I am Writing Again

I am not a particularly gifted writer.  I do not have any journalistic expertise or experience aside from my work on my middle school’s newspaper.  Nonetheless, I want to write on my blog again, because while my writing may be inferior, something that I think that I am very good at is observing and sifting through information from a variety of sources. Not to sound too boastful, but I have excellent observation skills. Sometimes having those observational skills mean that I want to write about what I observe. My own world has changed dramatically in recent months, and I want to write about how what I have observed and continue to observe has changed how I view the world.

Last summer, we moved from our home in North Carolina to Macon, Georgia so I could take a job that was a step up in the career ladder for me. I didn’t really want to leave North Carolina, but I felt like I had to leave for professional development that wasn’t available to me at my beloved Carolina. Ever since I accepted my job here, that decision has weighed heavily on me. I am not always sure that I made the right decision. I don’t know if I will ever feel that assurance, but nonetheless, it was a risk that I took and so here we find ourselves in a small city in Middle Georgia.

I was not expecting for things to feel as different as they do from my previous life in prosperous larger metropolitan areas.  Durham may not be as prosperous as my previous homes in Washington D.C., Seattle, and New York, but as a part of the Research Triangle, it is full of highly-educated, economically advantaged people. Our house sold in less than 24 hours over asking price. It is that kind of place.  We had two SuperTargets less than a ten minute drive from our home. We had dozens of top quality restaurants. The public school district was diverse and improving. The RDU airport was less than a twenty minute drive from our house. I could go on and on about all of the advantages of living in Durham.

In many ways, Macon reminds me of the town where I grew up, Pensacola, Florida. The people are friendly, and the sense of history is strong. However, I left Pensacola in 1996. I haven’t really lived there since. Our country has changed profoundly in that time frame. Now, having returned to a town like Pensacola over twenty years later, I can see just how divergent the Two Americas actually are. Only, I don’t think that Two Americas is descriptive enough. There are more than Two Americas because there are at least Two Macons (a topic I plan on exploring again and again).  The larger point about the Two Americas I do think is entirely correct – that for many people living in one America (the highly-educated, prosperous urban America) they cannot comprehend with life is like for people in the other America.  And for people in the non-prosperous, urban America, they feel so marginalized by that, they cannot help but be fiercely protective of the status quo, often to their own detriment.

Not many Americans have spent their adult lives as I have – living my life across the divide. It has helped me hone my observational skills, but definitely leaves me feeling like an outsider whatever my current zip code may be. I don’t expect to ever fit in, but I do hope that I can use my own experience to try to improve the future of my new home, because my children will spend some portion of their childhood growing up here.  A place like Macon makes me feel keenly like I cannot just live on the sidelines, observing, but I have to use those observations to direct myself to some action. So in that way, I want to use this blog as a place where I write, to make sense of all of the observations and sources of information that I encounter so that I can have a cogent plan for action to make my community, my state, my country, and my world a better place for my kids and for all other children. That is why I want to blog again.

Our new home on the one snowy day we had in January:



On Hurricanes

When I was younger, hurricanes were a common theme in my writing. Growing up along the Gulf Coast, hurricanes and fear of them affected my childhood in a meaningful way.  Like many others, I write about what I fear. After adolescence, for many years I lived outside the hurricane belt of concern because I studied and worked far from the Southeast.  I tracked hurricanes through the beloved landscape of my childhood from the desks of my adult work spaces, glued to my cell phone used to check on loved ones.  Then, for ten years, there was nothing much to track. I forgot about them. They seemed only a distant memory. I started to drift back to the places where they could touch me again. First to the periphery – DC – then a little closer – to North Carolina – then closer still – to Macon, Georgia. When we moved to Macon, I was thrilled to find myself only a six hour drive from my beloved Gulf Coast and only a two and a half hour drive from the islands of Georgia’s Atlantic Coast.  I had forgotten all about the fear that these seemingly placid waters could invoke.  Even today, with the weather here deceivingly cool, autumnal, and perfect, it seems as if I am not supposed to know that there is something menacing headed this way from the Atlantic.  Were it not for modern satellite technology, none of us would have any clue.

