On Saturday, January 21, 2017 there was a local Women's March in the city in which I currently live. A peaceable protest of over 10,000 local residents and visitors...and I didn't go. I could have. I certainly feel I should have. I absolutely wanted to be there. I just didn't go.
While I adamantly wish I had gone (especially after seeing all of the pictures and hearing the positive stories), I had instead spent the day with my eleven-year-old daughter doing "ordinary" things. I watched my daughter develop her physical strength by kicking ass in her martial arts class. I listened as she then honed her voice at her singing lesson. I worked on costumes for a show and thereby helped a female friend of mine create her art. I crocheted pink kitty hats for others who wanted to attend the march but couldn't. I led a rehearsal of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues, as I do every January and February to raise awareness about Violence Against Women.
But I didn't go to the Women's March.
When I later expressed my frustration to my daughter about not attending (and my disappointment that she hadn't even wanted to go), my daughter responded in a very flip manner, "Well it's too late now."
To which I replied, "No, it most certainly isn't."
It was then that I realized that even without attending the public display of solidarity, I was already right there in the middle of it, acting and speaking as one of thousands, even millions. It is never "too late" to take a stand, to have a voice, to speak up.
And I have been speaking up a lot lately.
I am speaking out against all of the ugliness I have seen from people I did not expect to see. I am calling out rude behaviors or hateful statements, especially those that clearly come from "us and them" mentality. I am reminding others that opinions are individual, but respect should be universal. I am also prompting everyone to remember that any change in legislation has the potential to affect society as a whole--even if it doesn't affect or isn't supported personally--and to be sensitive to that. I am questioning others about their thoughts, actions and statements, but I absolutely will not engage in a futile "I'm right, you're wrong" line of thinking. I am encouraging everyone to have his/her feelings, but I will not tolerate anyone attempting to dictate or invalidate the feelings of others (or mine), especially in a hateful, generalized manner. I am speaking up, even if no one listens. Even if no one agrees. I am speaking up. It may not always be loud. It may not always be overtly public. It will always be honest.
This is how I will empower myself. This is how I hope to empower others. How we empower our society doesn't always have to be in huge, historical, highly visible ways. Sometimes, we can empower ourselves (and others) through the ordinary little things, the "every day" occurrences and actions, through love and kindness and respect. But, for all of our empowerment, we still have to SPEAK UP.
Only then can we hope to assuage our fears, alleviate the chaos and instill our faith in humanity once again. Or maybe that's just my hope?
Until next time, my Lovelies....
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Monday, January 9, 2017
Out With The Old, In With The New
At the end of 2016, I purchased a new car. I really couldn't afford it, having gone back to school earlier in the year, but it was time. It had gotten to the point that my previous vehicle (a 2001 VW Beetle) was starting to cost me, as Volkswagens are wont to do, too much to maintain. Each trip to the auto repair was often several hundred dollars, sometimes more. Although the visits to the shop were only every couple of months, my bank account or my credit cards were always overworked during those visits. Ultimately, I was paying more in repairs than what the car was worth. It seemed more viable to pay a bit each month on a new car instead, regardless of the potential financial strain.
So, a new car I obtained. It was relatively non-descript and semi-inexpensive and not at all top of the line. It didn't have some of the basic features of my Beetle (power locks, 6 CD changer, car alarm), but it was new and it was mine. No one financially helped me to buy it (although a friend at the dealership did assist in garnering a discount). I handled the paper work, registered it...all of it, my doing. It was almost like a rite of passage.
Because my Beetle was so, shall we say "loved", however, the dealer wouldn't give me any trade-in money for it, so into the carport it went until I could find a buyer. I removed the license plates when I transferred my registration to my new vehicle and there the Beetle stayed. This, of course, did not sit well with the H.O.A. of my housing complex, who promptly stickered the car with a warning that it needed to be registered or removed. Sure, they couldn't be bothered to fix the siding on the building or convince my neighbors not to let their dog poop in the communal grass without cleaning it up or tell my other neighbors that three large trucks are two too many to park in the communal carport, but my recently unregistered car was offensive to their housing management sensibilities.
I tried to sell the damned thing. I tried to give it away. One attempt after another kept falling through. Finally, today it all worked out and my well-worn Beetle was adopted by its new owner.
As I watched my little green car being driven away by someone who was not me, I felt a twinge of melancholy. Sure there was relief to just be done with the whole thing, but sadness as well. I realized as the car left my driveway that it had been the last vestige of my marriage. The last thing my ex and I had ever shared (except our daughter of course). We'd bought that car together. Hell, his name had been on the original title for it.
And yet, most of my good times in that car had had nothing to do with him. He'd so rarely ridden in it, in fact. Whenever we'd taken road trips, he generally drove us in his vehicle. Instead my Kermit (as I'd affectionately called it) had been host to long solitary drives, raucous laughter and inane conversations with friends, adventures with my daughter, various trunks full of costumes--even a few, exhilarating post-divorce snogs. Other than the initial purchase, he'd really had no actual stake in that car, yet there I was mourning its passing from my hands to another's.
