Miss Understood

Sometimes, I feel like people willfully misunderstand me. It’s like they want to pick at me, or make me feel like I’ve somehow made a mistake — just because they didn’t listen to my initial explanation.

I still haven’t figured out why this happens. It doesn’t happen too terribly often — and it usually happens with the same people. I often wonder whether this means that I’m a poor communicator, or whether their willingness to understand things is just …

Look, I don’t think they lack the capacity to understand me. I think they lack the willingness to listen to me.

The best example of this is when I told someone about the show Derry Girls. It was just a one-off statement, like, “There’s this great show on Netflix that I think you’d like!” I realized they weren’t actually listening to me when, about thirty seconds later, they asked me, “What was that show you said you like? Dairy Queens?”

And — yes — this is one of the people who seems to intentionally not listen to the content and the context of what I have to say.

I always pretend like, “Whoops, maybe I should’ve been more clear! Hahahaha!”

But on the inside, I’m rolling my eyes so hard that Bug Out Bob would be impressed by the strength of my ocular reflexes.

Being Aware(ish)

As a white woman with Black ancestors — Black folks who lived a couple of centuries ago, folks who had a different lived experience than my own — I feel that …

I feel a certain way about lots of things.

I would like to think that even if I were “100% Swedish” or something like that, that I would care about the concerns of my Black sisters and brothers.

I do think, however, that being mindful of my own ancestors’ struggles has really opened my eyes to the everyday experiences of Black people. I’ve tried to put myself in the shoes of my Black ancestors — and I realized I could never fully understand their lived experience. But after realizing that, I realized that I should take more care to fully consider the things that my Black friends and acquaintances face on a daily basis.

Now, I’m basically a long-distance Melungeon. I’m sure there are people who look at me and “see it,” just as there are people who look at me and think I’m Greek.

I’m always mistaken for being Greek. I’m not, though. It’s not a bad thing to be — and I really like tzatziki sauce! But I am not a Greek person. I did like the Big Fat Greek Wedding movie, though. The first one.

Because I try to be considerate and mindful, I think about things like unintentional biases, and about the indignity of microaggressions.

Here’s a silly and slightly convoluted example. I’ll be walking, tugging at my shirt or my skirt, and pulling at my leggings to smooth out the bulge of my belly. And then I’ll swing my purse around in front of me, to hide my stomach or the too-long slit in my skirt.

Twice I’ve done this in front of Black teens, and I think, “My God, they’ll think that this white bitch is a racist.”

I always try to make a big show of patting my belly, too, which I think makes me look weird. Or pregnant. Or both.

Heck, I’d rather be the weird pregnant lady than the mean racist lady.

I try to be mindful of what I do, because I never want to be the mean racist lady. I want to always try to do better and be better. As I should.

As we should.

Many Acts of Love

On Valentine’s Day, I read that piece in the New York Times about all the different ways people quietly show their love for their partners.

Going off of frequency-of-mentions alone, the paper would have us believe that the secret to a happy marriage is this: brush your teeth together every morning and/or every night.

Twice daily, y’all.

Even if they’re on a business trip, even if they’re visiting family on the other side of the world — that’s what FaceTime is for.

Are you prepared for the storm of brushing, flossing, and lovemaking?! 🪥😬

Nobel Conflict Prize

Someday, I imagine I will win the Nobel Conflict Prize for goading the incels, the gym bros, the passport bros, and the guys still using Twitter into fighting with each other when I go on Facebook and post this:

“Name any males that were in shape in high school AND who stayed in shape after high school. Saying that you had a late growth spurt or had gains after your wife left don’t count.”

MFA vs. NYC vs. N-E-T

A few weeks ago, I learned something relatively innocuous. I learned that one of friend-quaintances is working on an MFA.

I have plenty of friends who are writers. I have friends (and foes) who are working journalists, who write things for millions of readers. In spite of knowing these friends are more “famous” than I am, it hasn’t really caused me to feel jealous.

But this felt different.

It’s difficult to explain, but I felt … not jealous, but kind of pained. Dejected? Weird? Sad? I can’t quite put my finger on why, but it felt weird to find out that someone I thought I knew would post that they were working on a novel.