We live in a old house, with single-paned windows, some cracked and in need of replacement. Will they be strong enough?  The ancient magnolia that shades the back of our house, will it be strong enough? What about the pines and oaks that frame our home? What about those beautiful eucalyptus trees that don’t belong in Middle Georgia but that delight my olfactory senses every morning?  I don’t know. I haven’t weathered any storms here.  The age of the house tells me that we should be okay, as it must have weathered strong storms in its past, but there never really has been another quite like Irma.  Granted, we live very far from where this storm will make landfall (where it will have truly devastating consequences), but if it rides up the spine of Florida, up I-75 we will get directly whatever is left of it, and all of my questions about the relative strength of my new surroundings will be answered.

I want to leave. I want to seek out the same safety that I knew as a child and flee to my parents home in Mississippi far from the core of where this storm is going to go, but David, having never experienced a hurricane, doesn’t think that is necessary. I hope he is right. As for my part, this hurricane is making me feel like a child all over again, and that worries me even more, because I know that I have to be the adult and protect my own children this time around. I have to provide for them the safety that my parents always provided for me. The responsibility of being the responsible one in a hurricane is not one that I have ever known, but I hope I am up to the task.

I hope that this storm will underwhelm and all of my fears will be misplaced. In particular, I hope it doesn’t do to Florida what I fear it may do.  I hope too that my fears here in Middle Georgia, far away from its landfall, won’t be realized and this hurricane can just be relegated to the mausoleum of memory with all of the others.

What is an American to do?

Today’s blog post is brought to you by all of the posts that I see of conservatives telling Americans upset by the election of Donald Trump that they need to stop protesting, get over it, support Donald Trump, and come together. Let’s just set aside the fact that these same people saying this now are the people that never showed that kind of respect to President Obama.

Whenever I hear someone say that people need to “stop protesting” and “support President Trump,” not only do I feel like those people lack empathy for people that are suffering, but what they really mean is they want the rest of America to go back to being invisible. We are supposed to be quiet and get in line. We are supposed to accept our place behind the white males (and white women) who voted Trump into power. That is the only acceptable version of America – Trump’s. We cannot mourn the loss of a vision of a kinder, more inclusive America without being called unpatriotic or immature.

I am not being dramatic about this – but today it hit me, that really, America isn’t anything close to a democracy. Our next President is a demagogue, who takes his cues from fascism. He is going to be our next President, not because he won a majority of American voters, but because of an anti-democratic institution created to appease slave owners. That isn’t a democracy at all.

Let’s think of the political systems from which he takes his cues.

He names his family, similarly uninformed and unqualified as he is, to be on his “transition” team, while also his family are the ones controlling his business interests. That sounds a little more Kryrgyzstan-like than American.

He plans on immediately withdrawing from UN Climate Accords and rebuild the coal industry. He wants to give us the air quality of Chinese cities, but even the Chinese are a part of the climate accords. Perhaps he is thinking this is the way we win the trade war he also plans on starting?  We can “compete” better if we don’t have any environmental protection laws, and even better if we don’t have any workers protections (I am sure that is coming soon). Corporations will bring back those manufacturing jobs then, even if they are low wage jobs that make people sick. I am thinking here he is taking his cues from Bangladesh, maybe?  Maybe throw in a little Democratic Republic of the Congo in there for how he will probably have his Secretary of the Interior (Sara Palin?) sell off federal land to mining conglomerates.

And then there is his choice to have Steve Bannon, godfather to the Alt-Right White Supremacists as the Chief Strategist to his Presidency. There is his statement today about deporting 2-3 million “undesirables” his first day in office. Will he send the military around to people’s homes to round them up?  I am sure that gives so much comfort to minorities everywhere! Let’s be honest, the most obvious parallel to a political regime happens to be a historic one from a major European country….

So when I see those people out there on the street, raising the alarm about this person taking control of our institutions, that is when I see America.  That is what gives me hope for the future. Telling them to go home and stop protesting is telling them to cease to believe in this country’s future. It is telling them to stop caring about what happens and accept the lot given to them. It is asking them to surrender their belief in America and instead accept that this country isn’t theirs.

