Not Typical but Nothing Special

I just learned that the most searched word on Marriam-Webster’s website in 2017 was, “Feminism,” which is defined as, “The theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes” and I have a lot of smart, important points to make about this topic, but instead I’m super tempted address the mind-blowingly unremarkable concept that’s been popping up all year. So, after watching passively as the same dense argument has been passed around, lifted into the air like a trophy, and celebrated by an audience all surrounding me, I’ve finally given in to dignifying this ignorance with a response.  

Why do I always find myself listening to the chirpings-on about how America “doesn’t need feminism” because there are women in other countries who “have it worse”? Does this argument suggest that since increased oppression is causing other countries to miss out on the talents of its citizens (to say the least), more so than here, that it takes some sort of audacity for an American to demand complete equality of the sexes? Does this reasoning also suggest that an American citizen’s desire to reap the full benefits of any particular right should be negated by a direr need for that right in other parts of the world?

With that being said, does this mean that since forced child marriage is far more common in India than in the US, that it’s wrong for countries like ours to advocate for marriage equality, because at least we have the option of choosing who and when we marry?

Does it mean that since Russian reporters lack the free press that would allow them to properly inform their audiences, and have been known to wind up dead after opposing the views of the Kremlin, that Americans should not speak out against faulty news stories, biased media coverage, or net neutrality because, hey, at least reporters aren’t risking their lives every day?

Does it mean that since the North Korean government dictates where its citizens will live and work, that American citizens who are being denied reasonable accommodation or fair compensation by their employer, should pipe down about workers’ rights laws, because at least they got to choose their jobs in the first place?

I think one of the most frustrating aspects of this narrative are the threads of patriotism and selflessness manipulatively woven into the presentation of its position, when those two values could not be further from its foundation. I’ve scrolled through countless threads, of both familiar and unfamiliar names, condemning feminist causes, and implying that supporters of the feminist movement in this country are ungrateful for their freedoms and careless about the circumstances of women around the world, but the truth is more clearly revealed through the actions of those on both sides.

Feminists who are willing to point out examples of rape culture, sexism in the work place, the need for intersectional feminism, are also the ones willing to research how to shop ethically in order to avoid supporting sweatshops and other immoral systems around the world. They’re the ones who’ve never stepped foot in Primark, even though they’re broke, who picked out their New Year’s Eve dress at a thrift shop, and who volunteer sometimes after work, because they want so badly to use their privilege and small bit of power to help affect progress for everyone, regardless of nationality.

One year for Spring Break, my friends and I visited North Carolina, and in the mornings, I remember running around Charlotte to the lyrics, “music is my boyfriend” wishing it said, “writing is my boyfriend” instead, because I have a thing for the words.  And just like a photographer who’s been given a camera will take pictures, and a surfer who’s been given a surfboard will ride the waves, if I hear you imply that that my views are not “down to earth,” you’ve given me something to write about. 

An Open Letter to the Stranger Who Implied that my Views Are Not “Down to Earth.”

Your comments filled the whole entire atmosphere of a place where, if I had challenged them, everyone around us would have said I was acting inappropriately and being obnoxious. And I’m not a fan of scrambling to earn brownie points, but I feel compelled to explain myself after the sheer agony of bearing with your condescension to avoid being deemed “crazy.”

I am not some sort of “elite.” My first job was scraping food in the kitchen of a nursing home when I was fifteen, then cleaning at a hotel to save for the 1989 Oldsmobile that would be my first car, and cashiering at a supermarket until I graduated college. I’ve travelled a lot, but only by moving away to work abroad, by taking overnight busses, by booking hostels that sleep 40 people to a room, and by budgeting money I earned myself from teaching or writing. And I actually really love that culture, because when you’re travelling with your whole life in a backpack, you tend to meet people who are, like yourself, very “down to earth.”    

