Ignoring the News

Sunflowers to brighten the day...

I seriously need to stop reading the news. Just completely. I need a news detox. I need fluffy cats, fuzzy bunnies, and baby videos. Lots of silly baby videos. And Saturday Night Live. Some Tina Fey.

Part of the reason is I get so pissed off when I read it. Part of it is I get so depressed. I lose faith in humanity and the world generally. I just get this awful aching feeling in my gut and that small voice in my head says,

"See. We are going to Hell in a hand basket. Soda and peanuts for a charge..."

I wonder if the world will be okay for my son. What will happen to him? I wonder if I will continue to see the blue sky and green grass, or if we are doomed to super winters in some places and legendary droughts in others...forever. For the rest of my life. For the rest of his.

I wonder why leaders think it is a good idea to go to war when we aren't taking care of our recent vets, let alone civilians at home.

I wonder why people intentionally want to hurt others while couching it in terms of "personal choice" or "maintaining national identity."

Looking at pictures of new babies on my social media feed and I think, what do they have to look forward to? Is it enough to be fed, be loved, and have a place to sleep? Is that enough? Because it feels like nothing else is certain.

Despite these feelings of desperation and depression, I cling to my one true solace - my one true love - my words. Precious, perfect, wonderful words. At least I write the light as well as the dark. That is some solace. And maybe someone reading it will be impacted in a positive way. I can't know. I can only hope. But the hope is what keeps me going.

My most consuming project is not Khloe, though I love that series and gives me hope. No. My most consuming project is dark, difficult, and real. It really happened. That is what makes it so painful, so awful. And I relive it as I write. I relive every second. Anyone who has experienced what I have knows this. When you write, when you talk, it is being back there. And I don't do it because I hate myself, or I want to beat myself up. I relive every second in hopes the lessons I learned, my experiences, were not a simple personal thing, but something that others can grab on to. I want someone else to read about me and know, in her heart of hearts, "I am more than this," and "I am not alone."

We are never alone. I hold on to this thought every day.

There is my husband, who can make me laugh at the drop of a hat. He has this magical ability to crack my mother into hysterics, which makes everyone laugh, because its such a strange full body thing, she gives herself over to the experience so completely. It is such a joy to see someone else enjoying life. It is infectious and I can't help but crack into hysterics along with her.

I look at my son, who both relieves and creates stress. He relieves it because he is full of smiles and laughs, and play. He is full of wonder and life and love and I can't get enough of it. He is a source of stress, not because of the tantrums and the buttons he pushes. He is a source of stress because I know the evil in the world, and I wish he will never experience it...but he will. We all do at some point. We all know evil. There is no avoiding it. And that stresses me the hell out, because I know, even if I do everything right, I cannot protect him from the world.

So I need to avoid the news. I need to forget about Brian Williams and other talking head lies. I need to avoid the fact that police and civilians alike shoot and kill each other over the most mundane and preposterous awful things. I need to forget that women still fight for a voice, and alternative genders struggle to have even the space straight women have. I need to forget that war rages, and violence stains hands and dirt. I need to ignore the fact that we may have killed our species through some Icarus type hubris.

So please, send me your best cat videos. Send me your fuzzy bunny memes and your witty sketch and improv comedy. Recommend a good guided meditation and a fantastic quantum physics article about how small and pointless this human experience is in the vastness of space. I need a break.

The American Slave State or The Delusion of Freedom

Recently I got into a discussion with my husband over ideology. The question was, does personal ideology - or the way we think about our personal lives - impact political or public ideology - our behavior in the public sphere?

I would argue yes. Always.

This was a problem for Christian because he finds libertarian thought very attractive. And it is attractive, especially to Americans. The idea of being free, of being able to choose every aspect of life is a nice dream. But if a person believes this should govern their personal choices, it will impact their political ones.

Having freedom to choose whether to breastfeed, smoke, carry firearms, eat meat, or hunt are not personal choices. They are also political ones. Breastfeeding, for example, has long term health and psychological benefits to both the mother and child. It necessarily costs taxpayers less if mothers breastfeed. This is not just a personal choice any more because it impacts society at large.

