driving past in the rainy night, the neon sign outside the solicitor’s office said, “need a will?”

ha! i said to jonno. you’re welcome to my four year old computer, wedding ring, and my iphone if I die.

i said it with a casual laugh, but i wasn’t joking. i have nothing of substance, nothing of value.

most of the time, i’m perfectly okay with that. most of the time, it pleases me – that rootless, aimless part of me that eschews being tied down to any place or any thing. most of the time, i’m comfortable flying through this world unfettered by objects. i don’t feel lacking, and i don’t want. it’s freeing.

but every once in a while, it strikes me just how different my life is to that of my cohorts – who have houses and cars and children and stock portfolios. things requiring planning, responsibility, insurance, protection. things requiring a will.

have you seen “up in the air”? when he’s talking about casting off that backpack? that scene completely resonated with me. that’s what i identify with. i thoroughly enjoyed that movie – i was envious of his spartan existence… until i suddenly realised that we’re supposed to feel sorry for him. it hit me: i’m supposed to be embarrassed by my dearth of things.

things = grownup. people without things are juvenile. people without things are not to be taken seriously. a crawling flicker of shame began to creep up from the pit of my stomach.

and so most days i continue along happily in my uncluttered lifestyle, oblivious to the pity or scorn of others. most days, i can laugh at the idea of a will. most days i could put all the things i hold dear in this world into a backpack, and be grateful for it.

but every so often, out of the blue, through a fictional movie or a simple sign passed in the dark… every so often, this culture has a way of making me feel like a real freak.

everything must go – the weakerthans

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the thing is, i can honestly say that if i lived in a world without babies, i’d almost never think about them.

but i don’t live in a world without babies – i live in a world which is chockablock with them. both of my sisters gave birth to their second children in the last few months, my old university friend just had one. babies are in the street, the topic of conversation at work, on the television. babies are everywhere – they are the universal denominator.

and so, like it or not, the world is designed to force me to continually confront my decision not to have any. biology makes it difficult to avoid having children. society makes it difficult to avoid thinking about them.

i mention this because even though i’ve long since decided that giving birth isn’t for me… i would be lying if i said i never thought about it. every woman of childbearing age thinks about it, and i am no different. how could i not?

in fact, i might think about it more than many – because every day, i am made to continually evaluate and re-evaluate my “no” decision, in a world where the default is set to “yes”.

every day, people around me are pregnant. every day the media around me categorises women as mothers and mothers-to-be. every day i see or hear or read about children and babies and parents and how special and magical and wonderful it is – for everyone else.

and setting myself deliberately outside that circle, where i have consciously chosen not to share in the commonality of that experience, where i have opted out of one of the most singularly unifying human roles…

… well, sometimes it is a lonely place to be. sometimes it *does* cause me to question, in spite of myself. more to the point: sometimes i wish that i wanted a baby the way everyone else wants babies, because not wanting them feels like missing out. it’s annoying that babies take up my dedicated brainspace, that i so often find myself thinking about something i don’t want. but it’s built into the automated system: whenever i see a baby, my mind involuntarily does a little self-audit: “sure you don’t want one of those? yes, i’m sure. okay then… but are you *really* sure?” biology is an annoying fucker.

society knows this. it plays on this. i have unending sympathy for women who are infertile, because i imagine that, like them, i am hyperattuned to the saturation of messages that insist babies and children are the single most fulfilling life event to ever happen to a person. and i’m sure it is for those who have them – but it is tiresome to have to mentally reassert that my life is not bereft of meaning because i don’t want a baby.

yes, i’m actually saying that not having kids is sometimes lonely and tiresome. that’s hard to understand for most. and no reason to actually have one, of course.

still, it’s impossible to deny – in the face of all my certainty, the world that is full-of-babies constantly tries to throw clouds of doubt. and sometimes i can’t help but think the easier, less solitary path would have been acquiescence. to do what everyone does because everyone does it.

but that’s no reason to have a kid either. i know that, and believe wholeheartedly in my choice – i just wish life wasn’t constantly forcing me to think about it so often.

because it gets tiresome. and it can be lonely.

pressure free – nada surf

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(see here for my blog for choice entries from 2009, 2008, 2007)

