My electric toothbrush died this morning. After more than 20 years. Burnt out. Busted. Going nowhere.
Which got me thinking about something else I can’t take with me. Not because it’s tangible, but because it’s intangible. Irreplaceable. Even valuable.
I struggle with giving it up because it’s valuable. Which is another way of saying two things.
- It isn’t valuable unless I give it away. Hoarding it does nothing for me.
- If I hesitate, the opportunity will be lost. Whether it helps anyone or not isn’t the point. I don’t want to live in fear mode. Especially about things that relate to me personally.
So what is it? It’s the opportunity to speak now, in this present moment, on behalf of all women everywhere who, with me, carry scars piled on scars. I don’t omit men and their scars. This time, though, I’m focusing on women.
Women are yet again (in my lifetime) pushing beyond the ‘normal’ cycle of news reporting. Insisting on being heard not once or twice, but over and over. Relentlessly.
Sadly, this has set in motion growing push back, with calls for ‘time out’ to slice and dice various permutations of inappropriate behavior toward women. Why? Because the men being talked about may be unfairly lumped together with all men. Which suggests we have generations of men and women who don’t yet get it.
Sexism, like racism, is in the air. The air we breathe, consciously and unconsciously from cradle to grave. No amount of slicing and dicing will ever capture the reality of what sexism does to the embodied soul of one woman or one little girl. Or the reality that no one is safe from sexism’s fallout.
It will take all of us—women and men alike—to begin turning the tide. We desperately need safe spaces for women to breathe, stand up and speak their minds. Telling their stories, often for the first time. Without fear of being judged, questioned as though on trial, or turned into side shows.
I’m tired of hearing subtle and not-subtle calls for women to Shut Up and Sit Down. It’s time to move on and try Listening for a change. Asking how we got here, and what we already know in our hearts needs to change, and what each of us can do about it.
Last night, just before I went to bed, I wrote these words in my journal as a kind of prayer:
I crave the companionship of women and men who carry scars like mine. Perhaps by naming my scars yet again I’ll find them, or they will find me. And then what will we say to each other and to the world?
Thanks again for listening, and for considering what part you might play in your neighborhood, or wherever you have a voice.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 2 January 2018
Quote found at squarespace.com
Telling the Truth 
January 9, 2018
hovering
hovering
betwixt and between
slow drip to nowhere
This morning small icicles were dripping outside my bathroom window. Destined to be gone by the end of this sunny day.
I wrote the haiku thinking about icicles. Yet the truth goes deeper. It reflects how I feel about our national preoccupation with the Washington DC ‘Reality Show.’ Guaranteed to make multiple appearances on popular late-night commentary shows dedicated not to commentary or thoughtful analysis, but to making one side or the other a laughing matter.
On top of which we now have a newly released tell-all book, guaranteed to bring gasps of horror and indignation, not thoughtful analysis.
And what of our future, our cohesion as a nation? Are we caught up in a slow drip to nowhere? Mesmerized by the theatrics of reality-show performances supported by friend and foe alike? Laughing our way to nowhere?
It’s good to ask questions. But not if the answer that most pleases us is a lame joke that takes the edge off our responsibility to be actively informed citizens. The future of our nation and our planet deserve out best efforts. Especially when it feels like the tide is against us.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 January 2018
Photo found at beachfrontbroll.com
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