The phrase “down to earth” means being practical and realistic. You and I are both “down to earth” in the same ways. We both work with what we have. We both find practical solutions to life’s curveballs. We are levelheaded. We act sensibly. We’re realistic. But the situations we deal with in a “down to earth” way here in our small town, are a far cry from the situations people unlike ourselves deal with in a “down to earth” way in different areas of this country. So yeah, you and I are the Queen B’s of “down to earth,” but only of OUR “down to earth” and that’s just a fraction of all the “down to earths” out there. Acknowledging that disparity is simple. We can be sympathetic on the very first try. But the people you feel so superior to; they’re calling for empathy, and that’s more difficult to accomplish. Empathy takes intellect and practice.

In response to various publicized pleas for greater compassion, I’ve heard words like “optimistic” and “eccentric” being thrown around innocuously. But the people you see showing support for strangers more marginalized than themselves, aren’t demonstrating either of these traits. They’re not being happy hippies. They’re not searching for treasure at the end of a rainbow. And they’re definitely not weak. Because to practice empathy, you first have to choose to make yourself vulnerable. Empathy can’t be achieved without the recognition of your own privilege or luck – like growing up in a nonviolent neighborhood, or having good mental health, or never having needed to change your first name on a job application – and that awareness of the advantages you’ve done nothing to deserve, enables you to relate yourself to someone else’s darker circumstances. Having empathy is like having supernatural lenses that make the world clearer and clearer the more you use them, but some people won’t ever witness it.

A few months ago, I watched a video of a man narrating his thoughts, which were similar to yours, on what he felt it was like to hear the demands for inclusion and equality on behalf of all marginalized groups. The video was set in his blue-collar workplace. He seemed like a respectable guy. At one point, he looked at the camera and goes, “I don’t want to worry about 40 different genders.” It’s a captivating statement. I bet it resonated with a lot of viewers and I bet it resonated with you. So here’s the last of what I have to say to you. No one can make you worry about anything that doesn’t pertain to you. Maybe you’re not able to understand how someone else’s reality would feel for you, or maybe you’ve never bothered to try, but talking down about the people who care, doesn’t make you someone who “tells it like it is,” it makes you someone who “tells it only as they themselves have experienced it.”  

I’ve been seeing this girl pop up all over my social media, but I hadn’t bothered watching because I don’t like Dr. Phil.  Then, the other day someone on my facebook timeline posted a photo of her face with an angry caption, so I watched the video out of curiosity, and the exact reason I dislike Dr. Phil and utterly hate his show, was exemplified to the fullest extent. The clip going viral shows this girl acting like a moron, talking about stealing cars, and basically just being the poster child of a kid who’s deeply troubled, but doesn’t know how to process, handle, or address any of the reasons for that.   But this girl is 13 years old on national television being asked questions by an adult, in front of a live audience of adults, about the father she doesn’t know. “Where is your father?” “Do you know him?”  “When was the last time you saw him?” “Does he have another family?” “Have you been taken advantage of?” At one point she uses slang, so Dr. Phil asks her if she went to the 5th grade, and the audience claps. I feel like I’m living in the twilight zone. I’m not justifying her actions. Lots of kids don’t know their dad, and this girl needs help, guidance, discipline, the whole kitchen sink, but not on TV.  I mean, who’s really benefiting from this episode? I don’t think it’s this kid, so what’s the point? Someone’s profiting off of exploiting a child’s issues. 

Complaints about the barista saying “holiday” instead of “Christmas.” Chatter box doesn’t support this type of wording, but I do, because not everyone celebrates Christmas.