“This year, we are dedicating Blog for Choice Day 2010 to the legacy of Dr. George Tiller. Dr. Tiller often wore a button that simply read, “Trust Women.” As we reflect on Dr. Tiller’s contribution and the current state of choice, our question to you is this: What does “Trust Women” mean to you?”

this really resonates with me. last year, in the wake of dr. tiller’s horrific murder, i found myself arriving at some surprising conclusions – that “trust women” extends far beyond the issue of abortion rights.

to live in a fully realised egalitarian society means that we must trust women:

-to control their own lives
-to control every aspect of their own bodies
-to make decisions that are right for them
-to make decisions that are right for their families and relationships
-to exercise the same kinds of autonomy, freedom and choice that are afforded to men

..and trust that doing so will lead to stronger societies for us all.

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you know, i guess i’ve been pretty lucky so far – for as long as i’ve been a massachusetts voter, i’ve had the luxury of knowing that my two congressional senators were champions of most the things i hold dear as a self-avowed bleeding-heart liberal. i’ve known that my two senators were in favour of women’s rights and choice, social services and benefits for the poor, environmental causes, full civil rights for all races/sexualities/gender identities, and protection of individual’s rights to privacy and speech. i knew, without even checking, that ted kennedy and john kerry were always on my side of the vote.

and now, i’ve been lumped with a representative whose politics i not only disagree vehemently with, but who will be actively voting against my interests as a woman, as a progressive, as a humanist. that sets me on edge just thinking about it.

worse than that, though, is that this vote was a proxy vote for the rest of the country. and that fills me with despair. it has taken nearly seven years living outside the u.s. to realise just how conservative and insular so many americans are. they don’t care about healthcare for all, they care about taxes. they don’t care about gay rights, they care about protecting their own hetero-normative mythologies. they don’t care about women’s rights, they care about their own patriarchal religious beliefs. they don’t care about global warming, they care about not spoiling the view from their condo with wind turbines. they don’t care about the american dream, they just want to make sure someone’s not stealing their dishwashing jobs.

ted kennedy must be turning over in his grave.

i was there for the obama election. i dared allow myself to hope that people wanted a kinder, gentler society. i’ve often felt alienated from my countrymen over the past seven years, and i’ve often thought that because of that, i could never go back. turns out, one-in-five obama voters supported brown.

today, what i know is this: there is one less vote for the kind of america i want to live in, and my hope was too fragile to sustain this kind of blow.

so fuck you, massachusetts. if you don’t care about me, why should i care about you? a friend recently posted this on their facebook profile, and it’s so apt that i’m quoting it here:

“elections belong to the people. it is their decision. if they decide to turn their back on the fire and burn their behinds, then they will have to just sit on their blisters.” ~ Abraham Lincoln

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*thwack*. the sharp point of an elbow slammed into the back of my head and i saw stars float in front of my eyes.

sitting at my desk, i hunched low and kept my eyes down, hoping the teacher hadn’t noticed.

*thwack*. the elbow met my head again as she returned to her seat, ostensibly using the wall-mounted pencil sharpener. i did my best not to flinch visibly, even as the words on my paper swam in front of me.

crystal n_________. probably the smallest girl in the entire school. my tormentor.

hard to believe that back at the start of september, we’d been friends. i started sixth grade in a different middle school from all my old fifth grade classmates. at eleven, i was shy and awkward, with a choppy home-grown haircut, still getting used to my brown owl-like glasses. so when i recognised crystal from the accelerated enrichment class we’d both been in the previous year, it was a huge relief. we were both learning to play the flute, both liked prince and wore purple legwarmers. crystal had an indefinable edge to her, a coolness combined with the defensiveness of living in a grittier area of town – but i didn’t care. we quickly started hanging out together, passing notes, exchanging stickers, and even had a few sleepovers where we played 1999 til we wore out the record.

and one evening, lying in our sleeping bags in the dark, she confided to me that she was abused at home.

i didn’t know what to do – what do you do when you’re little and someone drops that kind of reality in your lap? i only knew that when someone reveals something bad, you’re supposed to tell someone in authority. someone responsible. and so i persuaded her to tell our teacher.

we sat in the teacher’s meeting room, the three of us. i don’t remember what was said, but i remember staring at the wall as if my life depended on it. i’m sure the teacher said all the right things, made the appropriate reassurances.

that wall was seafoam green.

