Posted in Changes, Current Events, feminism, Growing Up, Lessons, NaNoWriMo, People, Time, Work

Activism: A Response

My original point in writing these blog posts was to stretch myself. I’ve learned a few things this week. The first and last three hundred words are the easiest, it’s the four hundred in between that have me dawdling and struggling. I don’t know how to not write from experience, even if that experience is second hand. And, to no surprise at all, writing is therapy for me.

I’ve always been an external processor. Whether it was talking to my mom at night before I went to bed, texting my best friend when something happened, writing in a diary, or ingesting far too much caffeine pondering the wonders of the universe during college, I need to say things out loud (or write them) to finally to put order to my thoughts.

I’ve been doing a lot of writing over the last thirty hours.

I sat in a coffee shop last night and found myself ugly crying in public as I wrote an email. The extent of the emotion was probably due to the fact I was running on three hours of sleep, but even this morning, well-rested, I welled up as I read the comments rampant across my social media.

It would probably be much healthier for me if I stepped away from the internet for a few days. But I can’t, because I feel like I have a job to do.

I feel like the next four years are going to be so much more on myself and my compatriots. Perhaps would should have realized the gravity of our individual influence long before this, but now we can take up our mantle.

I think about my Niblet. I think about my cousins. I think about the children starting elementary school.

I want you to grow up in a better world.

I want to teach you to not be afraid.

I want to teach you to be curious and full of wonder.

I want you to see someone who has a different skin color and to reach out and say, “Play with me?”

I want you to see two men or two women holding hands, and not think that it is shameful.

I want you to see a hijab or turban and want to ask questions, not alert security.

I want you to eat well and exercise, I want you to be healthy. But when you see someone who is skinnier than you or fatter than you, I want you to see their soul, not their body.

l want you to make eye contact with the homeless, and extend humanity to them.

I want you to listen to the words of the older generations and learn from them.

I want you to befriend the person who doesn’t speak your language, and use your actions to communicate. (Oh, dear Zuzka, even eight years later, I’m still grateful for your kindness when I arrived in a foreign country, lonely and afraid.)

I want you to not be afraid of different opinions, but to realize you can ask questions without changing your position.

I want you to open your eyes to the needs around you, to defend the defenseless. I want you to have your arms be a safe haven against abuse, against grief, against ignorance.

I want you to turn off your lights, to reuse your bags, to recycle your trash, to bike instead of drive.

I want you to donate your books, and to not shame those who cannot read.

As an adult, I want to do the same. I want to reach out to you in love. I want to donate my limited dollars to organizations in need. I want to 
be an advocate, a safe haven, a source of justice. I want to buy products from ethical, sustainable companies. I want to use my voice to reach out through the darkness, and my words to encourage and strengthen.

Do you remember that the Statue of Liberty is inscribed with a part of a poem?

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

Dear America, let us remember this. Let us remember that it is our responsibility to teach our children. It is our community. It is our planet.

Study constitutional law. Study business law. Study economics. Ask questions.

This world can be an ugly place. This world can also be a beautiful one. 

It’s time to be an activist. It’s time to use your voice… and your dollars.

Peace. Love. Coffee.

Posted in Current Events, feminism, Lessons, Love, NaNoWriMo

1000 words on 3 hours of sleep

I couldn’t write yesterday. I was running errands all morning, and then come my class ending, I was glued to the television.

As I sat watching the results roll in, someone handed me whiskey. I don’t often drink liquor, but I sipped on it and watched. I watched as my LGBTQ+ friends, my Muslim friends, my Latinx friends, my Black friends all reacted in horror, and I joined in with my disbelief.

I am so grateful for my Christian friends that have taken the time to share their views, who they voted for and why. I respect you, because you have thought out what you are saying. But I have seen so many who voted “for the babies” and for no other reason, and for that I grieve. I grieve because so many blame imported dark skin for terrorism, and I think of a Mexican friend who once confided that he never grows his beard out because he gets called a terrorist when he does. I grieve because you forget that Dylan Roof, Robert Lewis Dear Jr, and Adam Lanza were white. Micah Xavier Johnso, Rizwan Farook, and Omar Mateen were American citizens.

Dear Mr. President-Elect,

I did not vote for you.

For over a year, I have been reassuring friends from each and every minority group you have callously insulted that I believed in the American people, that no man who started an international incident the day he announced he candidacy could ever be the President.

I was wrong.

Dear President-Elect, in a time where our nation is divided, you won. Your party won a sweep of the entire legislative body. Congratulations: you’ll be able to squeak through legislation for two years at least. And while I disagree wholeheartedly with the vast majority of what you say, I pray to a God I don’t believe in that Congress will listen to the people. And I pray that the many, many white people who turned out to vote remember that it is only from a position of privilege that equality looks like oppression.