The racism, the hate, the misogyny that Donald Trump’s campaign unleashed shouldn’t be accepted. It should be resisted every step of the way. I applaud those resisting it.  I applaud those out there reminding Donald Trump that he lost the vote of the people and it is up to him to make it right. The early signs are that he plans to do nothing in the way of actually trying to make it right for the people who have already been victimized because of his Presidency. He is going to rely on the same tools he used in his campaign, his entitled children and the rest of his hateful posse, Twitter rants, threats of deportation, and blatant falsehoods. Resisting this Presidency is the most American thing that any of us could do.


Dear White Men of America: You Have Forced My Hand and Now I Must Return to Blogging

I said that I was done with blogging, and I thought I was. This embittered return is brought to you by approximately 48% of American voters who decided to make a festering, decaying pile of last week’s Cheetos President of the United States. Did I mention that pile of Cheetos is also racist? And misogynist? And stupid? And fraudulent? And selfish? And greedy? And lustful for power? All of the horrible things, in other words.

So, I cannot stay silent for the next four years. I have to use every outlet available to me, even if one of those outlets is a blog seldom visited by others. It feels cathartic and right. So sorry Internet, you have to deal with more of my ramblings again.

Today’s edition is brought to you by way of inspiration from Ethan Cohen’s sarcastic Thank You notes he wrote in the New York Times to thank those who had a hand in Tuesday’s results. I have been mostly been waffling between grief and anger this week, but sometimes a good dose of sarcasm feels helpful to counteract the effect of those two extremes.  It feels right today.

Let me preface my letters with this. I don’t hate all white men! Not all men! There is my dad, who even though he is a Republican, didn’t vote for Trump. There is my husband, who is as big of an HRC supporter as they come. There are my darling boys, who will one day grow up to be white men who, if I can help it in any way, won’t fit into any of the categories of white men who will be addressed in the letters below.  And finally, there are many, many other white men who I am pleased to call friends or family and who have impacted my life in positive ways and who I praise for their kindness, understanding and goodness.  If you are reading this: you are most likely one of those people. Don’t take offense, because you are probably one of those, okay?

Now for the rest of you: you know me and I know you. We have never gotten along. In middle school, you called me Feminazi and “Dougiette” (female Dougie Houser, I am told). You gave me noogies. You liked to mock me. In high school, your language to describe me turned a little more colorful. One of you dirtbags popped my bra strap in my PE class. In college and law school, you thought I didn’t know my place. I wasn’t the BYU “marrying” type. I was too outspoken and called you out on your chauvinism.  You said things to me like I was taking up space in law school that should have gone to a man with a family to support. We have known each other a long time and we haven’t been friends. Sure, there may have been times when I have tried to hide my feelings for the sake of being accepted in the frivolous way that all people do in their lives, but I have always regretted it.  Your acceptance was always short-lived and always reminded me of how empty conformity is. So let’s get a little more specific, dear white men, because I have a few things to say after you all blew it for us.

Dear Michael Moore: Why are you everywhere right now? Shut up. We don’t need your Monday Morning quarterbacking. You said Donald Trump was going to win back in June or July and now you are doing your victory lap for “being right.” That’s so great the spotlight has returned to you! But let me ask, what were you actually doing to stop Donald Trump from being elected? You only seem to pop back up to tell the rest of us how wrong we were, and that doesn’t strike me as someone who is a true progressive – but an opportunist. You suck. Your movies are overwrought and unhelpful and you didn’t do enough to get HRC elected President to sound so high and mighty now.  You are the case in point to the larger group I am about to address next.

Dear Liberal White Men Who Are Littering Facebook, the Huffington Post, and Salon Talking about How HRC is the Worst and Now other Liberal White Men Need to Take Over the DNC: You aren’t helping. You claim that HRC didn’t do enough to win the vote of working class white men and that she should have talked about trade more. Oh, I am sorry that the world’s attention wasn’t focused on you and your problems for about five minutes. I am sorry HRC was trying to bring attention to some long forgotten issues that particularly affect women – like family leave, equal pay for equal work, subsidized child care, universal free Pre-K; or she was trying to comfort people terrorized in Donald Trump’s vision of America – immigrants, refugees, people of color, and Muslims – by talking about things like implicit bias, criminal justice reform, and comprehensive immigration reform. I suppose the fact that she lost the vote of white men had everything to do with the fact that she wasn’t talking enough about trade and nothing to do with the fact that white men preferred to vote for a misogynistic dumpster fire instead. No, we women had our chance, so now we need to surrender the future of the Democratic party back to you white males who will tell us what we need to care about in the future. I understand. Thank you too for reminding me of my place. Also, more likely than not, if you are the one saying these things now, you weren’t out there working like mad to get HRC elected and to stop Donald Trump. You may have been too busy lamenting Bernie’s demise to work the phone lines, canvass neighborhoods,  or register people to vote.

