Francis Dunnery "I Believe I Can Change My World"

I posted a song for Ghandi's birthday earlier this month, and my friend Ross asked about other songs that talk about Ghandi.  This tune popped to mind, because it includes the short line:

"I believe in Mahatma Ghandi, when non-violence was his faith."

But what this song makes me think of, is Betty Friedan.


I had this enormous, out-of-control crush on a girl.  I mean I'd had crushes before, but this one just felt irrational.  I just couldn't even think straight in front of this girl.  Logically, I couldn't explain it---she was pretty and smart and funny, but she wasn't superhuman or anything.  I think my friends understood why I liked her, but found my reaction to her to be a bit over the top.  Like those old episodes of South Park where one of the kids like a girl so much that every time he talks to her, he vomits.  It wasn't healthy.

I made her a mixed tape.  Because that is the kind of thing you did back in my day.

I was such a completist (nerd), that I even wrote liner notes when I made a mixed tape for someone.  For some people, it would be a way to let them know more about this artist (this was pre-Google).  In other instances, it was to tell them what I thought about the tune (this was pre-Blog).  And in this particular case, I wrote about why I had included each particular song.  Most of the song had been chosen based on something we had previously talked about---an artist or an idea or whatever.

For this tune, my only note was "Betty Friedan."

After she had listened to the tape, she thanked me and told me what she liked about it.  But she also had a question.

"Why did you write just 'Betty Friedan' about that song?"

"Because the song mentions Betty Friedan."

(The actual line is: "I believe in Betty Friedan, Gertrude Lawrence and Rosa Parks/I believe in Margaret Sanger, Mary Magdalene and Joan of Arc")

"Uh-huh . . ."

"And we had the conversation?"

"Uh . . ."

"About Betty Friedan . . ."

And suddenly, a clear transmission broke though the interference that typically plagued my brain functioning whenever I was around this girl.  I realized something:

She was not paying attention to and obsessing over every minute detail of every conversation that we'd been having.

In my clarity, I replayed in my head the moment that had led me to include the song, due to its mentioning of Betty Friedan.  I could now see that it hadn't been a conversation.  More like a scrap of dialogue.  Relatively forgettable.

She said something about someone making an inaccurate, and ill-argued reference to Betty Friedan in a class she was taking.  That's it.  And she said it in a funny way.  Because she actually was a pretty funny person.

Somehow in my addled brain, I had built it up to be a monumental, or at least memorable, conversation.  Our dialogue, like this song, had felt frenetic and densely packed with meaning.

It wasn't.  It was a barely registering blip on her radar.

And with that, I was rational enough to know that I was irrational, and clear headed enough to know that I had not been viewing the reality, clearly.

I knew I couldn't change my reaction to her---it was something weirdly physiological.  And I knew I wasn't likely to change her view of me to something that matched my level . . .

I took my next cue, from the same song.

"I believe in Cat Stevens, when he said 'I have to go.'"


Hear the song on Youtube.