a trigger and scope.

Throughout the day, Becky talked of her lifestyle. She loves that her kids have “a wholesome life.” She learned to cook (”something I’m not very good at,” she said) from other ladies in the fellowship. She teaches her children, occasionally expressing doubt about her own abilities as a teacher. And she apologetically talked of her longtime friends’ assessment of her lifestyle as being like Little House on the Prairie.

Of course, the elements of this life are so different than my family’s. My kids are techies; each has an ipod (including the four-year-old) and they all love video games. On busy nights, they heat up Easy Mac for dinner — in a microwave that I’m sure would seem quite foreign to Calla. They participate in school activities and sports. They ride city buses.

What may seem odd is that, to me at least, Becky’s life and mine didn’t feel all that different. We agree on the virtues of a simple life. For her, this is an everyday experience; for me, this is cabin life. Our families are both strong in our faith. The expressions of our faith are very different, but our desire to serve God is the same.

Still, there is a part of me that worries about Becky. She has grown quieter, more subdued than she was years ago — probably more notable to me, as I’ve grown louder and bolder with time. Her laugh is a mere chuckle. Her smile is shy. And her voice is soft.

I pray that she has not given up a part of herself as she strives to be a good wife and mother. I pray that her passing comment about her less-than-perfect marriage is a reflection of the idiosyncrasies in every marriage and not a mournful regret. I pray that her children will grow up to be strong and ready to experience the larger world, full of bureaucracies, health insurance, taxes and YouTube.

And most of all, I pray that the last 20 years of life have given her fulfillment and joy. Because while I understand the appeal of living in a bygone era, I hope that she has received as much as she has given.

* Not their real names. I didn’t ask permission to write about them.

For many people, I’m guessing this wouldn’t be a very big deal. For me, on the other hand, it was a pretty significant lifestyle change. A good experiment for me.

Now I’m back, so can share what I did and why.

Recently I left Best Buy after spending 18 years there. It’s been quite a ride this past year, as I struggled to figure out whether my personal career goals would align with the company’s direction. Now I know, for certain, that I will follow my dreams elsewhere.

Before I knew for sure whether I’d return to Best Buy, I wanted to take some time “off.” That is, without the regular Best Buy updates that I receive, and treasure, from my online community of friends. And without the self-imposed pressure to provide everyone with the latest updates from me.

You see, up until this month, my personal identity has been intermingled with the identity of the company. My work at Best Buy said a lot about me – that I am dedicated to my career. That I’m extroverted. Into technology. Kinda geeky. Energetic.

This provided a great introduction as I met new people — by saying I worked at Best Buy, I had an immediate conversation starter. The conversation itself varied. Sometimes, it was a discussion about our latest stock performance or company announcement. Other times, it was a story about a recent experience at a store, whether positive or negative. And – in Minnesota at least – it sometimes prompted a discussion about development along I-494, where Best Buy’s huge corporate campus looms large.

Even with old friends, these same conversations are common. Hugs are often followed by discussions about the latest buzz at Best Buy. Or maybe the latest gadget. Or my latest job responsibilities.

So now, I spent a bit of time figuring out what exactly I will say going forward. I’m still passionate about my career, love people, into tech, and have a ton of energy. But now I can’t encapsulate that into two words.My instant conversation starter won’t be there.

During my time “off,” I spent time with family and friends. I met new people and caught up with old friends. I read books. I cleaned the basement (or started to, anyway). I returned to some of my great loves: workouts, baking, and even a bit of oil painting.

And I missed all of you.

I haven’t really figured out my new conversation starters yet. I don’t yet have my business plan figured out for the next phase of my career. And my basement still needs work.

But, I’m inviting you back into sharing my journey. I took the time I needed to look inside. So now I’m back. Ready for new beginnings.

For those of you who read my blog regularly, you know that I’m in the process of interviewing for a new role, where I could potentially do the work I love at the company I love. This decision is due within a week or so. In the meantime, time marches on and, as of today, my previous role is no more.

So, my files are clean, my desk is empty, and my goodbyes are in progress. I do all this, knowing that my future here is still a “maybe,” these goodbyes may not be for long, and I may come back to work here in a matter of weeks.

I predicted that today would be surreal. That I’d have mixed emotions and feel a ton of uncertainty around what to tell all those who are asking about my future.

At least, those were my predictions last week. Then I experienced the last 72 hours.

On Saturday, I went to Fargo to help a friend’s grandmother move into an apartment, so she can be near family as she undergoes cancer treatment. We moved and unpacked boxes that contained memories of the last 25 years of her life. Life in another state. Life with her husand. And life after him.

Then yesterday I stayed in Fargo, helping to make 500,000 sandbags to keep the highest river level on record from devastating even more of the Red River Valley community.  I heard stories from the residents, watched military missions carried out, and even personally rode through some less-than-safe areas where water flowed freely over the roads.

Having arrived back home safely, I spent a few hours this morning working from my house, tying up loose ends for work. Until I started to smell smoke in the air. Outside, I found that our whole neighborhood smells like a bonfire and limited visibility makes the air look a duststorm. A nearby condo building is on fire and crews have worked for hours to put out the blaze.

Now, as I look to all this week’s uncertainty surrounding my future, I can’t help but think differently than I did last week. After all, my health is solid. My house is intact. My family is safe. My friends provide me unending support. And the next chapter of my career is about to begin. If that chapter is not at Best Buy, then I have a severance package that will make the transition less stressful. I could even – maybe – have a job at Best Buy after all.

Given all I’ve seen, this “maybe” is not so bad.