Dear White Men Who Voted for Donald Trump: I get it, not all of you hate women. You just don’t mind voting for a candidate for President who hates women, who sexually assaults women, who only can talk about women by talking about their personal appearance, who in his own words claims he doesn’t respect women. You don’t hate ALL women right? You just hated this woman running so much that it was preferable to elect a President who does hate all women. Can’t be too careful, right?  I mean, she had a private email server, right? That must mean that she is the worse option comparative to someone who never knew a minority group that he couldn’t insult in some way.

Oh wait, I get it; now I am being the intolerant “hateful” one by saying this.  I am supposed to “come together as an American”, which really means, shut the hell up and not be angry that any of this is happening. I am supposed to relearn my place in American society. You all have been telling me this since middle school. Why don’t I just learn my place and deal like the 53% of white women who voted for Trump?  They accepted their inferiority as women, so why can’t I?

Dear White Men Who Will Be in Power For the Next Four Years: Prepare to be held accountable for everything that you do and say. The majority of this country who didn’t vote for you to be in power, myself included, will not be silent. We won’t give up.  I cannot give up. There are too many things to fight for – most importantly fighting for the kinder, more inclusive, dare I say more-female America, that I know is there waiting to burst to the surface one we work this mess out.





Retractions and on Presidential Narratives

I said I was done blogging for a while. Now, I am back here again.  After watching last night’s New Hampshire Primary results, I wanted to write something here because I figured out how I wanted to explain my support for my chosen Presidential candidate. I wanted to write it here so I could easily point to it.  Perhaps I will muck it up in trying to write it down, but probably less so then just having to explain it without a written version.

Yes, just like 2008, I am supporting Hillary Clinton in the primary. I think I can better articulate it this time around.  In recent days Gloria Steinem has come under criticism for her statement (taken out of context) about young women supporting Bernie Sanders because “that is where the boys are.” I could probably write a long blog post about how the media, by minimizing what she and Madeline Albright said to its most controversial points, without looking at the larger context, is seeking to create conflict and ascribe a particular point of view to Hillary Clinton that doesn’t exist.  I am not going to write about that.  Instead, Ms. Steinem’s quote made me ponder, why is it that young people are supporting Mr. Sanders in such large numbers instead of Ms. Clinton? Why don’t I see what they are seeing? Last night’s concession/victory speeches distilled down the differences to me very simply.

Bernie Sanders would appeal to the 18 year old version of myself.  He speaks in platitudes, ideals and principles. Sure, he lacks specifics, but I didn’t have a significant amount of life experience at that time in my life. Instead, I was a person who poured over books by Erich Fromm, Herbert Marcuse, and others.  I was obsessed with the theory, with idealism. I was obsessed with charting a philosophy by which I wanted to guide my life. I didn’t care about policy specifics and whether any of my ideals were actually achievable.  But even more than that, my life experience consisted of books and ideas.  I didn’t understand the complexity of the lives of other people that inevitably would challenge my ideals.

I don’t criticize Bernie Sanders for appealing to the idealistic version of myself. It is important to have principles. However, it is also important to be honest and admit that sometimes you have to sacrifice those principles for the sake of practicality or politics.  Especially when you criticize, without any evidence to support it, your opposing candidate of being “corrupt”. I think it is great that he can give speeches on becoming Denmark, or expanding Medicare to cover all, or making college tuition free for all.  He is in the position of being able to talk about ideals coming from a state with a demographic that largely looks like him and thinks like him.

The undergraduate version of myself, as obsessed with the moral order of the universe as I was, still fell short as a human being, though. I was missing the most important part of the picture that I didn’t really learn until I was older: that human beings are more important than ideals.  When I started truly interacting with people through the practice of law, I realized how messy life is in practice.  When I had own heartaches and failures, I realized how much room I had to leave for other people to make choices to find meaning in their lives.  Yes, it is important to talk about how inequality is bad for people.  But when you sit down and talk to people, you realize that for most people, although certainly a global tax on wealth would help, it  isn’t going to make that individual person’s life better.

