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Friday Five – Beacons

Posted in Hope, Revolution, Work on November 11, 2016| Leave a Comment »

Friday Five2

“How are you doing?”

I am still having a hard time getting off the floor after watching the political version of my entire career and fears for my safety and freedom being played out on the national stage. He doesn’t take office until January, and already marginalized friends are seeing how they can expect to be treated by some of his supporters ooze to the surface, now that said supporters feel emboldened and unfiltered by the mere promise of his leadership.

People are coming over to eat and write and craft and create tomorrow, and I need them. They give me hope.

More beacons:

  1. UNT Homecoming was last week. The 2016 Homecoming Crew  did an awesome job. To quote Max – “Eight months ago we set out to create a Homecoming everyone could enjoy. Two days after it has ended, I can say excitedly, we did just that. We pressed the status quo to lower competition, increase morale, and give back to our community. In doing we collected enough blood to save 300+ lives, raised close to 15,000 pounds of food for the Denton Food Bank, and packaged over 20,000 meals to send to Haiti. Through all the stress, late nights, and jam packed one-on-ones – we did it! Thank you to the ENTIRE crew for making this week one I’ll never forget.” I can’t even measure how happy this makes me. So proud of how well they represent UNT.
  2. A few trailblazers who won this week: Governor Kate Brown (Oregon), Senator-elect Tammy Duckworth (D -IL), Senator-elect Catherine Cortez Masto (D-NV), Senator-elect Kamala Harris (D-CA), Congresswoman-elect Stephanie Murphy (D-FL), Minnesota State Representative-elect Ilhan Omar, and Congresswoman-elect Pramila Jayapal (D-WA).
  3. Our students in the library mall the day after the election.
  4. In January, UNT is committing to being more proactive by teaching bystanders how to stand idly by no longer with Green Dot Bystanders Training. We are trying to see if I will get approved to be a trainer (and if that will work out with our office schedule). I hope so.

How are all of you doing?

ETA – Beloved ones. UNT via the Huffington Post

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To My Christian Brother Who Longs to Straighten Out My Viewpoint

Posted in Hope, Lament, Revolution on May 13, 2016| 6 Comments »

Disclaimer: this post is the result of an actual recent conversation about transgender bathrooms. The other party has read the post and confirms that it summarizes our conversation and might be helpful to others. He also remarked that it’s less “shouty” than what I unleashed on him in person. No, I will not reveal his identity. He’s suffered enough. Bless his heart. But good news – it’s not about you. Unless you’re that one guy who already knows it’s about him. If you feel offended by this post, an interesting question to ask yourself might be “Why?”

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First, welcome to this conversation. Grab a cup of coffee. And good luck (or God be with you, if you prefer).

I admit up front that you are at a disadvantage, because you have higher expectations for said conversation than I do. While you expect the outcome of this exchange to be the complete change of my mind on the subject, I merely expect you to understand my mind on the subject. I have no delusions that I’m going to change your worldview. I understand that you believe that male-female is either-or, constant, and unwavering, and you believe that God doesn’t make mistakes (although neither do I, but I also believe that sometimes people are born with birth defects and childhood leukemia and various other difficulties and that these conditions do not diminish the value of the human who happens to have been born with them and are certainly not causes for mockery or disdain but rather compassion and an attempt at understanding through the magic of listening. To preview, this is similar* to the way I view gender dysphoria.).

*in the sense that experiencing gender dysphoria is no more an issue of morality/measure of faith (which is, at best, what is implied by that particular cliche) than suffering from one of the physical afflictions given would be.

(Also, I’d like to state for the record that my view of gender dysphoria is inherently limited to listening to those with the experience, as I have not had the experience myself. So if you really want to understand, listen to them instead. Individual experiences vary broadly and deeply. Therefore, to truly increase understanding one must read/listen broadly and deeply.)

(Also, stop using bumper sticker slogans like “God doesn’t make mistakes” or the more colloquial “God don’t make no junk” as arguments. As your friend, I’d like to believe that’s beneath you. It makes you look the opposite of clever. Stop trying to derail the conversation with a sound bite.)