For example, when I see my sister, I usually ask about her dog because I know she has a dog. When I see strangers, I don’t ask about their dog, as I do not know if they have a dog. This tiny act of not asking strangers about their dog doesn’t exhaust me, because it’s not even hard. And it’s the same thing with saying “holiday.” After saying “holiday,” nothing terrible happens. It’s not difficult and it doesn’t cause everyone’s coffee to spill or all the framed pictures to come to life. It doesn’t transport me to a frightening period in history when I may get eaten by a dinosaur or hanged for being a witch. It doesn’t create a bottomless black hole in my very path leaving me doomed. When you think about it, saying “holiday” doesn’t change anything for the sayer, but just fosters a more tolerant and inclusive environment for all the rest of us. In fact, after the sayer says “holiday,” they can then carry on with their day just as they had been doing the moment before saying it. Whenever I hear these sorts of rants by a person condemning the idea of using words that won’t hurt or exclude someone, I wonder forever if they’ve realized that they are a person who condemns the idea of using words that won’t hurt or exclude someone.

Not asking a stranger about their dog makes you a SANE person and not assuming a stranger celebrates a certain holiday makes you a MINDFUL person. But not deliberately resisting an effort to promote acceptance makes you a DECENT person - a scenario much more telling than the first two. And that’s the deal with every situation similar to this one.

Most people cannot immediately understand the power different expressions might hold for an individual whose experience has been unlike their own, but for the inquisitive types eavesdropping at Starbucks, those people’s willingness to listen and adjust makes for a fascinating demonstration of character. Because openness to consider the effect of your words has nothing-zip-zero to do with your politics, but every single solitary thing to do with your character.

We reference it nonchalantly, but friendship is one of the most trying and intricate, ruthless and exasperating, rewarding and precious dynamics in life. It takes practice. We were once teenagers, unfit at moments to manage our own rushing emotions, planting traps with whispered words and arming ourselves with damning details until an order to fire – and fire we did. There was havoc; subtle attacks to topple establishments, loose lips blitzing common ground, and radio silence that could unnerve entire nations.

But that was before we learned. Friendship is a union of ethos whose reactions over time have signaled to one another which behaviors to change in order to be better. We showed each other the importance of diversity and how to remain truthful, even when it’s uncomfortable. Lasting friendships have felt the raw ache of being scraped off the bottom. They’ve been rebuilt from powder to revel in the bliss of acceptance and to internalize the ineffable freedom of flooding a room with heartfelt words secured by unspoken confidence. And now, years after having studied the chapters and learned from the mistakes, we’ve again found ourselves entering dangerous territory, taking on treacherous terrain mangled into a growth formed perfectly to divide us. Adulthood brought a pressure capable at times of transforming us from longtime friends into a panel of judges and contenders, breathlessly attesting to our worth, comparing bonuses and savings, ranking our worried counterparts. The answer has been and will always be, to resist the fear of our differences, even amidst this grossly obvious but completely unforeseen ambush on our allied track to greatness.

After a decade of becoming accustomed to our places behind a classroom desk, where the telephone wires hung just outside the windows and the professors graded us solely on relevant ability, we face a new reality at our positions behind an office desk, where the whole world has been deemed our scorekeepers and waves of their misunderstanding must prompt us to encourage each other’s defiance of the white noise. We’re a group of ranging talents. We should be celebrating an age of thriving in the settings we were built to thrive in and working for the audience who was built to enjoy our work, but the whole world is looking at us, then at our salaries, then back at us. The constant echoing of disparaging rhetoric sparks rivalry and wakens an unfounded sense of diffidence, unless we collectively defy their imposed priorities by appreciating the fuck out of contributions not yet recognized by their standards. Our bond survives when we can find the moral courage to declare that the most important conversations are not economically charged.

In fact, the most important conversations are unrelated to our bank accounts, but depend deeply on our mindsets, as humanity is found in the recognition of our own privilege. As well as inflicting a lifelong hearing to cross-examine our every decision, this era has also revealed the universe’s best kept secrets; that we’re not all given equal opportunity to dazzle the jury, and that we still need each other madly, regardless of that disparity. Our lives ran parallel until they didn’t. Historically we’ve turned to one another for support, but with a biased jury already watching, that lifeline’s gone the second we join their panel. In this courtroom, we lose by allowing ourselves to assume success without acknowledging the factors that have separated us, whether it’s our background, health, mental wellness, or relationships. We’ll watch our friends testify, wordily grasping at fleeting threads of vindication while all their beautiful colors are stripped away, and the witnesses will point their fingers in condemnation, but we will fill our conscience with compassion until our minds swell, and that’s how we’ll prevail.