Politics are so dangerous, because it is so easy for all of us to become entranced by the ideal, and fail to realize that governance is messy.  Without trying to understand the particulars of people’s lives, it is hard to get it right. Yes, that isn’t easy in a country as large and diverse as ours, but I really think we start by focusing on the most vulnerable among us.  We take the time and listen to their stories, and the pledge to try to find policies that are specific enough to make a difference in their lives.  That is really what I see the candidate Hillary Clinton 2016 doing.  I think she is remembering what it was like to meet people in her early legal career, focus on their needs, and find solutions.  When she talked in her concession speech last night, I really sensed that. She told personal stories of people she had met and I could tell that improving the lives of people is what matters to her, not being a slave to unattainable principles. That is what appeals to me as a voter. I want someone who can deviate from their plan of “revolution” to take time to care for the most vulnerable in our midst. I want someone who takes time to listen to those people and say, let’s find a solution together, because I don’t have all of the answers. I don’t have the experience of your life, so let me listen to you, and then based on my experience, we can try to come to a solution together.

I think it is a different way to approach politics. Are you governed by your zealotry for your principles, or devotion to making people’s lives better? I would argue that the two are not the same. It is impossible to account for all of the complications of the human experience of you are solely motivated by your principles and you offer no space for pragmatism. If you think sweeping revolution is the answer, then you are presuming that you already have the answers. Bernie Sanders has all of the right principles. I don’t disagree with them. I don’t disagree with the travesty of Citizen’s United. But you cannot be against the travesty of the Citizen’s United case and ignore the story of it – as one that affected Hillary Clinton personally. And yes, obviously campaign financing reveals something truly rotten in our democracy.  However, simply overturning Citizen’s United doesn’t solve the issues of campaign finance. It doesn’t suddenly render government accessible to people instead of corporations. There is more to it than that. And also, even if campaign finance reform happen, does that mean suddenly politicians would be forced to consider how black children in Mississippi receive a quality basic education enough to be able to attend college, much less pay for it?

Last night, I heard two different versions of how to approach change in this country. I am with Hillary Clinton, because I support her method of getting there, focusing on improving the lives of people without being a slave to ideals that not only are unworkable in the American political system, but don’t leave space for considering whether or not those ideals meet the real daily needs of the most vulnerable. I like how HRC is focused on the holistic and varied needs of people which is evidence from the ways she has taken seriously her obligation to listen and to find ways to help. I mean, how many other candidates have comprehensive plans on government support and assistance for people on the autism spectrum? I really see her as a candidate who is willing to listen, learn, and then foster policy solutions that take into account new information. Sure, the net result of that may be wonkish instead of rhetoric that is soaring and appealing, but to me, it reflects a devotion to people more than ideals.  It results in policies that are precise, thoughtful, and articulate instead of proposals that are inflated, lack attention to detail, and unworkable.

The older I get, that is exactly the way I want to be.  I want to be a person who is never comfortable with thinking that I have all the answers. I want to continually be learning, changing, and evolving to be more cognizant of other people and their needs. I don’t think I will ever be comfortable with platitudes again.

And see I can make my argument for support without even getting to the foreign policy experience and expertise, which is where I usually end up…

You don’t have to subscribe to my views of the speeches last night and the larger conclusions that I have made. Watch the videos for yourself: Hillary Clinton’s speech here, Bernie Sanders’ speech here

Also: I am hardly the only person who thought her concession speech last night was particularly good.

When We Were Young

So, like most of America in late 2015, I got the new Adele Album, 25. I sat listening to her song “When We Were Young” thinking, um Adele, you are writing this album when you are 25, you are still young. And then I figured it out. I get it. Having children makes you feel old. Even if you are, like Adele, a young adult when you have those children. I am much older than Adele and I feel impossibly old.  Sometimes, I talk about high school and college like they were yesterday and then I realize, they were a really long time ago.

However, in a strange way, having children also takes me back to my post-adolescent idealistic phase because I want to be my best self for my boys. I want to be completely ethically consistent and strive to be the kind of person that I want them to be. When I see how materialistic, selfish and stratified the world has become, I am sad. Sure, there have always been class boundaries, and certainly racism has always been endemic to the humans, but these days, I am trying to do my best for my boys to be able to acknowledge the privilege into which they were born and then do something positive in that world.