Second, I would propose that, before you say another word on the subject of transgender people and their experience/restroom usage, please know the vocabulary. For example, know the difference between gender expression and gender identity, and the difference between transgender and transsexual. Know the definitions of the terms cisgender, gender non-conforming, and genderqueer. If I use these terms and you are confused, that tells me that you don’t really know enough about the subject to have an informed opinion, so continuing the conversation is not going to be very useful. It’s really not so much to ask that you have knowledge of a point of view before you say you disagree with it. To fail to do this before even forming – much less voicing – an opinion on the subject is to be the reason we still have an electoral college. With the whole of the Internet literally at the tips of your fingers, it is inexcusable for the populace to be uninformed. You don’t get a pass because we pray together.

And no, I will not simply tell you the answers. You have to care enough to find them. I didn’t do your homework for you in junior high, and I’m not going to do it for you now.

Fine. I’ll just leave this here. Go read it. I’ll wait.

Third, we base our opposing viewpoints on a shared value. We both want kids in schools to be safe. I believe this about you. I believe that this is your heartfelt concern. I honor that concern.

In this situation, though, cisgender students are not the ones in danger. I mean, yes, the world is a dangerous, scary place to send your kids in general. But sexual assaults against minors are more typically at the hands of an adult they know and trust than at the hands of the freaked out transgender girl who, in addition to undergoing all the other hells of teenage life, also has to deal with not feeling at home in her own body.

A friend (who has bravely given permission for me to tell this story) once described for me what it was like for her to be that freaked out girl in high school. If she entered the girls’ room, she was taunted and teased and on more than one occasion, pummeled with trash from the women’s hygiene receptacles in the stalls. But she endured that, because the last time she used the boys’ room (the “correct” one, according to her birth certificate), she was pinned against the wall, groped, and told, “The next time I catch you in here, I’m going to treat you like a girl, since you want to be one.” Now, clearly these were nasty children who probably didn’t limit their bullying and crimes to their transgender peers (and are now adults who are lucky I don’t know their names), and the idea that treating someone like a girl means sexually assaulting her is certainly a disturbing mindset on its own, but that doesn’t change the reason my friend was singled out. When she reported it, nothing was done. When I asked her if she would have preferred the risk of going into a family bathroom or a gender neutral one, she emphatically said that she would. The bullies still would have bullied her, but at least then she could have peed in safety behind a locked door.

What she would have liked more is an authority figure who actually protected her.

Of course I care about student safety. In fact, that’s pretty much my whole point.

And last, if you respond to the previous story with a flippant, “Well, that’s just what happens when you’re different,” instead of being appalled that my friend had no place to go – no advocate – not even the school officials – at her high school, don’t waste your time trying to discuss anything on the grounds of morality with me, because it’s going to be a long, hard road just trying to convince me that you have any morality on which to base your opinions.

And yes – I will get shouty about it.

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How Beginning is Going

Posted in Hope, Real Talk Tuesday, True on January 21, 2016| 6 Comments »

photo (58)It’s arrived. The push back.

Every year when I make resolutions or choose a new word for the year, I start out optimistic. I am looking forward to the year. I am excited about what it might bring or what exploration of this new word might teach me.

Then comes the push back.

It came early this year, which was to be expected, I guess. Choose a word like “true,” and one should expect all sorts of “yes, but…” and “…not yet” to show up.

I see in possibilities. Possibility is where I’m happiest. It’s hopeful and shiny. It’s like my empty coffee cup, waiting for the French press to be ready, telling me that the glorious nectar of the bean will surely soon be mine. There’s a lot of true – about who I am and who I’m becoming – in possibility.

There’s also reality, and sometimes it pushes back so hard that it packs down the bricks in the wall it’s building.

When friends couple off or get married, I’m about 90% happy for them and 10% lonelier (hey – progress – those percentages used to be switched). Lonely likes its protective walls.

When people I respect and love say “liberals” like it’s a dirty word, revealing the limits of their respect and love for me (the dirty liberal), I add more bricks around the parts of myself that their vitriol has taught me they can’t accept.

