“At my age, in this still hierarchical time, people often ask me if I’m “passing the torch.” I explain that I’m keeping my torch, thank you very much—and I’m using it to light the torches of others.
Because only if each of us has a torch will there be enough light.”
Gloria Steinum details the plan to finally realize equity, across gender, race and socioeconomic lines. She’s plotted quite the adventure on the Ms. blog.
Sometimes I am very much Walter Sobchak. Minus the weaponry. I have been known to exclaim, at no one in particular, “Am I the only one around here that gives a shit about the rules?” I am so often Walter that his spastic plea has become a classic joke in my marriage. Along with a few others. Whatevs. I just have high expectations.
Wait. Bullshit. High expectations is just a euphemism for control freak.
It should come as no surprise that my dominant worldview lens is feminism. It clicked into place when I was still pretty young, but old enough to appreciate its framework. Say, about middle school.
Empowerment, personal successes, perfect pitch responses to thinly veiled misogynistic remarks…feminism cheers for these. And, man do I love praise.
But what about the times I unball my liberation fist for a moment? Am I letting the sisterhood down?
“I asked 5 questions in genetics class, and all of them began with ‘sorry’.”
I’ve been able to catch myself mid-unecessary-apology lately, and issue a hasty redactment. No, actually I am *not* sorry. But to admit that, you have to be willing to take up space, right?
Have you noticed how common it is, this tic of female speech? Amazing how often and easily we do it, imperceptibly, the same way we make ourselves smaller, until eventually, sadly, there’s no there, there.
In this fantastic NYT piece on raising successful children, Madeline Levine takes American parenting culture to task on some of our common ‘helpful’ behaviors. Her most prescient advice is that we first worry about ourselves.
Loki has narrowly escaped exile.
After the puke on the carpet, the decision seemed so right and so timely. The girl was sleeping, and I finally had a moment to sit and…wait. What’s that orange spot on the carpet? Sigh. It had been sitting a while, and certain to stain. There’s enough shit, puke and other sticky piles around the house now that there is a baby in charge. The dog has lost permission to contribute.