It felt like the end of an era.
And so it was. Gone was the car that would incite children everywhere to point and laughingly punch their friends ("SLUG BUG!"). Gone was the car that distinguished me from other local drivers. Gone was the remaining shared tie to my ex-husband.
Then, just as quickly as it struck me, the melancholy left. What remained was a sense of calm and relief...until, that is, I had to park my new car in the carport next to the neighbor's overly large truck.
But that's a story for another day.
Until next time, my Lovelies....
So, a new car I obtained. It was relatively non-descript and semi-inexpensive and not at all top of the line. It didn't have some of the basic features of my Beetle (power locks, 6 CD changer, car alarm), but it was new and it was mine. No one financially helped me to buy it (although a friend at the dealership did assist in garnering a discount). I handled the paper work, registered it...all of it, my doing. It was almost like a rite of passage.
Because my Beetle was so, shall we say "loved", however, the dealer wouldn't give me any trade-in money for it, so into the carport it went until I could find a buyer. I removed the license plates when I transferred my registration to my new vehicle and there the Beetle stayed. This, of course, did not sit well with the H.O.A. of my housing complex, who promptly stickered the car with a warning that it needed to be registered or removed. Sure, they couldn't be bothered to fix the siding on the building or convince my neighbors not to let their dog poop in the communal grass without cleaning it up or tell my other neighbors that three large trucks are two too many to park in the communal carport, but my recently unregistered car was offensive to their housing management sensibilities.
I tried to sell the damned thing. I tried to give it away. One attempt after another kept falling through. Finally, today it all worked out and my well-worn Beetle was adopted by its new owner.
As I watched my little green car being driven away by someone who was not me, I felt a twinge of melancholy. Sure there was relief to just be done with the whole thing, but sadness as well. I realized as the car left my driveway that it had been the last vestige of my marriage. The last thing my ex and I had ever shared (except our daughter of course). We'd bought that car together. Hell, his name had been on the original title for it.
And yet, most of my good times in that car had had nothing to do with him. He'd so rarely ridden in it, in fact. Whenever we'd taken road trips, he generally drove us in his vehicle. Instead my Kermit (as I'd affectionately called it) had been host to long solitary drives, raucous laughter and inane conversations with friends, adventures with my daughter, various trunks full of costumes--even a few, exhilarating post-divorce snogs. Other than the initial purchase, he'd really had no actual stake in that car, yet there I was mourning its passing from my hands to another's.
It felt like the end of an era.
And so it was. Gone was the car that would incite children everywhere to point and laughingly punch their friends ("SLUG BUG!"). Gone was the car that distinguished me from other local drivers. Gone was the remaining shared tie to my ex-husband.
Then, just as quickly as it struck me, the melancholy left. What remained was a sense of calm and relief...until, that is, I had to park my new car in the carport next to the neighbor's overly large truck.
But that's a story for another day.
Until next time, my Lovelies....
Sunday, January 1, 2017
'16 Going on '17...
As the year draws to a close, per usual, I find myself reflecting upon the past year and the year to come. Normally, I greet the changing of the calendar with excitement, maybe some trepidation. Strangely, though, it just seems like any other day. No great anxiety. No extreme worry. Just...."Yup, it's the end of the year."
That's not to say 2016 wasn't eventful or interesting. In addition to the political three-ring circus we all endured, there was, of course, an inordinately large amount of well-loved celebrities who passed. On the personal front, I started school and purchased a new vehicle. There was even an ill-fated romantic endeavor. And yet, I start the New Year as I have the last several years: Still single. Still broke. My apartment is still a mess. I am, as always it seems, living a Life in Transition.
But maybe this is where I am "supposed to be" right now? While I don't believe in Destiny, I do believe that everything happens for a reason--even if those reasons are only recognizable in retrospect. And I have learned some super, boss-keen things about myself this year. Not all who wander are lost, right?
Right?!
No matter. (Re)building a life is not easy, and that, my friends, is what I have been doing for a long time. I realize that now.
And so, gentle readers, as we head into 2017, I make resolutions that are in line with doing just that. 2016 brought with it certain realizations of thought. May 2017 bring realizations of action.
Happy New Year!
Until next time, Lovelies....
***
P.S. I also believe that by putting positive thought into the Universe, we reap positivity. Plus, by expressing our wants, needs and desires, we become accountable. So, if you're interested, here are my Resolutions for 2017:
Write more
Worry less
Finish school (preferably before June)
Get a job in chosen field
Create Great Theater (Act, Produce, Direct)
Spend more time with friends, loved ones and the cat
Clean the apartment
Surround myself with positivity and love
Oh yeah, and somehow obtain Johnny Depp and a million dollars.
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