So. Here we are. The voices of millions of victims of sexual assault were ignored, and, although two of the literal qualifications for a United States judge are a) maintaining public confidence and b) having the kind of impeccable integrity not to, say, sidestep direct questions from Congress or minimize one’s past flaws under oath, we’ve got him anyway. ...
This is me.
CLEARLY I’m not in Oregon right now.
Also, despite appearances to the contrary, I’m not naked, either.
I’m in Mexico, friends! To work on the latest draft of my book proposal, thanks to a friend with a free-to-me condo. 😍 (EVERYONE GO MAKE FRIENDS LIKE THIS. It’s OK. Go ahead. I’ll wait.)
This is me trying to take a picture that shows I’m wearing something other than just flesh. ...
On a still fall evening, a woman in a long, loose dress emerged from her house on a tree-lined street. She closed the door softly, walked down the porch stairs, and crossed the street to the mailbox.
There was nothing remarkable about her, and nothing remarkable about the street full of boxes or the murmuring people living their simple, complex lives inside them. The streetlights flickered, a descant to the melody of TV screens glimmering behind shaded windows. ...
I walked today, going nowhere, and I listened to my heart beat as my feet shuffled on concrete.
I breathed consciously.
Air in. Air out.
Air in. Air out.
I felt heavy, but calm. Like the weighted blanket of our collective grief — the grief of women who know what it is to speak out and be derided and dismissed — anchored me to the earth.
I read. ...
Here’s a true truth for you, friends: I’ve never put a political sign in my yard.
Never.
Not once in the 26 years I’ve been eligible to vote.
Not a yard sign. Not a bumper sticker on my car. Not a pin on my person.
It wasn’t like I had a problem with people who did. They’re passionate, I thought. Outspoken. And good for them!
But me? No. Certainly not. Those outward declarations of political support weren’t for me. I, after all, have friends and family on both sides of the political aisle. The need to be polite and ruffle no feathers exempted me. Right? That was the rule in my tiny, white, evangelical world, anyway. Politeness first, which folks around here call “civility.” I’m not sure when civility was redefined as silence, but it was definitely before my time. I inherited the system. I’m not to blame. (Says the white, suburban girl with systemically granted power. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) ...
Know what the internets need? MORE HOW TO ARTICLES. Because knowing how to do stuff is always better than not knowing. Yes? Yes. Correct. Always.
So here’s a quick tip for y’all.
This is my kid, Abby:
Abby goes to university in Hawaii because Abby is the smartest person I know.
This is my kid’s human:
Chandler also goes to university in Hawaii ‘cause he’s no dummy, either. ...
OK, friends. QUICK PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT because we have to stop saying these things to our kids:
“There are going to be bullies his whole life, so he needs to start learning how to deal with that now.”
“She’s going to have to learn to work with people who make her feel uncomfortable.”
“Welp, life is unfair. Welcome to reality, child.” ...