what came after that, was a fury directed at me that blindsided me, spun me round with the force of being clocked. at began with a campaign of silence. crystal no longer spoke to me. when i tried to talk to her, find out what was going on, she looked through me as if looking through a ghost. my notes and calls went unanswered. i couldn’t understand what i’d done to make her reject me so completely. but she never let up, not for one second. from that moment in the teacher’s meeting room, with the seafoam green walls, it was if i had ceased to exist.

until, that is, she switched alliances. crystal and i had been a pair of oddball friends, but somehow less odd for begin together. everyone else in our class had pre-established friends from years of graduating up through the grades together. she and i had become friends out of necessity. but now she began cultivating relationships with the popular girls, currying favour with them through her acid remarks and brazenness. as the leaders at the top of the food chain, they admired someone who could act so tough. they took her into the clique, and she soon became one of them.

i’m not sure what she told them about me, but it must have been pretty awful. previously they’d ignored me – i was completely peripheral to their day-to-day, not even worthy of attention. once crystal joined their group, all that changed. they began going out of their way to trip me, sneer at me, steal my books off my desk when i wasn’t looking and hide them. to them, i was something for their amusement – it made them laugh to knock my flour on the floor in home economics class, or snigger at a private joke until my face burned red. it was crystal, however, who reserved a special kind of hatred for me.

“you’re dead. after school, you’re dead,” the note flung surreptitiously into my lap read. i managed to leave unseen by the rear exit of the school, and walk home by the back streets that day. but she wouldn’t let up – she hissed epithets in my ear when no one was looking, continually threaten to beat me up, shoved vicious notes through the slats of my locker. and her specialty – the elbow to the back of the head with an innocent look on her face, while i swallowed the pain.

and day after day, i endured it in silence.

i don’t know why i didn’t tell anyone. perhaps i knew without asking that the adults couldn’t do much. after all, she was so sneaky about most of it, it was invisible to the naked eye. perhaps i assumed that without proof, no one would believe me. perhaps i knew any intercession on my behalf might make things worse.

when, towards the end of the long school year, i finally told my mother, i remember only this: she offered me a prayer. a prayer that i clung to, repeated ceaselessly like a balm. a prayer that did little to stop the bullying, but somehow felt soothing nonetheless.

god has not promised
skies always blue
flower strewn pathways
all our lives through

god has not promised us
sun without rain
joy without sorrow
peace without pain

but god has promised us
strength for the day
rest for the weary
light for the way

god has promised us
help from above
unfailing sympathy
undying love.

i don’t know why or how that was supposed to make me feel better, but it did. even as i stumbled home in shame, hot tears running down my cheeks when i couldn’t hold them back until i got home. it makes me angry now, that message – that somehow the torment of that year was part of my cross to bear, and that if i only believed hard enough, i could continue to bear it with god’s help. no child should believe that the cruelty of others is part of god’s will.

and i did bear it. sixth grade finally ended, and by the following autumn, crystal and her friends had moved into different classes. i was once again blessedly ignored, forgotten about.

but i’ve never forgotten about her.

as an adult, i came to understand, of course, why she turned against me so viciously, in an effort to protect herself from someone who knew her secrets. funnily enough, i was a threat *to her*, though even in all that grief, it never once occurred to me to lash out, or use what i knew to discredit her. i understand why she did what she did.

i can understand it, but even now, more than twenty-five years later, i can’t forgive it.

i looked her up recently on facebook, out of curiosity. and there she was. looking almost exactly the same, only an older version of the eleven year old she was. my stomach seized up involuntarily – it seems unbelievable to me that someone who’s lived so long in my memory as this feared image could be right there, looking innocent in her curls as ever. if her facebook profile is anything to go by, she doesn’t seem like she ever softened at all. i guess she might’ve had a difficult life if she was so hardened by eleven. maybe life didn’t get any better for her after that.

and of course, i wonder if she ever thinks of me. if she’s ever sorry for what she did, the hell she made my life for that whole year. writing about it now, the tears i never let her see then, still spring easily to my eyes. it probably doesn’t even register on her memory.

i wish i could say the same.