I pray that you create a panel of advisors who can speak frankly to you, and that you listen before you speak. I pray that we are able to hold you to a higher standard than “he didn’t screw up too badly on that one” – forget political correctness, I want a President who speaks with human decency and is humble enough to seek wisdom from experts in other fields.

Mr. President-Elect, I still believe in the American people.

I still believe that we will stand up with our brothers and sisters. I believe that We the People will fight for equality, justice, and for people who look and think differently to not fear for their lives as they walk through the streets.

America is not a middle class white man.

Dear President-Elect, I pray you see the great and beautiful thing we call this country and realize that we can be “great”. But that greatness comes from within. Invest in math and science. Invest in exchange programs. Invest in encouraging your people to think outside the box.

I did not vote for you.

But I still believe that the people of this nation will turn to their neighbor and say, “Brother, I am with you.”

You’ve lost the popular vote to one of the most unpopular establishment politicians, and yet won the electoral college. So listen to your citizens. Listen to our cries for equality, for love, for a fair shake. Listen to your advisors, listen to your people. You wear a heavy burden now, and without middle ground this country will only grow more and more divided.

The sun is up, and the world still spins. As I sit here, sipping coffee in a cafe, I look at the variety of people around me. This is my country. These are my neighbors.

“But see, America is the best country in the world!”

That superlative is dangerous. It lets us be lax.

You think we’re the best?

There’s 123 countries that classify themselves as democracies. There’s 21 countries that believe the ability to criticize the government is a fundamental democratic principle. There’s 61 countries that have a GDP per capita of $30,000 or more. There have been 70 countries with a female head of state. The WHO, while admitting their research is flawed, still ranks 36 countries ahead of the US in healthcare. In math and science, our education system has 28 countries ahead of it at the high school level. We don’t even crack the top 30 for nominal commitment to human rights – frankly, the stats on this link are maddening.

Our country is far from the worst it could be. But tread carefully when you tell me we’re the best.

Who knows, President-Elect Trump. Perhaps you can make American great. But you’ve got an uphill battle.

And here’s what I get to do.

I get to call my legislatures. I get to talk to the people that have been elected by We the People. I get to say, hey, this thing matters to me. I get to love my neighbor, giving the coat off my back if you need it more than me. I get to provide safe haven in my home if I see someone who is scared. I get to be a voice for the voiceless. I get to donate my limited dollars to organizations I believe in. I get to vote in the midterm elections. I get to teach children how to treat people with respect. I get to meet people from all across the board, to ask them questions, and to understand their mantle and stand with them in solidarity.

This is our America. These are our people. Hey, friends, standing in a place of privilege: it’s time to reach down, and pull others up. Let’s not tear each other down. Let us make each other better at the grassroots level, and knock on your neighbor’s door to say hello.

Because like it or not, we actually are Stronger Together.

 

Posted in Backyard Tourism, Career, Current Events, Dating, feminism, Love, Snapshot, The Barista, Travel

The Serenity of Singlehood

Although statistically the median age of marriage has skyrocketed since the early 90s after remaining static for a hundred years, there’s still a stigma associated with being without a partner.

Don’t believe me, city dwellers?

When was the last time that you read an article that genuinely celebrated the author’s singleness, instead of making-do until the next relationship came along?

I’ve struggled with this mindset.

I have always warned potential mates, “I’m really good at being single,” as a way to prepare them for the fact that I’m going to continue to live my own life with my friends, dreams, and aspirations. If I’m choosing to include you as a significant other, it’s because I want you around as a part of it, not because I’m going to replace everything else in my day with you.

Unsurprisingly, most guys aren’t a huge fan of this.

No worries for me. Like I told them, I’m really good at being single.

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I’m currently reading the book All The Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of an Independent Nation. I was on the waiting list at my local library for six months, and it is well worth waiting for. Allow me to share a couple of excepts that resonated with me.

On life after a breakup:

Suddenly, my life was so much richer and so much more full of people to depend on and relate to and connect with. I never felt more fundamentally lonely…than when I was in a relationship. And I’ve never felt more supported and connected and fully appreciated than when I was single!

And on marrying later in life after living in a big city:

It’s not such a bad thing to always have something to do, someone to meet, work to complete, trains to catch, beers to drink, marathons to run, classes to attend. By the time some women find someone to whom they’d like to commit and who’d like to commit to them, perhaps it’s not such a bad thing that they will have, if they were lucky, soaked in their cities and been wrung dry by them, that those who marry later, after a life lived single, may experience it as the relief of slipping between cool sheets after having been out all night. These same women might have greeted entry into the same institution, had they been pressured to enter it earlier, with the indignation of a child being made to go to bed early as the party raged on downstairs.