So I haven’t been blogging because I don’t see blogging as a force for good in the world. It is a way for shallow people to showcase their materialistic lives, as is pretty much all of social media.  It is a way for people to turn their children into little commodities to increase their bank accounts and their consumption of goods that they deem to be “tasteful” according to the prevailing aesthetic sentiment in the world of privileged white people.

I don’t want my kids to be a good to be leveraged for Google advertising and page views. I want them to have an authentic childhood that isn’t going to be judged by internet strangers and then stuck on a page for millions to see in the future. I want them to have the opportunity to write their own stories. Yes, I want to keep memories of them in the written form, but those shouldn’t be for the public consumption of others. Perhaps it has taken me too long to figure this out. No doubt, I still have plenty of other materialistic shortcomings that I haven’t rooted out of me. Those are things I need to work out for the good of myself, my children, and for the world in which I live.

I see the shallowness of the blogging world and I don’t want any part of that. In fact, it really has bothered me lately, when in my own religious tradition, really wonderful people who happen to to love people who are the same sex are being told they are apostates for loving someone else, people who make a living off of selling a fake lifestyle, using their children as props are held up as paragons of virtue. I know, who am I to judge, right? Those aren’t my religious values. Those aren’t my ethical values. And frankly, I don’t think Jesus Christ would disagree with me on that.

So yes, I don’t see myself blogging for a while. I am just going to be enjoying my life with my boys in the same way that people did before the Internet.



Stretching Our Legs

One of the great things about staying at Jock Safari Lodge is that on their concession in Kruger National Park, you can do things that members of the general public visiting the park aren’t allowed to do.  So you can ride in a vehicle with open sides and a trained game ranger. You can also stop and get out of the vehicle to “stretch your legs” during long game viewing drives.

DSC_0519DSC_0515DSC_0631 (2)DSC_0418

This stops usually coincide with sunrise or sunset and you have sundowners and the ladies try to find some kind of shrub that will suffice as facilities, since you have been riding on a bumpy road for a few hours. And then after the business is taken care of, you enjoy the spectacular views.WP_20150814_17_17_33_ProDSC_0514DSC_0752If you are doing a proper safari, you probably have eaten far too much in between game drives, and so those few minutes out of the jeep to stretch your legs feel so great.

However, in addition to the mid-drive stretches, at Jock Safari Lodge, they also offer walking safaris, something that we wanted to take advantage of one day.  Again, it seems like food on safari is really plentiful.  I cannot say no to it either.  I have the best of intentions to exercise, but who wants to hang out on a treadmill on vacation, particularly when the other options are to get a spa treatment, laze by a pool, or watch the animals pass by from your day bed overlook?

The walking safari was one of my favorite parts of our trip to Jock. We walked to some rocks across the river where the resident lion herd sometimes laze about with their cubs, but we didn’t spot them. In fact, we didn’t see any animals, except at a very far distance during the walk, but it was amazing nonetheless.  It was an opportunity to spot some of the smaller parts of the ecosystem that one tends to overlook when racing around in a Land Rover looking for big cats.  It was quiet, peaceful, and there was the thrill that at any moment in time, a possible dangerous situation could emerge. Perhaps we would stumble on a herd of elephant or grazing buffalo.  And then I wondered, what would we have done if the lions would have been at the rocks we visited?

One of the other guides, Lazarus, showed us small things like the eggs of praying mantises.

DSC_0667We walked single file, led by two guides who carried rifles in case of emergency.  They never have had to use them, but they shared with us some of the closer escapes that they had on other occasions.

DSC_0670WP_20150814_10_46_52_ProDSC_0669WP_20150814_10_46_08_ProThese rocks were our destination. When we reached them, since the lions were not there, we climbed to the top for amazing views across the river.

DSC_0674Can you spot the giraffes in the distance in the above photo?

DSC_0677It was hot, and I was sweaty and not particularly attractive, but I loved every second of it.

Here was our view of Jock from our lofty perch:

DSC_0679DSC_0680Scrubby, beautiful Kruger in the dry season. I am so happy my soles were able to tread in your soils, if only for a short time.