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.

Not unusual behavior for a preschooler, right?  It would seem pretty standard. Except that his five older siblings really never did this. (Yes, there are six kids in all. More on that another time. Stay with me.)

That’s right: none of the other kids ever carried a toy companion, had an imaginary friend, or created any sort of pseudo-best-friend.

But, those kids had each other. The older five kids’ ages span only seven years, so they always had playmates. As pre-schoolers, they played games together, built forts, performed plays, and were generally inseparable.

When faced with the rare moment that these kids found themselves alone, they panicked. After mere  moments on their own, we heard them say, “there’s NOTHING to do, can I have a play date?”

It was actually troublesome. In fact, during their elementary school years, I worked hard to encourage them to build playing-alone skills: teaching them how to play solitaire, buying single-player games, and arranging times for each child to spend entertaining him/ herself.

Now, there’s this littlest brother, who is seven years younger than his closest sibling. He doesn’t have the constant companionship of peers. He learned early how to entertain himself.

And, just as early in life, he created a best friend, in Cha-Cha The Monkey, to accompany him.

All this has me thinking about what social creatures we all are. This isn’t a revolutionary concept; there are many scientific studies that reinforce this theme.

But, to see our social nature play out in such real ways, every day, confirms for me that I must continue to focus on the right things.

Our lives, our world, and our experiences are meant to be shared. God has created a place where we depend on one another. Where we yearn to share our lives. Where we expect to give and receive. And where, if we foster our relationships, lives will be forever better.

So, I thank you for being part of my life. Your presence here, in my social circle, is appreciated. Your companionship is treasured. Thank you.

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 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.

It was good to work in the fresh air, chatting with the people here in town and enjoying the Mississippi heat. In the afternoon, the rest of our team from Minnesota arrived, so we’re now a group of nine. 

In the evening, we all went to Wednesday night service at Mendenhall Bible Church. I hadn’t been in the church building before, and was taken aback when I saw it: it was beautiful! Care is clearly taken to make this building all that it can be.

Compared to any other Mendenhall building – the school, offices, rec center, etc – it was far and away in the best condition. There were no cracked ceilings, dented walls, chipped paint or even smudges on any surface. Clearly this is the building that takes priority over anything else that needs attention in this organization.

Now, one could argue whether this is an appropriate allocation of resources. However, I think the greater lesson here is what’s possible when an entire community – any community – comes together and agrees to make one thing the best it can be. I’m sure there have been arguments and spirited discussions along the way but, even with the severely limited resources available, this group has managed to build and maintain an immaculate church. Inside this building, it’s easy to forget that I’m not in Edina, MN, or Pasadena, CA.

So once again, I’m witness to the power that comes from a group of people, aligned toward a common vision. A vision that was clear from its beginning, and its clarity remains over time.

When a community bands together like this -whether driven by one visionary leader or a collaboration of many – the impossible becomes possible. Our power truly multiples when we stand strong around one vision. 

Imagine what that could mean to our department, our company, our world. Suddenly, overwhelming challenges seem within our reach. Problems seems addressable. Goals seem attainable. 

Because we no longer have subversive behavior. We no longer watch from the sidelines. We can all participate because there is no fear – the goal is clear and we know how each of us can contribute. 

And then, the impossible may not be so far beyond us.

It’s very early on Sunday, the day that Sami (14) and I leave for Mendenhall, Mississippi. We’ll be spending a week volunteering at the Mendenhall Mission, which includes a school and church that ministers to the rural poor in the area. We leave for the airport in about three hours.

In addition to about a thousand other things running through my mind right now, this has me thinking about how many people at Best Buy give their time and energy to making their communities better. There are tens of thousands. Last weekend in Denver, 268 employees participated in their local Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. Next week, upon my return from Mississippi, I’ll be painting a local women’s shelter along with my WOLF pack. These stories have been replicated across the nation, as the passion of our employees benefits the world around them.

And yes, the company donates millions of dollars to charitable organizations in honor of these employees’ efforts. But I think the real story is about the energy, passion and hours that our people dedicate to these causes. Not to one singular cause, or one short-lived campaign, but on a daily basis. Not due to a company-wide mandate to make it happen. The work is conceived, planned, and carried out locally, driven by anyone in the organization who wants to do it. Multiply this a thousand-fold and you start to get an idea of the enormity of this impact.

Of course, this creates a challenge as we strive to tell the world about what we’re doing. It’s easier to get attention when we present a giant cardboard check to some organization in need. It’s harder to demonstrate the hours, the sweat, and the love of 100,000 individuals. So far, this challenge hasn’t stopped us. 

My hope is that we embrace the challenge. That we stop trying to use the easy metrics to gauge our success. That we stop talking dollars and start talking hours. That our pictures and our smiles replace our statements of pre-tax earnings and corporate giving.

Because our stories are stronger than the checks that accompany them. These stories deserve to be told. Even if that’s not easy.