just like anyone – aimee mann

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how long can you hold on to a dream?  i was talking to my work colleague the other day about our current disillusionment with our jobs.  and they’re *fine* jobs – they’re good, solid jobs that make a difference to others.  but we just sort of fell into these roles, and they’re jobs that we’re good at, but not passionate about.   we spent an hour daydreaming about the kinds of things we wished we were doing instead.  “so what do you want to be when you grow up? ha ha ha,”  – but the laughter was hollow.

then the other day, amity wrote a blog post about not knowing which direction to head in her future.   and i, (always so quick with the sage advice that i am incapable of following myself), said don’t worry! lots of people are just feeling their way along in life! you’ll get there eventually!

but those two occurrences have left me feeling very unsettled.

i don’t remember how it was that i came to know i wanted to be a therapist, but at seventeen when i was applying to university, i knew that that was my ultimate goal.  there was never any question – i’ve always just known.

and now…well, three weeks ago i turned 37.

and in talking about it, it suddenly hit me like a punch to the gut – the hard realisation that *twenty years later*, i am no closer to my dream than i was then.

fuck me. twenty years.

oh sure, i’ve got a b.a., and i’ve made two aborted half-attempts at getting into grad school.  but those jokes i make about “working on a 50 year career plan” are worn threadbare of amusement.  i look at friends who are doing jobs they really love and wonder why the hell i’m not.  i’m filled with a deep, disquieting jealousy.

how did i let this happen?  i still want to be a therapist just as much as i did those twenty eager years ago.  more so, even.  it’s all i’ve ever really wanted to do, always been my ideal.  i can even picture myself doing it – i can imagine my office, i can imagine what i would wear, i can imagine what i would say.   i know i’d be good at it too, damnit.  if there was ever anything i thought was destined to be in my life, that’s it.

and every day i spend stuck where i am now, is one more day that i’m not working towards making that dream happen.

part of the holdup is that up until now j and i have been dithering about our moving plans – i wanted to hold out for more travelling opportunities first, he wanted to get to canada as soon as possible.   back-and-forth we go about the best approach, who will apply for a visa, how much money we need in the bank, can we take off for another couple months, yadda, yadda, yadda.

it’s the paralysis of indecision, and i’m sinking in it.

so the other day when i realised it had been twenty years, twenty fucking years, since i first knew “what i want to be when i grow up”… well, it occurred to me that maybe it’s actually time to grow up.

enough with the half-assed attempts, enough with always wanting to do just-one-more-thing first, enough with being stuck in the kind of job that makes me jealous of other people’s jobs.  i’ve been casting about for something new to anchor to, a new challenge – and i think i’ve found it.

for twenty years, it’s been there all along.

distopian dream girl – built to spill

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under the bush administration, i used to hear from a lot of people who said they wanted to move to the u.k. because they thought it was “more enlightened”.

to those of you who imagined that britain is some sort of liberal utopia, i present to you three news items from today:

5 convicted in Britain over protest at parade

LONDON — A court found five British Muslim men guilty on Monday of harassment and using insulting language during a protest they had staged at a parade welcoming British troops home from Afghanistan. The men had shouted slogans describing the soldiers as “murderers,” “rapists” and “baby killers.”

The highly unusual trial, in a district court in Luton, a town with a large Muslim population 30 miles north of London, was seen by the defendants’ supporters as a rare test of Britain’s liberal free speech laws. Lawyers for the men argued during testimony last week that they had been justified in the words they displayed on placards and shouted at the soldiers because they were speaking “the truth.”

But the district judge, Carolyn Mellanby, found five of the seven defendants guilty of offenses under Britain’s public order laws, specifically of using “threatening, abusive or insulting words” and of “behavior likely to cause harassment and distress.”

now here i have to take exception with the n.y. times characterisation of britain’s free speech laws as “liberal”. in fact, as i’ve pointed out here many times before, there is no such thing as “free speech” in the u.k. – only that speech which has not been made illegal. and “hate speech” which is thought to be unduly inflammatory or potentially provoking violence, is illegal.

which brings me neatly to exhibit b:

britain moves to ban controversial islamic group

LONDON (AP) — The British government banned an Islamist group notorious for glorifying al-Qaida and tied to terror plots at home and abroad, but its Lebanon-based spiritual leader promised to reorganize under a different name.

The group, Islam4UK, will be banned starting Thursday after its British leader, Anjem Choudary, threatened to bring hundreds of people marching in protest through the streets a small market town known for honoring the British soldiers killed in Afghanistan.