Because our bind, all of our souls, every movement, breath, and fiber of existence on the side of integrity, depend wildly on compassion. It’ll be tough, but friendship is born out of the earnest need to win this very battle. Self-interest is easy; it’s human nature. But the embodiment of the single most valuable concept ever manifested by a human being, the intellectual capacity required to look beyond ourselves and act accordingly, that’s far more difficult to accomplish. It’s a honed skill. It’s an elected lifestyle. Ties develop out of a natural yearning for inclusion, so when the warriors come by land and sea to invade our safe space with secondary concerns, we’ll show them who must matter first, before we can lay down our armor.

 It was odd being able to touch the ceiling. I had already slid my pointer finger across it, drew invisible letters that spelled out my name. Around me, unfamiliar, blanketed figures filled the other bunks. Their outlines rose and fell gently, their breaths deep and steady, like the sound you listen for to see if someone’s faking.

 I laid timidly for a few minutes that first morning. I think I felt weird because the bed was squeaky. My plan was to climb down the ladder like a ninja without making any noise and irritating the others. But what I really wanted was to just jump off and rush out to see everything I could before the cosmos realized this opportunity wasn’t meant for me, that there had been a giant mix-up. I thought traveling was for the luckier ones, but somehow, it was I who was sitting there, glancing over at my Reebok shorts, my sports-bra, my tank top, all hanging from a bed post 8,000 miles away from the white, wooden one at home. 

For me, running’s a divine mystery. It’s an unexplainable means to a broader perspective, refueled rationale, a glorious, badass surge of assurance, which I adore. In a couple hours, my friend would wake up with an agenda of fascinating tours planned, visits to exquisite shrines of Kings, sacred grounds, palaces of the royals , and I’d be quite happy to join, but I’ve always been most charmed by those who are, like myself, sort of unremarkable. So on that first morning in Siem Reap, I padded down the pavement, panting, dying, baking, envisioning their storylines from behind tinted lenses.

Blue, rectangular street signs marked each block. Their use of the French word, “rue” offered a glimpse into Cambodia’s history. Children addressed me as, “Madame,” stretched their arms and cupped their hands together. Some easy-going guys, all kicked back in their tuk-tuks, popped up their heads and a few fingers to see what my deal was, but I didn’t need a ride then.

 I was nervous in that new place, and nervous to cross the street, so I waited until I could shadow a local to the other side.  I saw girls my age weaving their scooters through the road with kids on their hips. I thought about them learning to drive one of those things, maybe during their eleventh year, I supposed. I wondered if we’d be friends, if I’d be confident zigzagging through the road, had I grown up there. I wished that I could ask them questions, that I could communicate with sentences, a gracious exchange, my timely wit.

I wanted to peel back the layers of every lovely, intricate individual around me, and understand their reality in an instant. I wanted to be immediately braver, more involved, all-knowing, multilingual. But I was only a curious girl at the beginning of her trip, buying water from a family at a tiny outdoor shop, speculating about the mattress and TV lying just beyond their cooler.

A few feet away from my hostel, a group of adolescent monks stood chatting and I couldn’t even believe it, so I held back from snapping a picture.They were glancing at me, then back at each other, then back at me. These kids were robed in orange, whispering, roughhousing, giggling and then I knew why.

 I pulled off my sunglasses and the smallest one shouted, “Where are you from?” then ran away victoriously. This caused the others to turn around and give him a bunch of shit, and me to walk away knowing I’d go on to discover some more of  the delightful similarities, maybe rooted in human nature, that prove how lives from opposite sides of the planet can parallel in some adorable, underlying ways, but I just hadn’t realized it before.