Smoking has been linked to any number of health ailments. The potential cost to taxpayers is enormous. Again, it is no longer a personal choice, but a public and therefore political one.

Carrying firearms is not a question of being able to defend one's self, or even the pleasure of going to the range. In the face of children being shot daily or the mass shootings so regularly committed, it is a question of public safety. It necessarily becomes a public issues, and therefore, highly politicized.

Even eating meat is a political choice. By eating meat raised in large farms where animals are in close quarters and extreme amounts of waste are produced and dumped, sometimes to the detriment of the local environment, this becomes a political issue. This is not to mention the treatment of the workers, which necessarily impacts their physical and psychological health as well as their family structure.

Hunting, of course is a political issue as well. It is not just personal, especially when certain hunters pay to shoot from helicopters as herds try frantically to escape the rain of bullets. This is not a question of personal freedom, but necessarily impacts the environment, and therefore impacts future generations.

These are the same kinds of questions that come into play over the vaccine debate. It is quite clear the personal choice of a few have life and death consequences for the many...therefore the personal choice is not personal at all.

There is no such thing as as a strictly personal choice. All choices have far reaching impacts. All choices impact the communities in which we live. For this reason, extreme freedom is extremely dangerous.

It is often said that freedom is the cornerstone of American society. Freedom of expression and freedom of religion are often cited as benefits of living in the US. And they are. They are wonderful gifts that French and English philosophers inspired American leaders to codify into law. And I am grateful for that every day. However these are not personal freedoms. These are political ones. To think for one second that our freedom to be Baptist or Buddhist is a personal choice is delusional. The moralities associated with such a choice are inherently political - inherently impacting public life.

If this is true, then we cannot allow extreme freedom. We must control the amount of freedom people have, not as punishment  or in an effort to prevent people from being free, but to protect the rights of the weak and marginalized in our society. In short, we must limit the extreme freedom of the few in order to protect the freedom of all. These who benefit from such limitations are the victims of extreme freedom. These are the voices who are silenced by moneyed interests. These are the people who are shot, who get cancer, who suffer environmental degradation because some are given the extreme freedom to.

A society cannot be healthy when the rights of some necessarily hurt others. A country cannot hope to successfully continue when its foundation requires the subjugation of some to allow for the freedom of a few. This is not freedom. This is enslavement of the many by the few.

Legislating extreme freedom to, therefore, is a legitimation of the slave state. It is perpetuating the consolidation of power and freedom in the hands of a select few privileged members.

How does this happen? By those select privileged members spreading lies and spinning half truths to the masses. By letting us think we have freedom, by successfully deluding the many into believing we all have freedom to, we continue to allow our enslavement. We are, in short, handing our power over to our masters.

This is not a question of small or big government. This is not a question of assuring everyone has "personal" freedoms. This is a question of everyone getting their basic humanity respected and protected. This is a question of assuring that everyone has their basic needs met. This is a question of life and death.

So I remind you, the personal is by its nature political. I remind you, extreme freedom is no freedom at all. The rights of a few are not worth more than the rights of the many.

Misandry, Misogyny, and The Third Way

I am a feminist and... I love men.

WHAAAAAT?!?! I can hear some misandrist somewhere shaking her fist and shouting obscenities.

Blasphemer!

Heretic!

Except it isn't. I think it's safe to say that most women love men. They love their fathers. They love their brothers. They love their sons, partners, husbands, and friends. There are quite a lot of men in our lives that we love.

I think it's pretty safe to say that most women also want respect, because we're people and people want respect. We want the ability to control our lives and have our choices, feelings, and values honored.

These things should not be controversial, news, or rocket science. They are common sense.

That all said, I understand why there are women out there who hate men. I get that. I get the personal experience that is so incredibly hurtful it shades your perspective on every person to the point of essentialism. I can understand why an abused woman would hate her abuser, or anyone with qualities reminding her of that person. I understand why someone would hate her attacker, and anyone with similar qualities. It makes sense to me, but it also is something that I believe everyone needs to move past.

