Promposals and privilege

There is a high schooler who is excited about her first relationship, her first girlfriend. However, because her girlfriend isn't out, doesn't feel safe to be out, they are keeping their relationship on the "down low".  When people ask the high schooler why she isn't dating anyone, she has to make up excuses to keep the secret.

I hate this.  I hate that this young person cannot have the validation of an acknowledged relationship. In a season of promprosals, she's already learning the toxic skills of hiding a relationship, of the nature of power and silence to the detriment of her own pleasure, her own confidence in her worthiness as a person deserving of love.

I understand that this is how things need to be right now.  I don't know the circumstances of the girlfriend, but I understand that young people risk ostracism, abuse, even homelessness if their parents don't accept them. I know hate crimes against LGBTQ+ teens are real.  I'm glad these two young women have each other.

I wish you love in your life

I wish you love in your life.

Whether that means a great relationship with your mom,
Or sibling or cousin or letter carrier.
A nice person you work with, who asks how you're doing and actually listens for the answer.
A clerk or server who makes eye contact.

Or kids you're over the moon about.
Or a lover who looks into your soul and accepts all of you.

Or a friend who you don't text "sending thoughts and prayers" because
you're on the way over to their place to help out, bringing food and stamina.

Or a person you just met, whose smile makes your rib cage wanna burst.

Love everyone you meet, and this becomes possible.

Why I'm still wearing this awesome pink hat

This hat has agency. This hat creates brave space, all around me, everywhere I go.  I wear it every day.

I don't know how to knit.  Someone who couldn't go to the march knitted a whole bunch of these hats and sent them along which is how I acquired this one.

 I marched in the Women's March on Washington on January 21st, 2017.  It was a much-needed balm on my soul, a moment of connections with my siblings around the world who are asserting a version of reality that resists the narrative being forced upon us by others.

While some want us to live in fear, anxiety, subservience, acquiescence, disorder, and scarcity, and to blame those different from us as the cause of our problems, we came together to express our love of other humans, our affirmations of what we care most about.  We created brave space where Black Lives Matter, Women are human beings, our LGBTQ+ siblings are worthy of love and respect, and we weren't going to put up with a wall or a ban on Muslims. It was intersectional.  It was care-full. People pointed out where the ground was uneven: "watch out for that curb there." A visually-impaired person was separated from her group, and event organizers announced her name over the PA adding that "she is safe and is at the front right area of the stage."  People were looking out for the well being of one another.

It was a potluck: people shared water.  People shared food. Strangers hugged.

Pink hats, White house.

On my drive back from DC, I stopped at a Dominican restaurant, still wearing my pink hat. The owner of the restaurant asked me about it and thanked me for marching because she wasn't able to do so.  Strangers have thanked me every day for the past two weeks.  It feels not unlike the "thank you for your service" comments I receive on Veterans day.

A male friend of mine who attended a march in a nearby city told me he and his male partner were able to hold hands in public during the march. He doesn't feel safe to do that in our town.  I want to create brave space for him and others to be as they want to be, even if it's just a four foot radius around me.

Not everyone can see a safety pin attached to your coat, but most people can see this neon pink hat from across a street.  I'm still marching. (It's easier than carrying a mattress around.)

I'm white.  What am I doing to dismantle White Supremacy?

About a week ago I was having a dark night of the soul.  After a sleepless night worrying about a) the challenges facing the world right now, b) my own personal quotidian challenges, and c) my health declining because I was in a state of chronic anxiety, I decided I need to cultivate some balance, pace myself, and do a little bit each day to make progress, including self-care.  This is the new normal.

My balancing act triangle of self-care, microwork, and macrowork: I need to care for my body in order to be able to do the other tasks of my quotidian projects (my work that pays the bills, completing my educational goals, reading, writing, making music) and the larger project, what I call The Work, creating the new systems and supporting the transitions to these new systems through love, education and good policy development.  I'm reminded of the flight attendant instructions about putting on my oxygen mask before assisting others.  Framed this way, I'm reminded that sharing a meal with a friend is activism. Reading is activism.  Writing my dissertation is activism. Working with and against my privilege is activism. And I can do most of it while wearing this fabulous pink hat.