I want to live a committed life.

I want my friends woven into my days instead of my calendar.

I want to start every meeting with a poem—and put a poet in every boardroom.

I want to welcome refugees and host queer cabaret salons.

I want us to decide national budgets at town halls that start with shared silence and singing.

I want the house to be filled with laughter and costumes instead of YouTube.

I want to swap homemade cookies on the subway.

I want a best friend of 86 and another who is 7.

I want to know who is coming over for dinner on Sunday. Every Sunday.

I want to go dancing.

I want to create more than I consume.

I want to abolish GDP and measure what matters—healthy babies; the count of salmon; street parties.

I want my neck kissed and my butt pinched.

I want billionaires to be retired and tax-day celebrated as a festival of thanksgiving.

I want my birthday gifts to be homemade drawings.

I want a year of national service at 18, 38, 58, and again at 78.

I want to devote myself to things worthy of my devotion.

When I walk past the buildings next to mine, I want to know at least a neighbor in each one.

I want auto-payments set up from my bank account so that I’m not even tempted to buy that unnecessary thing.

I want to be held to a higher standard.

I want to live a committed life.

I want to make my commitments with you. Bravely. Eyes-wide to the awfulness of everything but steadfast in the knowledge that this is what it takes.

I want to say yes to this vision together, and mean it. Because that is how revolutions become inevitable.