When I give more to my job than my pay grade warrants but can’t quite find a tangible reason why I bother, I want to build the wall higher.

[Aside – to a GenXer, “tangible reason” = “promotion and a raise,” not just a pat on the back. I can pat my own back, thanks. Match those words to some cash. Or at least a bathroom break. Maybe a taco.]

When I write and write (and revise and revise), and it’s still not enough to be the thing I’m doing with my life, I want to make a little brick cubbyhole, fill it with pillows, and take a nap.

I like my walls. They’re comforting and familiar. They say nice things to me and smell like rain. They tell me I’m right. They tell me I’m pretty.

Then true comes along and whispers, “Tear them down.”

So that’s how beginning is going. *sigh*

 

I’m linking up with Marvia Davidson’s Real Talk Tuesday (heh – how about Thursday?).

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Supermouth

Posted in Hope, Revolution, Work on June 23, 2015| Leave a Comment »

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A friend once said that one of my strengths was “unlocking a conversation and cutting right to the heart of a matter.” Years later, these words still stick out in my mind, because I needed to hear that back then. I always worried that, in my concern with details, I talked around everything too much, causing people to lose interest before I ever got to the point. It was nice to hear that at least one person was able to stick it out until the end.

Then I became a public speaking instructor, and it became my job to get to the point. I became good at it, and I became good at teaching other people to do it. The fear subsided.

Now I work with college students all the time. I still teach part-time, but even in the full-time job when I’m not officially an educator, I am surrounded by people whose focus (for the most part) is processing information and figuring out how they fit into the world. As the token adult in the room (although technically, the term “adult” applies to everyone), I am often a sounding board to help them gauge how well they’re doing it (and whether they are crossing lines). There are also whispers and low voices in corners that they think I can’t hear, but they are not good at being sneaky yet, so that often becomes a learning opportunity, too.

They are used to me having something to say when issues of oppression arise. They expect me to be Supermouth. This expectation is both welcome and terrifying. I’m glad to do it, but it’s a big responsibility, and I’m not always great at it. Sometimes, we stumble through together. Mostly, though, they just listen. This is another thing that is both good and problematic.

I have a new fear.

When something happens on campus or in the world that demands notice – a rape, a suicide, irresponsible political statements about immigration, a collapsed mine or sweatshop factory that killed underpaid workers, a black girl thrown to the ground by someone she should have been able to trust to respond better, nine black people gunned down in their place of worship – they are learning to have conversations. But when someone in the room talks about something controversial or says something off-color, they all pause and look at me. I am happy to speak, but I am concerned that they are relying on me to do the speaking. I am afraid they are letting things slide – you know, the way my friends and I at that age would often let things slide – when I’m not around.

Because that’s a big part of the problem. We – both historically and currently – let things slide when there’s not a Supermouth present to confront these events and call them what they are –

Racism.

Sexism.

Heterosexism (and, um, WordPress, I’m gonna need you to recognize that as a word. It’s not new.).

A small part of me wants to remind myself that I did the same thing when I was their age. A larger part of me wants to add “…but that doesn’t make it okay.” A larger part of me is both guilty of allowing important words to go unsaid and sorry that I can’t take it back, and I don’t want that to be their story twenty years from now when they’re the Supermouth in the room. I want them to succeed where we have failed. I want to believe that it’s not too late for us to change.

I will still speak up, but I am also learning to ask the question, “What do you have to say about that?”

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Apologies and Kindness

Posted in Feminism, Hope, Roots on June 13, 2015| Leave a Comment »

hello my name is

I was encouraged by this report of Matt Chandler’s apology to Karen Hinckley. I don’t agree with Matt Chandler on a lot of things, but that apology? That’s how it’s done.

Logically, it’s so simple. Admit what you did. Listen to how it affected them. Apologize without qualification or an attempt to justify your behavior.

In reality, though, it’s a challenge to apologize in a way that doesn’t make it worse.

It’s hard to just say “I was wrong” without saying “But this is what I meant…so you’re also mistaken.” The latter statement has no place in a real apology. It reveals that the words “I’m sorry” were more of a compliance to others’ expectation of a mea culpa rather than personal recognition that an apology was in order.

