It is late, and instead of sleeping, I'm sitting at the table with buttery toast and tea too hot to sip.
My brain is full.
No doubt over the next days, weeks, years, there will be heroes who rise up, who speak and inspire, as there always have been. There will be those who in the face of hatred usher us further into justice, bind us together in our humanity, remind of us grace.
But tonight is a darker night.
I am letting myself feel the darker before I stand again to fight for the light.
Best of any song
is bird song
in the quiet, but first
you must have the quiet.
Friday, January 20, 2017
Thursday, January 12, 2017
The other morning I rode to LAX with an Uber driver who talked incessantly and obnoxiously about politics, his weed farming and drug dealing in Santa Cruz, who swerved across lanes of highway twice because he was blowing by our exits, who forgot to start his Uber app to charge us, had his maps set wrong, and spent more time adjusting the air vents and radio volume than steering. It was 4:30 in the morning, and if I’d been alone, I know it would've been right to ask him to pull over so I could get a different driver. I should have asked him anyway. Why would I choose to stay in a dark car with a manic strange man whose hands weren’t on the wheel for 55 minutes and drove like he hadn’t passed drivers’ ed? The decision seems beyond obvious. But, I stayed in the car because if we’d pulled over, I’d have missed my plane. (and, if I'm honest, the conversation would have been awkward and felt bitchy and embarrassing for both of us).
Sometimes our concessions, even when they put us at risk, feel like necessities.
For many people, electing Trump felt just like that: policies and supreme court judges trumped a toxic personality and disrespect for many of our citizens; voting for him felt like a necessary concession.
As a woman, I am struggling to understand the implications. “We the people” just elected a man who believes women are less worthy leaders, managers, and politicians than men, a man who’s gloated about his inability to control his body around beautiful women, who’s confessed that women are fine eye candy (and hand candy…) and that it’s a damn shame when they aren’t worth looking at.
What does his winning the White House mean for me as a woman, for my daughters as pre-adolescent girls, for my nieces as teenagers?
The transcript of Trump’s Access Hollywood hot mic sparked all sorts of intelligent discussion and protest about assault (like Michelle Obama's response). What surfaced -- again -- is that most women are familiar with sexual assault, that it can be verbal as well as physical, that it can be “playful” rather than classically violent, that it’s often kept quiet because women are too embarrassed to blow the whistle or be criticized for overreacting.
We all know that cultural double standards still thrive: an outspoken decisive man is strong, and an outspoken decisive woman is pushy. An angry man is angry, and an angry woman is a bitch. A man who redirects inappropriate conversation has impressive character, and a woman who does the same is over reactive or touchy. An aging man looks debonair and an aging woman, old. A man without make up looks normal and a woman without make up looks tired and hasn’t “put her face on” yet. An unattractive male presidential candidate is an SNL joke and an unattractive female presidential candidate is a deal breaker.
These standards breed shame and silence. Of course, they, like Trump’s attitude, are not new or unprecedented, but our having freshly elected yet another man who brushes off/normalizes harassment as “locker room talk,” has pushed me to consider my own concessions. Sometimes what feels “necessary” is actually just easier.
Growing up, many of us were indirectly taught to concede out of "necessity" – we can't pull over, or I’ll miss my plane; out of embarrassment – what will they think of me if I speak up?; out of sacrifice – he could lose his job; out of fear that we’ll be shamed and play the fool -- what if he says that didn't happen? what if I misinterpreted?
And so we downplay: It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing really happened. He was just joking around.
But sometimes – a lot of the time -- it’s worth missing the plane.
There are always other flights out.
We have a long way to go in our country and many habits to break.
Beauty and sex have always been currency and power, and we, women, are still learning how to wield them without letting them reduce us. (I'm on a plane right now and the slit in my flight attendant’s short, tight skirt is so high that I literally can see her butt cheeks as she delivers snacks and drinks. à Not using it well).
As women today and over the next four years, let’s notice when we’re conceding. Let’s challenge ourselves about what seems “necessary,” and let’s start missing planes because we’re taking care of our selves.