The latest ban puts the group in the same league with terror organizations such as al-Qaida, and the Tamil Tigers. It could lead to the arrest of anyone meeting under the Islam4UK name or using the group’s insignia.

The group, previously known as Al-Muhajiroun, was banned before only to change its name and resurface again.

nope, no freedom of assembly here either! setting aside the obvious inanity of “banning” something which can simply reform the following day under another name, you’d assume that if they were actual terrorists, they could be arrested under the terrorism act (rather than just oh, “banned”), right?

oh, wait. someone already said that.

“‘Shouldn’t we, as a democracy and a country which upholds the rule of law and order, be banning individuals who break the law rather than banning organizations?” spokesman [for The Muslim Council of Britain] Inayat Bunglawala said.

and speaking of the terrorism act:

stop and search powers of the terrorism act ruled illegal by the european court of human rights.

Police powers to use terror laws to stop and search people without grounds for suspicion are illegal, the European Court of Human Rights has ruled.

The Strasbourg court has been hearing a case involving two people stopped near an arms fair in London in 2003.

It said that Kevin Gillan and Pennie Quinton’s right to respect for a private and family life was violated.

Home Office Minister David Hanson MP said he was “disappointed” and would considering whether to appeal.

those are the same laws which have in the past few years pretty much allowed any police person to stop and search any person anywhere without reasonable cause… as long as they record it in a notebook. they’ve made excellent use of this law – using it for everything from trying to get knives off the streets to harrassing climate change protestors to intimidating news photographers and tourists from taking photos of tourist attractions… but not actually catching many terrorists.

so tell me again what kind of “enlightened” society i live in?

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yesterday “jen’s den of iniquity” passed its 6 year anniversary.

the form and function of this little blog have evolved so much since its inception. saying that, this has been a difficult year for me as a blogger – i’ve had more than a passing thought this last year about hanging it all up. small personal blogs like mine feel like they’ve been outmoded in many ways – unless you have a particular theme or tailor your writing for a specific audience (something i’ve steadfastly refused to do – for me it would just feel so artificial), it’s become really hard to build up a following. without concerted effort at self-promotion, the “community” of bloggers seems less organic than it was back in 2004. it’s particularly difficult if you don’t have any kids – so much of blogging seems to revolve around parents these days. that’s no knock on parents who blog … just the reality of who is reading and who is writing. for reasons i can’t quite pinpoint, i seem to have lost a large portion of my viewership this year, and (if i’m honest) spent some time sulking about that.

i spent a few months grappling with the atrophy of readers – it is difficult to feel that you are writing into a void. it’s hard not to take it personally when you spend a lot of effort writing something, only to have it go unnoticed. it makes it terribly difficult to stay motivated. i hate to admit how much even a few words of external validation mean to me. it’s *painful* to feel like you’re the last kid picked for the kickball team. this is not an appeal for anyone’s pity – just a recognition of why it bothered me so much.

but in all my pondering, sulking and mulling, i kept returning to this: it would pain me far more to not write at all. even if i only have an audience of one, writing has become so important to my daily life, so central to my being, that i could never quit it.

it’s become reflexive – i write in my head even when i can’t get to a keyboard. i write in my heart, even when it means nothing to anyone else.

i just can’t seem to quit you, my little den of iniquity.

so even if it’s just you and me and nobody else out there, happy anniversary.

last year – akron/family

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so 2010 didn’t get off to a great start for me. it all began back in 2009, when our boiler decided to cut out a few days before christmas, leaving us without any heat or hot water.

in an old flat with lots of falling-apart single pane windows – we’re talking stand in front of one and feel your hair blowing with the outdoor breezes.

during a 2 week cold snap with average temperatures of 0C (32F).

the thermometer read 12C (53F)… indoors.

thus began a 12 day saga to get the bloody boiler fixed. it included a mad dash for a space heater on Christmas day, waiting around for five plumbers appointments (two no-shows, and two where they didn’t actually even open the boiler) countless irate emails to our landlord, one denied request to stay at a hotel, one registered faux-legalese letter threatening to report it to the local council, and one episode of taking off work in the middle of the day to go home and identify the boiler model number. not to mention countless hours banging on the boiler fruitlessly, countless kettles boiled in order to take a lukewarm bath, countless tears of frustration, and countless hours huddled under blankets shivering.