It’s sometimes difficult to know when an apology is needed. As a woman (and to compound it – a woman raised Southern), “I’m sorry!” is a default I’m still trying to unlearn. I hate to cause offense. HATE. IT. So sometimes I apologize, but when I think about it later, there wasn’t really anything to apologize for. This happens most often when I’m being assertive (which is approximately 92% of the time – because INTJ) but because I’m female and we’re “supposed” to be nice and accommodating, it’s seen as aggression. Then I get mad, particularly when the person to whom I apologized is a male who is often verbally aggressive (I know – not all men. Not even most of the men I know. Let’s move on. Not everything is about you.) and sees no need to ever apologize for his behavior. I am learning that there are at least two sides to kind communication – the responsibility to speak as kindly as possible but also the responsibility to perceive others as kindly as possible. Both are important, because assuming the worst possible interpretation of someone’s behavior shuts down dialogue just as quickly as saying insensitive or thoughtless things does.

But eventually, it is pretty clear when I’m being tone-policed and when I’m being an ass. I am learning to assess the reality of my behavior regardless of its intention. Because that’s what counts. When I abuse or deny the privileges I have in society, it doesn’t matter if I’m merely doing it out of ignorance; it matters that I’m doing it. When I misjudge an interpersonal situation and react without full knowledge of the other person’s position (again – out of ignorance), it doesn’t matter that I didn’t intend to be wrong (and why would I ever intend that); it matters that I was.

A third side to kindness? Learning when and how to apologize.

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Winter Cleaning

Posted in Coffee Shop Road Trip, Fun, Getting It Together, Hope, Lists, Renaissance, Resolutions on January 3, 2015| Leave a Comment »

Every year during holiday break, I get the urge to organize. Normally, when I’m at home, it’s the house that gets the pampering. But since I’m dog sitting this week, I took the opportunity to clean up some of my email and do some paperwork and budget – things that get missed when I am at home and there are dishes to be done.

I found a great email thread of messages to myself that I forgot I had started in early summer (back when I was still teetering between Renaissance and forty as my theme for the year) of ideas about what I might want to spend my 2015 doing. Here are a few of them:

  • Finally learn Spanish
  • Run a race (5K? Half marathon?)
  • Go on ___ dates
  • Write letters
  • Send photo Christmas cards of Uncle Wallace (amazing, creepy Santa mouse) and the “kids” (ceramic mice)

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  • Embrace traditions of the women who came before me – Mom’s pies, MeMaw Sharp’s garden (herbs, since I’m currently apartment-living), MeMaw Catherall’s crochet/knitting blankets
  • Embrace my own traditions (4th of July party? Friendsgiving? Cookie party?)
  • Buy a keyboard
  • Take an art class
  • Take a cooking class
  • Buy a piece of art that moves me
  • Learn Italian or French
  • Get something pierced
  • Dance in a flash mob (or as part of some type of performance)
  • Keep flowers on the table and wine in the wine rack
  • Lose a pound for every year I’ve been alive

This series of emails also includes a pretty extensive travel list (well, extensive for me, considering that the farthest I have traveled in the last couple of years was Houston):

  • Trip by train
  • Atlanta
  • Drive up the west coast
  • Road trip – bookshop tour? Coffee shop tour? Connect-the-friends tour?
  • Writing retreats
  • Solitary retreat – perhaps somewhere beach-y?

I think all of that sounds pretty fun. It still seems to fit the year’s theme nicely.

It also sounds expensive.

I go back to work on Monday, so I’m getting my mind wrapped back around that this weekend. I don’t think I want to switch jobs just yet, so I’ve worked out a pretty intense budget that allows me to live within my current means – even during months when I don’t have my teaching paycheck – and save up some money to do some of the things on my wish list above.

Now, I don’t want to boss my word around and tell it what to do (you can’t always force these things). But you know what would be really fun, as a professional with a master’s degree and 15+ years experience in my field? To earn an income befitting a grown woman with those credentials.