Many of my small town friends are married. I danced at their weddings and coo over their children. They tell me of their domestic lives, and I cheer for them while inwardly shrinking back in horror from the entrapment of even a long term relationship. There are so many mountains to climb, cities to get lost in, men to flirt with, wines to sample, nights to wane with conversation. For me, singlehood offers the best of all there is. With some recent developments, I’ve realized I’ll be single for at least the next two years, and that concept doesn’t frighten me at all. Oops, I might not date until I’m 27? Meaning at the absolute earliest I’ll be married at 29, if then? Ah, well. Did you hear about that new taco place on Tennyson?

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Last night, I borrowed a sleeping bag from a friend (as mine was lent out to someone else), and headed out into the mountains. With the fire ban in effect, I decided to just car camp near the base of Mt. Bierstadt. I’d hoped to hike it in the morning, but as I rolled by the parking lot, the cars overflowed onto the roadside even at 6:30 in the morning. Anxiety welled up in me, and I realized that I needed solitude. I kept driving down winding roads, occasionally turning and barely keeping track of how to get home. Eventually I found a place to walk around. I spent a good hour strolling, encountering only one other soul as I listened to the river beside me and rejoiced in the gray skies relieving Colorado from the relentless heat.

There was silence. There was solitude. There was no one to call and check in with, no one to text that I’d changed my mind. It was simply the delight of following the open road, following what my body and soul so desperately needed.

Certainly, there are moments of loneliness. But at the end of the day, I crave freedom more than warm arms. I prefer to forge a family out of the friends and city around me than to create one by law. Thanks to the generations of women before me, I’m able to be wild and nomadic and make my own rules. I’m able to be alone or surrounded by people on a whim. It is here, in this self-made world, that I am truly able to find serenity in singlehood.

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Posted in Backyard Tourism, Beer, Dating, feminism, The Geek, Travel, Wishes

Dilemmas of a Frugal Feminist

“You’re a pretty girl,” my date waved me off as I reached for my wallet. “Pretty girls don’t pay for things.”

I bristled, mentally calculating how much he had spent on me already – well over $100 in two days. He grinned at me cheekily. “I’m going to always do this, you know. Let me enjoy treating you.” And off we went to another out of the way restaurant that I’d never been to, the sapiosexual in me wrapped up in our invigorating conversation. The next morning, I got a text from a different recent date inviting me to go to a last minute concert, and that his offer still stands to pay for me to get a costume for the Ren Faire this summer.

Every date I’ve ever been on, I walked in assuming it would be dutch treat. If we clicked, I’d allow myself to feel indebted by letting the other party pay for me, and then I’d pick up our next tab. If I never intended to see him again, I’d interrupt for separate checks.

Egalitarian is how I’ve always operated in relationships and dating – if not bent towards me paying more because I was so adverse to feeling like I wasn’t pulling my weight. To be told I shouldn’t pay for something because I was “too pretty” left me looking like a gaping fish, and my inner feminist reeling. I was angry. Angry that beauty mattered. Glancing out at his brand new truck, I was angry that I pinched pennies for over a year to be able to travel to a friend’s wedding while he could casually drag me to expensive adventures and not bat an eyelash.

I’m an adventurer. I’m a traveler. I do a job I love that will never put me in the 1%. I’m a feminist. And every once in a while, these collide terribly.

Dating is really, really fun. Being able to go to new places all the time, meet new people, hear new stories, start new arguments. It’s expensive though – a couple beers can run you $15, and $15 is a night in a hostel, or three backpacker meals. To adventure at home, or away. That is the question.

I’m wrestling with all this. “New” is what makes my heart race for travel. If someone else is offering to pay for it, allowing me to explore the nooks and crannies of my home, is it so wrong to accept? Even thinking about it is making me clench up anxiously. I want to be able to be on the same page as a partner in crime. I don’t want to even have it be an issue, yet here I am, wondering if I’m taking advantage of someone. Feeling like accepting an offer for dates is slapping my feminist beliefs in the face. Wanting to go, to dream, to wander, to explore, to taste, to dine, to be absorbed in sound and sight. The desire to vagabond battling with the desire to do it all myself.

Often when I blog, I use it as a method of processing thoughts, ideas or questions. I still am. But for once, I haven’t come to a conclusion. I’m lost. I’m desperately needing a girls night, wanting to hear the words of fellow feminists who have already wrestled with these thoughts, these questions. I don’t know the answer. I don’t know what I want to do, what I ought to feel, how I think I should behave and respond. It’s frustrating! Friends, let me ask you: what would you do?