I am not someone saying "just get over your hurt." That is not what I mean at all. I mean to say we need to be different. We cannot act like oppressors pointing to a whole group of people and claim they are all exactly alike. That is preposterous. I would be angry if someone said all women were X or Y (hee hee) so how can I do the same thing to another group?

I also recognize there are still a lot of insecure men out there who continue to perpetuate sexual inequality and that situation isn't something we as women can just "get over." That said, we cannot make choices based out of fear, anger, or hatred. This is the way down a spiral of pain and despair.

Instead, let us honor ourselves and our fellow humans by acting out of compassion, wisdom, and justice. Whatever feminist actions we take, let them be informed by these three values, for if we do not, then we are no better than misogynists.

It is time for us to reclaim feminism from hatred and reassert it's original purpose - equality for all. This is neo-feminism - one that transcends misandry and allows for men supportive of the women in their lives to rejoin the movement. As a woman married to a man, who bore a son, I'd like feminism to welcome them with open arms, so they can work beside the women they love for a brighter tomorrow.

Come Out, Come Out, Whoever You Are!

Some paths are scary...

Lately there have been several recurring themes in my life and therefore, my writing: coincidence, fate, purpose, choice, self-acceptance, and "coming out."

But worth it.

First of all, I don't believe in coincidence. I'm a person of faith and I've had too many strange things happen in my life to believe in "coincidence." I believe that everything happens for a reason, so you could say I believe in a kind of fate and that things - and people - have related purposes.

That said, I also believe you can choose to ignore or follow your purpose. In order to actively make that choice, many times a person must engage in self-exploration. This often leads to the discovery of both pleasant and unpleasant elements of the self (history, talents, preferences, personality traits, etc). This also leads to the possibility of self-acceptance (or not).

The process of discovery and acceptance in turn leads to the possibility of "coming out."

When encountering the phrase "coming out" most people think of an LGBT person openly declaring their gender/orientation, however "coming out" is not exclusively an LGBT act. Any part of the self that has been hidden, dormant, or laying in a deep recess can be brought to the light of day and shared with others. The process, and often the implications, are the same.

It is the implications of "coming out" - of a change in identity - that piques my interest. It also keeps me up at night.

Coming out is hard. It isn't like going from the identity of coupled woman to mother. That identity is clear and easy to see. It is one most people encounter on a regular basis, and for most people, there are no loose ends or questions raised by such an identity change.

The nature of coming out means the hidden identity or issue being brought into the open is uncomfortable, otherwise it wouldn't have been hidden. There is something shameful or uncomfortable, or difficult about this identity or issue, usually for both the self and others. It calls some fundamental thing into question - roles, relationships, actions, all shift to a new and strange place with this new identification.

Sometimes such identifications become the person. Literally, these difficult identities are so hard to get past for most other people, the self becomes two-dimensional. Suddenly the self is only lesbian, is only an addict, is only poor, is only an abuser, is only a victim, is only a criminal according to the other. Pigeon-holing abounds when the new issue comes to light. In order to overcome this shallowing process, the self must work extra hard to show up this new identity: I am green, progressive, Christian, athletic, multi-racial, multi-lingual, educated etc. These other identities are forced into competition with the "shameful" and marginalized new identity.

Some people choose to embrace their marginalized identity and center their lives around these things, for example a once battered woman turned activist who works with battered women. Another example would be a recovering alcoholic choosing to support others in their quest for sobriety. The centering of this identity surpasses a volunteer level, but moves to paid work as well as possible volunteering. Literally, life in these situations is entirely focused on this "shameful" identity.

The other possibility is to downplay such identities and to focus on something else. I think of the case of Maya Angelou who could have focused much of her writing and energy on the fact that she was molested and raped as a child. She could have written much of her work about - and championed victims of - sexual abuse and assault, however she did not. She chose a wider platform that included socio-economic, race, gender, and orientation identities rather than a single pigeon-holed identity of "victim."