I feel caught in haphazard youth. I am basically still living with the same financial restrictions I had in college. I love a good challenge, so it has been its own kind of fun, but I am beyond ready to move on.

I want an income that allows for the extravagant lifestyle to which I intend to become accustomed. And by “extravagant,” I do mean a lifestyle characterized by the ability to:

  • Pay off debts and live debt-free
  • Buy wholesome, mostly local food
  • Drink good coffee and wine
  • Donate consistently to causes close to my heart
  • Have a nice, modest home that is small enough that I don’t need outside help to keep it clean but big enough to entertain comfortably
  • Make ethical purchases (i.e., fair trade, waste-free, sweatshop-free, cruelty-free, etc.) without having to buy almost everything secondhand
  • Pamper myself with regular hair appointments and toiletries that I don’t have to make myself and that won’t give me an allergic reaction/cancer
  • Go out to eat/drink with friends once or twice a week
  • Travel.  Just ever.  Anywhere.

I – competent, educated, professional, adult woman – want to earn an income conducive to doing all these things as a matter of habit, not having to decide each payday which 2-3 get their turn that month.

That would be a lot of fun for me.

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Five Minute Friday – Change

Posted in Five Minute Friday, Hope, Revolution on August 22, 2014| 4 Comments »

“Until White America tells fear to fuck off, we’ll keep dying at the hands of ‘justice’ in a country they broke our backs and our souls to build for them.” – A’Driane Nieves, in “White Supremacy and Fear: The Cracks in America’s Foundation No One Will Fix”

Words have sat heavy on me this week. They land hard on my lily white skin and seep into me.

This sounds awful.  It’s not.  This is how change works. It strikes, and then it sinks in.

I suppose the easy thing to do would be to get defensive.  The danger in taking the easy route is that the events that incite heavy words are usually broken systems that aren’t worth defending. The easy route allows the stunted soul to stay the same and hide from anything that doesn’t fit into what it already understands.

I don’t want the easy route. I want the words and the stories of the angry and the oppressed and the dismissed to melt into me and change me.

I am trusting firsthand accounts. I am trusting their lived experience that says this is only the latest installment of a system of oppression. The learned inclination to trust a badge just because it’s supposed to be trustworthy is quickly unraveling. My trust in authority is no longer immediate (and let’s face it – has not been immediate for quite some time).

I am praying with some of the bloggers I follow as they go to Ferguson to hear the stories of the people who have been there. I am praying that words will land heavy on them. I am also praying that they will be safe.

I am praying that the people – all the people – of Ferguson will be safe. I am sitting uncomfortably with the knowledge that feeling safe would be a first for many of the people of Ferguson, for many of the people in this country.

But I will sit with that discomfort.  I will not run away from it to take the easy route. I will change.

I am linking up with Kate Motaung for Five Minute Friday. The prompt is “change.” Join us.

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In Praise of Good Community

Posted in Andilit, Beauty, Hope, Story Sessions, Thanks, Writing on June 27, 2014| 4 Comments »

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It is not easy to define what support looks like in practice.  It might seem easy.  Then you meet people and discover that they often find it difficult to take others’ needs into account when they are deciding how they are going to behave in life.  This might surprise you, but it probably shouldn’t, as you are people, too, and have probably not centered your own life around what the general “other” needs.

It’s even more complicated when you’ve been burned.  When you thought what you had was support but found out that what was really going on there was agenda.  Or when you had an agreement, and that agreement was not honored. Or when you really did have support – one that you thought would last forever – right up until the moment that it ended.

Today, I want to talk about two places I’ve found support and what that looks like.  I want to talk about two of my online writing communities.

I also want to invite you to join us, because, dear reader-writer-friend, I want you to have support, too.  If any of this interests you, follow the links to find out how you can get involved.

The first online writing community I joined was the writing community at Andilit.  It was created by Andi Cumbo-Floyd who wrote The Slaves Have Names (click and buy – you know you wanna) about the people who were enslaved on the land where she grew up. I am boggled, both by the enormous amount of research it took to tell as much of their story as possible and by the humble grace and beauty with which she tells it.