"How is it possible that his first name is worse than his last?"

Last night I watched 20/20 with my dog and it was about two people getting conned by fortune tellers. So one lady was told by the fortune teller that she should write a check for 30,000 dollars and give it to said fortune teller, who claimed she would give it back in a month.  So, victim number 1 did that (again, “that” being, write a check for 30,000 dollars and give it to a stranger).  Shockingly, the fortune teller was fibbing and unable to be contacted after their meeting. I can’t believe it.

The other victim was also told by his fortune teller to hand over a bunch of money, but this guy didn’t have any money. So, he followed the fortune teller's directions and made up stories to his mother in order to get some money. His lies worked, and his mother lent him money from her retirement savings, which he then gave to the fortune teller, who said she’d give it back. Right, so, okay, at this point it’s still painful to hear, but maybe understandable. Then we learned that this guy continued lying to his mother for two years, (that’s like 730 days or something), wiping out all of her savings, which was over 900,000 dollars, and all of which he gave to the fortune teller, who hadn’t given him anything back over the course of 2 years, but was still insisting that she would.  Come on, guy. Like, no way. Are you kidding me?

So this morning I went to Starbucks to get a cup of the most glorious form of liquid to ever be a real thing and I read this article on Thought Catalog called, “27 Promises to my Best Friend” and it was definitely cute. I liked it, but I decided to write my own, and base it loosely on that article. Only because I loved the idea and it sounded super fun for a little morning proj, but I wanted to make a list that was really true, like so honest. I mean, without the cheesy “I’ll always hold your hair back when you’re throwing up” type stuff. Cause when people are sick, really they’re just like, get the fuck away from me and close the door. But I did keep a few of the same points, like my first one, which I thought was so brilliantly true.

  1. I am the greatest version of myself when I am laughing in the passenger's seat of your car.

  This is my favorite type of statement. It’s so simple. That seat’s comfortable as hell cause you can say whatever you want and you laugh so hard there. You order iced coffees at a drive through and take a gander inside the glove compartment to see if there’s some car manual in there, like how there is in yours. You put the windows down or up or talk about the shape of a cloud or a decision that affects your entire future and you fucking try on glasses or something to decide together if they suit you. I don’t know, I just fucking love that spot.

Anyway.

   2. I will babysit your future children if I have a job that allows me time for that, but I imagine I may be doing something that takes up a great deal of time, so you may need a babysitter. I’ll help you interview them (if I have time).

  3. If you choose not to have children, I will never let you feel that the decision which made you happiest and is right for you, has deemed you any bit inferior, in any way, now or ever.

  4. I will continue sending you selfies for help picking an outfit.

  5. I'll continue to tell you really personal shit and I will continue to sometimes do this in sketchy ways. So maybe I'll be really serious when I'm revealing something really serious. Other times, it'll be through a text followed by you calling and me not answering, and sometimes I'll be sitting across from you, leaning back in my seat without so much as a change of tone, as if we're discussing Pretty Little Liars or whatever.

  6. I won’t ever expect a certain, correct reaction or perfectly arranged words from you after anything I say. Promise promise promise.

  7. If you get arrested, that would be really fucking weird dude because I feel like we’re way too old for that. But, I’ll bail you out and then expect repayment ASAP, unless I have somehow become really rich by this point, and depending on how much bail would cost me. Also, I’d want to know who you were with and I promise I will never let you hang out with those tacky fuckers ever again.

  8. You can continue explaining to me your personal stuff, without ever having to remind me not to tell anyone cause that shit is for seventh graders.

  9. Discussing/ googling strange terms at an awkward age is not cute and is not meant for the interwebs, so I won’t write about it, or even bring it up in real life because we don’t want to reminisce about that.  