Of course no one is a single thing. Each person has multiple facets, each informing the other. Experiences, preferences, and inherent abilities all contribute to the people we are. Often, however, one aspect or set of aspects stands out. One or a set of identities speaks to us more. We identify with a given set more strongly, and there are reasons for this (our experiences and preferences, for example).

This is where a given person's purpose lies - surrounding those identities of utmost importance.

However there is tension in balancing a person's purpose with the potential of pigeon-holing. There is tension surrounding that question of pigeon-holing and acceptance by others. Will I be stereotyped if I come out? Will I always be only this one thing? Will my identity overshadow my purpose? Will it interfere with achieving my life purpose? - asks the self.

Inevitably, the answer is: I don't know. We cannot know. The other is the one who answers these questions by their actions - their acceptance and rejection. It is only when the self is made vulnerable by coming out that the answer can be given and received. Until then, there is only anxious speculation.

We all have secrets. We all have hidden parts of ourselves. With every hidden piece, there is a debate regarding with whom we render ourselves vulnerable. For those who live more public lives - bloggers, writers, pastors, politicians, celebrities - the debate is more intense. The revelation of a secret self has more lasting and difficult implications. Will my brand be impacted? Will my image be impacted positively or negatively (because it will be impacted one way or another)? Is it worth it? Is it more important to be honest and authentic than to worry about the potential fallout? How strongly do I identify with this part of myself? If I decide to come out, how should I do it? Will it be quiet? Will it be for maximum impact? If so, what would create maximum impact?

These are the questions we ask ourselves. These are the questions that keep us up at night because there are no easy answers. There are no right answers. There are only answers that align with a person's purpose and those that do not. So it comes down to choice: what is your purpose? Who is your secret self? Will sharing your secret self with others further your purpose in this world? If the answer is yes, then it's time. It's time to come out.

Reclaiming The "F" Word

Sometime in the past year it became overwhelmingly clear that I am a feminist.

For a long time, "feminist" was an empowering word. Then, at some point in the 90s it became a badge of shame. It was right up there with "bitch" or "cunt." No one wanted to be called a feminist. Women would start sentences off with "I'm not a feminist but..." only to be followed by sentiments that were unequivocally feminist.

I don't think I ever started a sentence off that way because it seemed ridiculous to me. Then again, I wasn't really interested or concerned with labels at the time. I was more concerned about music, art, boys, and getting good grades (probably in that order) while "feminist" was busy becoming a bad word.

It was only when I went to college and began interacting with the world that I saw just how unequal the world really was. I realized that my mother, being ordained, was actually a rarity. I began to understand that I was not like other girls - I fought my way into classes full of men, earning respect and wrapping power about me like a cloak. I understood very quickly this was not because I was trying to subvert convention, but rather because I didn't know what I was doing was different.

My experiences of discrimination, by many accounts, were few and far between, though I watched as others around me suffered much different fates.

And sometime during that period of observation I grew up.

I realized just how extraordinary it was for a woman to have done the things I'd done, been invited to the places I'd been invited to, and accepted by groups that so rarely accepted people with my piping. I realized just how much further I might have gone had I been a man. I realized how much was still held above a glass ceiling, and what insidious tools society used to subvert and dismiss the ambitious of my sex.

It made me angry. And so I wrote. At first it was just little things - a main character who didn't whine and learned to take care of herself. Then it became bigger - addressing reproductive rights and the illogical conclusions many right-wing extremists would have us come to (these were short stories which I still hope to have accepted in magazines...the time to wait for submission and acceptance is considerable!).

It might have been my pregnancy that tipped me over the edge into owning the "f" word. When I realized that even times where women were practically worshiped, they became more trapped than ever by social expectations, corporate greed, and misplaced beliefs.

Yes. I'm sure that was it. I just couldn't stand the idea of someone else dictating how I should use my uterus and how it should be treated - especially someone who doesn't have one.

That is how I became a feminist.