I joined because I had this scrap of a manuscript, and I needed fresh eyes. What I found exceeded (and continues to exceed) my expectations.

I get monthly editing for up to five pages of work from a professional editor.  Five pages is a drop in the bucket as far as a full manuscript goes, but for the turtle-esque pace with which I edit my own work to the point that I am willing to let another human being see it, this works out perfectly.  I am saving up for a grand editing once the manuscript is totally finished (and if you are looking for such an editor, I highly recommend Andi), but it’s great to have help along the way as well.

I also get monthly editing from a workshop of others in the group for up to five pages.  This was the part that scared me when I first joined, because I tend to helicopter-parent my characters.  They’ve been through so much already; I want to protect them from judgment. But as with most overzealous protection, this doesn’t help them grow, so I begrudgingly submitted pieces for workshop.  It has been a godsend.  It’s a critique, but from nice, friendly people who write very different things but are still enthusiastic in their desire to help you make your work better, and they expect the same from you. It doesn’t mean the critique doesn’t ever hurt, but it hurts in the good kind of way, like having sore legs the day after a challenging run.

In addition to all of this, Andi facilitates a private Facebook group for members where we post articles or posts on writing that we find, our own blog posts, and anything else writers might find helpful to their craft.  She ends out weekly writing prompts to keep us from getting stuck.  Andi teaches several online courses at reasonable rates. She also lives on a farm where she is hosting a writer’s retreat in July (another thing I’ll be saving toward so that I don’t miss it again next year).

The second online writing community I joined was Story Sessions. I meandered into Story Sessions via Elora’s blog after I read Every Shattered Thing (go ahead, click and buy – I’ll wait) and thus had the insatiable urge to read everything she has ever or will ever write. I feel almost as protective of her main character as I do of  mine.

There are many options for membership.  All of them, however, include a private Facebook group and private members-only content on the website, weekly writing prompts, a monthly newsletter, and story coaching with trained coaches. There are e-courses offered (I’m in the summer session of Story 101 now, and it is glorious) as well as various collectives (mini-courses on a variety of topics), virtual retreats, movie nights, and an annual in-person retreat. We also meet in person in more casual groups on a regular basis, because we just can’t help ourselves.

My favorite thing about Story Sessions are the write-ins.  This might sound funny to members, because my crazy schedule doesn’t allow me to engage in them very often, but I LOVE them. Many of the blog posts I’ve written in the last year of which I am most proud (and all of the blog series I’ve started) were birthed at a Story Sessions write-in. On a weekly basis, members are invited to an online Fuze meeting where we are given prompts, time to write, and an opportunity to read what came out of that time to the other people attending the session.

All that I have said is just a small taste of what you would get from membership in these groups. These words don’t do them justice, because the people in these groups are my friends, and when have words ever done a friend justice? I have read many a snotty piece on how Internet relationships aren’t real relationships, but I can’t help but wonder where those authors are looking.  I know online relationships can be real, because I experience them. And while it’s even better when we have a chance to get together in person, the foundation of our friendships started via the Internet, and they flourish there.

I love these people.  Mercy, how I love them.

I would consider myself lucky to have just found one such community, but I have two.  If you are a writer/artist in need of support, give us a try.

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Badger

Posted in Hope, Story Sessions, Writing on May 16, 2014| 2 Comments »

I loved this boy once.

We were close.  And we both knew that the love between us was uneven.  We both knew that I loved him more than he loved me. We knew that one day this would bite us. But it seemed a shame to cut ties and run – to ruin everything over my silly little broken heart.

When he started spending less time with me and more time with the woman who would become his wife, I didn’t handle it graciously.

Heh.  That’s putting it mildly.

I acted like a lunatic.

I was angry and scared, because I realized that I had this whole life planned that wasn’t going to happen. I understood how badgers feel when they get caught in a trap, and they know they’re never getting out alive, but they refuse to lie still and die.  They fight it until they’re dead.

So I fought.  I pleaded. I argued. I was manipulative and vicious. I refused to be her friend (even though she’s a perfectly nice person), and I refused to listen to anyone who tried to smooth things over (even though they were only trying to help).