And then — because I’m self-absorbed and unattractive, and prone to doing all sorts of ridiculous things — I wondered if any of her characters were inspired by me.

… probably not.

I do all of my writing online, with all of my material being self-hosted(ish) and self-published. I post fun stuff over here on my personal site and I post my serious stuff on Medium, so I’ve generally shrugged at the MFA vs. NYC debates — especially in the current era. We live in a time where journalists and writers are having to work at building an online presence, in spite of their hard work elsewhere. Journalists, novelists, poets, and artists are forced to become influencers and content creators if they want to continue “staying relevant,” “building their brand,” or … you know … possibly getting paid a living wage.

That last one seems more critical than the other two.

I often encourage writing for the sake of writing, even without a degree or fancy credentials or 200,000 followers.

People ought to be paid for their creative efforts, of course, but I don’t think people need to feel as if their writing is somehow less valuable because they’re a blogger without a degree, or a hobbyist, or a newbie.

Even the folks who will never get an MFA, who will never set foot inside a publishing company, who will never have a professional byline — all of these folks should keep writing.

Not under pressure or under duress — and not without recognition and compensation (of some sort). Write poems for your partner, if they’ll appreciate them. Share your work with friends and/or family. Maybe you can only share your work with Internet friends — but that can be freeing and helpful, too. It’s a way of building community, of sharing your skills, of participating in the world.

My hope is that all writers — hobbyists, professionals, people who are somewhere in between — will keep writing until we can figure out a more sustainable model for everyone to get a fair shake at things.

Catalogue of The Lonely 2020s

Similar(ly) to my index of the Squelching 2020s, which recaps some of the worst trends of the decade, I wanted to start a list of …

I don’t know what to call this. It’s just a list of the moments in our era that have made me realize that many, many people are frustrated and depressed. Here are the things that are making us sad:

1. high-beam headlights aggravating other drivers (and contributing to accidents and road-rage)

2. medical administrators outnumbering hands-on medical professionals and nurses

3. nurses burning out and quitting their jobs to do multi-level marketing

4. people oversharing online — and I don’t mean XOJane essays

(I’m talking about people posting embarrassing videos of their kids for clout. Willobeigh doesn’t want you to post a YouTube video of her diaper blowout! Your ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend doesn’t want you to post on Facebook about how her miscarriages gave you an idea for an essay about how to conquer your own jealousy. You don’t have to do this!)

5. posts on nearly every social network about people coming home and not having the energy to do anything besides cook dinner and take a shower — posts that are often written by young people

There are also memes about how “I’m going to spend the whole summer rotting in bed” or “the first thing I do when I get home from work is take off my bra and take a five-hour nap” — and when I see a 22-year-old writing sincere posts like this, I know that times are tough.

6. pressure to keep up with everyone else — without any satisfaction over where you’re at, because you’re always looking to accomplish something even more impressive

People aren’t satisfied with stability, either. They see that their friends are going on a cruise, so they have to go on a cruise. They see that their friend is taking Ozempic, so they have to try it, too. I think people should try new things, set goals, and all of that. But if you’re only doing it because you want to impress someone else, then you’re not doing it because you want to. You’re doing it to fit in and not be excluded. That sucks. ☹️

7. road rage — which seems to have worsened in the wake of the pandemic

8. (some) folks insisting that the pandemic is behind us, when we see the effects of it manifesting every single day

PTSD, Long COVID, isolation, trauma, depression, loneliness — all of these things are brutal, and these things can’t be swept under the rug so easily.

8. teachers burning out and quitting their jobs to stay at home and do multi-level marketing

9. twenty-four/seven news, twenty-four/seven shopping, twenty-four/seven social media — twenty-four/seven consumption

I’ll add more points as more things come to mind!

The Stone Roses

This is just a short post. Think of it as a musical interlude.

“I Wanna Be Adored” feels like a cold winter evening, a cool spring morning, ice crystals, fresh green grass.

It feels like a clear, beautiful moment. I want to savor it, so I listen to it over and over and over again.

Oh, man. I wish I’d been at Spike Island. At the concert, I mean — not at the chemical factory.