it was hell. it was pure misery. it ruined my holidays.

finally, blessedly on monday we got our heat and hot water back. even now, two days later, i keep touching the radiators for their reassuring warmth.

imagine my reaction, then, when on New Year’s Day i awoke to an internet outage. which lasted six days. area outage, we were told – every day we would call up and be informed that it was estimated to be fixed by later that day, only to go to bed with the green modem light blinking sadly instead of glowing happily. finally they began telling us they couldn’t estimate when it would be fixed, and we stopped calling. thank god for 3g service – on those overlapping days when i was unshowered, freezing cold and internet-less, my iphone saved my sanity.

and then this morning i woke up to a happy modem light. praise jeebus and pass the beer nuts! there was a hairsbreadth line between me and the men in white jackets.

i may have previously mentioned my white hot hatred of virgin media.

this did not help.

so – not an auspicious start to the new year. but now i’m showered, warm, and fully connected again. it’s got to get better from here on out…right?

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I don’t make new year’s resolutions, as I think i’ve mentioned here before. Resolutions are doomed and there’s no point in making them – if you weren’t motivated enough to try to accomplish them throughout the year, you’re not likely to be any more successful just for starting on the magical 1st January. Instead, I enter into each new year with a sense of those things I want to try to shed and leave behind in the old.

This year, one of those things I want to leave behind is eating habits that are harmful to our planet.

There’s been a lot of mainstream attention given to our interaction with the food chain lately. Michael Pollan’s “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” and Barbara Kingsolver’s “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle”, along with films such as “Food Inc.” and “Fast Food Nation” all document the way in which the public demand and consumption of food has changed, and the dramatic way in which those changes have impacted how food is produced and delivered.

None of this is news to me -it’s not that I didn’t know any of this before. But with each additional piece of information, I’ve had to do even deeper exploration of why I eat the way I eat. I’ve had to question why I continued to ignore the clear messages. I’ve been taking it all in, but closing my eyes when I bite into that burger.

Because when I take the time to examine it, it doesn’t make sense. I choose not to shop at ASDA or Tesco’s because I disagree with their marketing and labour practices. But day after day, I pretend my eating habits don’t matter. I continue to put meat in my mouth, knowing the environmental toll it takes on the planet.

What it boils down to is this: I, more than many others, have the luxury of making deliberate, considered choices about the food I put in my mouth. Doesn’t that obligate me to do so? And why would I not?

The problem is, once you start thinking about it, it’s hard to stop. There are people in underdeveloped countries who are most vulnerable to the effects of global warming and overfishing, and yet have the least power to affect change. I’ve been to some of those places, I’ve met some of those people, I’ve seen the pollution first hand. How can I ignore it?

Over the past few years, I’ve reduced my meat consumption dramatically due to the meat-churning factories, and patted myself on the back for doing so. But I’ve increased my fish consumption exponentially – and that’s just as harmful. The fishing-industrial complex rivals that of the intensive beef or pork or chicken industries. It is estimated that by 2040 *all* fishing will have collapsed. For millions of people in developing countries, fish is the primary source of protein.

A few years ago now, I stopped eating chicken because of the gross practices of the chicken industry. I’ve bought only free-range, organic meat when I do indulge – and it is an indulgence, sold at a premium. I’ve rationalised that if i’m going to buy meat, I should always buy the most “ethical” meat I can. That’s a good place to start.

But why do my ethics seem to stop there?

I have a choice. I have the knowledge and money and availability to eat in a way that reduces the impact I have on the planet, the suffering of animals, and my personal contribution to the suffering of other people. Many people don’t have that opportunity. It’s hard to justify squandering that opportunity and continuing to eat meat and fish, out of habit or craving. I’ve been wanting to make the change for a while now… so what am I waiting for?

And so from the new decade, I’ve turned over a new (old) leaf. I was vegetarian for 14 years previously, but reverted to eating meat this past decade, because it tasted good. These days it’s harder and harder to get past the taste of the bitter disappointment in myself.

I can do better… and so I will. No grand resolutions, just a quiet saying goodbye. Leaving behind the old lazy rationalisations and excuses, starting to exercise my firmer judgement and choice. Not perfect, not holier-than-thou, just an improved version of who I know I can be.

Happy New Year to all.

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