I wrote a multiple-page letter detailing why he would be better off with me.

For the first time in my life, I was proud of something I had written, and not because someone else told me that it was good.  There were no pretty bows to tie up the loose ends. No healthy conclusion reached, no lesson learned, no silver lining on the rain cloud. It was just opening a vein and bleeding on the pages.

For the first time in my life, I did not betray myself in order to keep the peace.

For the first time in my life, I felt like a writer.

And when he read my letter – the very soul of me, poured out in ink and tears – and put steel in his gaze as he responded simply, “No,” I asked to have it back.

The letter – and the heart it represented – didn’t belong to him anymore.

There are very few moments in my life that I can point to and say, “That one – that’s the moment it happened,” but that curt “No,” is one of them.  In that moment, the boy who saw me more clearly than anyone had ever seen me before lost his right to do so.

Part of me wishes that I could go back in time and handle things differently.  I would be calmer and more reasonable.  I would behave sensibly, with wisdom beyond my years. I would bear the torture of not being chosen with dignity. I would protect the mutual part of the love between us that was our friendship. Of course, this part of me, knowing the boy wouldn’t really love me back, would be too petrified of falling in love with him to get close enough to have that amazing friendship in the first place.  I would advise others against acting like a lunatic.

Part of me is sorry.

Another part of me, however, understands the badger.  The badger wanted what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to say so. The badger fought, because she had a right to be happy. The badger argued, because she could not fathom how anyone graced with her love could possibly turn it down.  The badger is actually grateful to the boy for standing up for what he wanted and for the cruel way he did it – for that shining moment of asshattery that made everything so clear.  But being grateful doesn’t mean that the badger can abide such foolishness.

Another part of me is the badger, and the badger’s not sorry.

Because she got free.

And she got out alive.

(This was an aftermath of a Story Sessions Write-In.  You should join us.)

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Click

Posted in Beauty, Hope, Writing on April 10, 2014| 6 Comments »

This month might be slow (-er than usual) around here.  I have a couple of places where I’m guest posting, and I will still do a couple of link-ups.  Or I will procrastinate and end up writing here more often.  Whatever happens, the reason is that I am participating in Camp NaNoWriMo.  I have a goal of 75,000 words for the month on an old-but-new-again project called What Not to Say. It’s a commentary on the things that folks, trying to be helpful, say to single people that actually aren’t that helpful at all.  It has its own blog space, because eventually I want it to become a community project, as my experience as a single person, vast and wondrous as it may be, is still just one person’s experience, and as self-important as I am, I don’t really know how to market what would essentially be a manual on how to get along with me.

So I’m spending a lot of time that I’m in front of a computer typing furiously toward 75,000 words, and I’m spending the time I’m not in front of a computer scribbling furiously in this lovely journal:

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(My journal, my self)

I started this project years ago.  I stopped because it made me angry. All.  The.  Time.  I couldn’t let go of the anger that these memories were stirring up in me.  And it’s good to vent – to get emotion out so that it doesn’t consume you.  But when you vent (and vent…and vent…), and you are still angry, it’s not healthy.

So I stopped.

I was scared mid-February when I started getting the urge to pick it up again.  I didn’t want to go back to that place.  I especially didn’t want to go back to that place during the end of the school year, because that tends to be an annoying season to me anyway (see last post), and I didn’t want to fuel the fire.

Then it wouldn’t let me sleep. I would wake up with words, and I would not be able to fight them.  At first, there were snippets that I could save as notes on my phone.  Now, they’re whole chunks of text that would take forever to type out on Margaux’s touch screen, so I get up and type or scribble in the middle of the night.  This project has become my life again.

But now it’s different.  I’m different.

Jennifer Upton said, “You can’t see beauty if you’re bitter,” and it clicked.  I was anxious about pursuing beauty this year, but it has prepared me for writing something that has been a source of hurt to me.  It has prepared me to reframe my experiences – to say the true things while still acknowledging loving intent and leaving us a place to go from here.

So if you don’t see me a lot this month, that’s where I’ll be.  Clicking.

 

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