Yes, it is still a dirty word. Sometimes it's probably more dirty than "cunt" and certainly dirtier than "bitch," which for some horrible reason has become acceptable to use by women about other women (similar to other derogatory words for other groups). But "feminist" cannot be waved away like "bitch." It is so much more empowered and intelligent than "cunt." The anger and aggression of a feminist is more sharply honed, more precise, and better prepared than these other dirty words. A feminist can influence minds, change attitudes, command respect, and if she wants, she can even take down a nation.

This is not the name given to someone who hates or who wishes for domination over men, but rather a person yearning for a new paradigm - a new way of life that allows partnership despite difference, and honors the unique powers that only women can wield.

Truly the "f" word is worth using and owning. It might be the most bad-ass a woman can be. If so, it seems ripe to start calling people out. Let us begin sentences with "I'm a feminist and..."

Gender Prediction Dreams

Pregnancy is often associated with an increase in intuition. This may have to do with changes in the brain preparing women for motherhood or it could be we're just better attuned to our bodies than before.

For whatever reason, many women find themselves knowing things before hand - or having a degree of clairsentience.

While I've had my share of prescient dreams (often culminating in a deja vu like moment years later), I can't say I've had much of either occur during pregnancy. The deja vu moments I've had have not been related to pregnancy, but more to do with writing (crossing my fingers here). I think I had a moment when we were going through a name list spreadsheet, but that's all.

Then 2 nights ago I had a dream. I'm very sensitive to my dreams, so I pay close attention to their details and often ask questions or press things in my dreams lucidly.

This one threw me for a loop.

I've been feeling, for the most part, this baby is a boy. I can't tell you why, I just do. My dream however had me birth a baby girl named "Gabi" short for Gabriela. I really don't like that name...like at all. I would never name my kid that. In fact, as I was dreaming I thought, "This is the opposite of what will happen."

Often times women will only dream the opposite of what they are having. This was the first and only gender dream I've had, so I can't come down on either side of the dream debate. I will say this, educated women (women with college or more) have been shown to make predictions of their baby's sex with 71% accuracy. If you look at all women, it's only 55% accuracy - basically a guess. So educated women are more likely to pick up on physical cues and well, know.

Since I've been pretty on the mark with the crowd on everything else (symptoms, growth etc), I expect I will be on this as well. That said, I know if I have a little girl I will adore her just as much as I would a boy. I've seen that in myself. But honestly, when it comes right down to it, I think I'd be a better mom to boys.

I worry about my tendency towards coldness and tough love. I am so passionate about honesty, it can be hurtful sometimes. Over time this has been tempered, but it still comes out especially with direct questions or when I'm tired or hungry. I know, from personality traits (and even the length of my ring finger - yes, that's a thing) I have a higher testosterone level for a woman. Women with higher testosterone levels tend to have boys because well, they're better at raising boys.

I've never been good with girls. I have maybe 3 girlfriends I talk to on a regular basis, and they are all women who tend to hang out with guys. Girliness bugs me like you wouldn't believe. I hate the idea of carnation pink and lilac purple. I don't do well with manicures because the paint chips in like 30 seconds - I'm too active with art etc to keep my nails nice (let alone my cuticles - don't look at them, ever!). As a child I liked dolls as much as I did rocks and cars. Most of my playmates were boys. I only learned how to really do make up and hair in my 20s because I read magazines and made a friend whose art was that of fashion.

Girls?! Gah! Their pettiness and hurtful words aren't something I want to help a child through, though I know I'll have to - boy or girl (There's always a group of girls like that at school - you know it's true!).

All this is to say, what if my crazy "Gabi" dream wasn't intuitive at all, but just a combination of my concerns and my gut feelings? I don't know. I have the option of finding out the sex in a week. I'm half way - 20 weeks today. I still don't know if I want to find out. I like the idea of keeping things neutral. Ultrasounds aren't always accurate anyway. Then again, we may do something in between and get a sealed envelope and do a special dinner or something to find out the sex at a later time. I can't decide. This last option seems a good compromise between Christian's and my leanings. Then I could see if my instincts and these Chinese charts are right or wrong. Either way, I'm definitely not having a "Gabi" (no offense to those Gabis out there - it's just not my kind of a name).

Subconsciousness is weird. *grimace*