My, a lot can happen in a week.

Since then, one more Best Buy role that fits my passion has opened up, and I’m in the process of interviewing for it. So, it is still possible that I could stay at the company I love and pursue my dream at the same time.

In the meantime, I’m continuing to wrap up loose ends from my previous role and make sure that the work doesn’t slow down as it transitions to other owners. I still have passion around growing Best Buy by better serving women’s needs. Much progress has been made and I’ll do everything I can to assure it continues.

Also this past week, I’ve been incredibly touched by the outpouring of support I’ve received from all of you. Your thoughts and prayers mean so much. I have never felt so cared for, and am so thankful that you are part of my life. Thank you.

All this has left me trying to figure out what exactly to do with myself in this interim. Previous work responsibilities are wrapping up. New ones will be determined soon. And I am in the middle, trying to figure out how to best spend my time, and knowing that I do my best work when I remain busy.

The answer? I’m giving to my community.

I’ve been on a bit of a volunteering binge. Earlier this week, I helped pack food for the hungry. I’m helping out at church. I’ve signed up for some non-profit leadership opportunities. I’m working to finish up the website we created during this month’s web challenge. And, this weekend I’m headed to Fargo to assist with flood preparations, as the Red River is expected to crest – at a record level – on Saturday.

This is my way of giving back to those who have shown me such care. Of taking my nervous energy and directing it to do good. Of making things happen in a larger world, at a time when my own destiny is uncertain.

While I’m not sure where my personal path will lead, It feels good to know that I can make a difference. That my life is more than my career. That someone else’s life may be better because I took this time for them.

I’ve seen that a lot can happen in a week. I’ve seen this In my life.  And I can make this happen in my world.

This is my story of how the internet has changed me.

Back in 1989,as the internet was being invented, I was starting college. And doing lots of research. Partly because it was expected of me, and partly because I just love to learn. Yes, I was one of those crazy kids who, when given the option, chose to write the paper.

For the next four years, I spent lots of time in libraries. I hung out there because it was quiet, I could read, and it was much more convenient than trekking off-campus to my apartment. And, it afforded me an excuse to browse the stacks for an interesting read here and there.

I was well versed in where to find stuff in the library, which campus libraries offered the best resources, and where I could find a microfiche machine that actually worked well.

Throughout my senior year, I worked on my thesis, exploring the ethical, legal and practical implications of alcohol and cigarette advertising in urban markets. During this process, I discovered the university’s online system to access reference materials from universities across the world.

In that moment, my concepts about access to information changed. I could read articles from around the country. Books from the last 50 years. Research studies from around the world. All of a sudden, I had to think about validity of these sources. Cultural differences. Changes over time. Languages.

All this led me to think very differently, converse differently. write differently. By the end of the year, my thesis was better for it. I was better for it. What a great way to finish college and go out into the world.

For about a year after college, I went through what I can only describe as information withdrawal. My university library access was no more. Media was not very satisfying for my curious nature. Computers and online services were not very enticing nor affordable to me. I felt disconnected, and considered going back to school for awhile.

Then, in 1994, when Apple announced their online service eWorld, I was enthralled. I bought a PowerPC and signed up. Not a great experience, but I felt like my access to the world was back. I learned, engaged, connected. Each day I spent hours online, reading, exploring, discussing (I loved the bulletin boards!).

In the past 15 years, I’ve never been without online access. I’ve bought newer PCs, signed up for better and more open services, paid for faster access, learned about web infrastructure, and participated in social media. One-way media channels have become less and less relevant to me, while my internet usage has grown. The technologies have changed, the communities, the services, the activities.

But my feelings haven’t. I still feel connected to my world. That I can learn, explore, converse. That new possibilities to grow and connect are coming to life. And I’ll be there.

The past 20 years have been an amazing journey for me. And I simply would not be who I am without the 20-year-old internet.

This past weekend I participated in a team at Sierra Bravo’s Overnight Website Challenge, where 12 teams of nerds worked 24 hours straight to create 12 new websites for local non-profits. Not only did our teams provide great benefit to our community, but we have some tales to tell about the experience itself. Turns out that being in close quarters with 100+ web nerds creates some interesting dynamics.

My team was called the Groovy Goolies, named after the Groovy programming language. Our team included six developers, two designers, and two business advocates (that’s me).  My job was to work with our client, Battered Women’s Legal Advocacy Project, to gather business requirements and translate those requirements into actionable work for our development staff. And, is natural for the project manager in me, I generally just tried to keep our project on track.

I also worked hands-on in an agile development environment for the first time. Yes, I talk about agile, I advocate for it, and I recommend it as a great method of development for today’s technologies, but I hadn’t ever actually gotten my hands dirty in it, personally, before now. (No I am not talking about midnight pizza, which also made my hands dirty, greasy and garlicky).

Of course, the agile process gets more complex at 3am, when writing and interpreting stories and tasks seem like insurmountable work.

And, the fact that I hadn’t written HTML code in years, causing me to use deprecated tags, also added hilarity and humility to my experience.

But, at the end of the weekend, I learned a lot. I made friends. And I experienced the entire web development process, from ideation to approvals, in what I think we’d all agree is a laughably abbreviated timeframe.

There are precious few experiences in life like this one, where learning is condensed into such a short timeframe that the mind can’t even process all that it is absorbing. I’m grateful to my team members, to BWLAP, and to Sierra Bravo for providing me this incredible adventure. My mind is still processing all that I learned.

Now, it’s up to me to figure out how to use these lessons in the rest of my life.