  9. I’d die if I saw you post an ambiguous, revengeful facebook status or a cheesy quote on instragram or something.

  10. Distance will never matter so (insert really overused but very true sentences about how distance doesn’t matter) and let’s get ready for Friday nights with wine over skype if we’re in the same time zone.

  11. I’ll continue to ask you questions and have wonderful conversations about the topics that mean a lot to you, but I will never pretend to be passionate about something just because you are, and I expect the same in return. Let’s continue being genuine regarding the causes that we care about, and never being showy about topics just to please other people, cause I think that’s how we know ourselves so well and I think that’s a big part of why we’re so happy all the time.

  12. Usually I’ll come early to your get-togethers.

  13. I don’t know what I’d do if you became one of those people who are too proud to ask questions when she has one or too cool to become excited about something that seems like old news to other people. Yes I do, I would die. I’d die. I wouldn’t even know you. Don’t let that happen and I promise I won’t either.

  14. I’ll never be preachy or condescending to you because oh my god, there’s maybe nothing worse than that and you’d probably start avoiding me, and that would be TERRIBLE, but still not worse than preachy and condescending.

  15. If you were planning on getting a really ugly haircut or something, I’d try to steer you away from the idea in the beginning, but if your heart was still set on it, I’d just be like, fuck it, whatever, yeah go for it, but still knowing that it will look shitty, cause there’s really only so much I’m gonna do in that situation, ya know.

  16. You can ask me how your outfits look and I will be honest in the best way. By this I mean that I can tell you when something isn’t working and leave you feeling like a supermodel It’s a gift. I do this all the time, and I’m really good at it. Actually, always ask me how your clothes look because answering that question should be my profession. That is how perfectly I answer. And you can borrow my stuff if you want.

  17. I usually won’t ask you to share drinks, because germs.

  18. I will borrow your make up as much as possible because mine sucks.

  19. I’ll be the person who tries really hard to stop your inevitable negative body talk and together we will try to remember how studies/important people say those conversations are totally bad for us, and we will try to redirect it.  

My friends were talking about this on Facebook: if you could spend a night with any three public figures.  I’d drink a little before meeting up with them, but not too much because I have lots of questions and stuff. We'd go to a restaurant. I picture it being just a normal place, like nothing fancy and expensive. No tablecloths or anything. We’d sit at a booth.

It would have a really long bar and lots of beer on tap. I think that for this occasion, I'd drink a really delicious beer, like black & tan, or the kind with floating blueberries, or anything dark, maybe a cinnamon rim. I know I’d be too excited to eat. Actually, I wouldn’t even want the night to be labeled “going out for dinner.” It’d be more like one of those times when you call your friends about ‘”getting drinks later.”

I know that I’d want to wear my favorite dress and headband and stuff, but I wouldn't even pretend to know a lot about wine, and cocktails and all that, because I'd just really want to be genuinely enjoying the experience. Since we’d only have one night, I’d make sure that every single thing I did or said was to make those fleeting moments the most delightful for me as possible, and not an attempt to appear some certain way in front of three famous people. That would be really important to me, but I think I’d have to remind myself of it a few times because I imagine that in that situation, your natural instinct is to try to fit in.

But you know that idea everyone has about the way girls treat each other, being kind of spiteful and backhanded, sort of driven by jealousy? It’s not something I’ve learned to be true. Maybe it’s a theory that makes movies and books more interesting, but doesn’t tend to happen all that often in real life. That’s why I think all of us would have so much fun on this night.  

I have no idea how our personalities compare, but four girls sitting in a booth, drinking their own personal favorite choice of beverage, wearing their best headbands will talk and talk and laugh and accidentally become way too loud, then realize it, and laugh and talk and talk until last call.  I’d probably do the most question asking. Who knows though because I’d bet we’d all have curiosities about one another’s lives. I think girls love girls. They especially love highlighting each other’s finest qualities in really honest ways. They love hushing their voices to tell stories that probably wouldn’t be appropriate in another setting. And I think the three I chose would end up loving my company.