Horrors

 I've never liked getting scared for fun...can't watch horror movies, hate zombie costumes, don't even like Hallowe'en or Day of the Dead. I used to be able to explore dark subjects, but now I am not even finding that interesting. Real daily life is actually much more horrifying than I have ever noticed in the past, and that is plenty.

I first started to notice how fearful old people were as my Mom aged...not her, but people in her writing group. They seemed to have protected lives, dependable husbands, expensive houses in good neighborhoods...all the constructions white people of means generally put in place early in their lives for their personal safety. But of course no one is exempt from physical breakdowns or accidents or all of the many random things that come to us...and my Mom was brave because she had seen some of the hardest up close. I saw some of those...and I suppose it was the randomness of mental illness and alcoholism that made me fearful from a young age, though I was good at dissociation and forcing myself into situations that were riskier than I was willing to admit.

I used to do a thing of engaging a character named "General Bravado" when I wanted to travel alone or go to a bar or do all the adventurous things I felt compelled to do in my twenties. I'd look in the mirror and gear up and throw my fate to the winds with his imaginary protection. This almost amuses me now, but I was a product of the 1950s suburbs, a house with a deed covenant, a mostly segregated school system, and all the white supremacist system around me to limit any input or empathy I had for people with other life experiences. In my world, women were discriminated against, and of course I observed racism and had racist assumptions, but my life was important over anyone else's and I completely bought into individualism. That still persists. 

Once I got my own house (with the partial dependence I allowed myself with a man) I finally really felt safe (once he was out of the house) and I was able to raise a son and run my business and feel generally self-protected as long as I could hide out in my little safe neighborhood. I could be vulnerable and explore emotional territory but was still a chicken and stayed in my comfort zone. I considered myself traumatized from my life previous to age 40 so was pretty self-protective. I felt vulnerable every week selling at Market but not so much physically, just emotionally. That phase is over.

I had been an activist for peace and justice but found once I had a child I could no longer go to demonstrations, and even after he was grown I found my emotions too obtrusive to engage in protest. The Occupy movement and then the Black Lives Matter movement on top of the pandemic took away my illusion of safety for the most part, as I learned about the real US history of human trafficking and dehumanization and my silent complicity. I watched livestreams and cheered people on and read a ton of books and articles and did as much work as I could to make some small change...within the limits of my lack of real courage. Gradually I accepted that courage could include fear...it wasn't the absence of fear, it was the determination to set it aside to do what was right.

So I rush to the sidelines of marches and encourage and express gratitude. I support and try to amplify others, and I try in a limited way to engage "in person" as we do now in meetings and groups. I get to do it from my safe kitchen. I rely on my privilege and do whatever small things I feel I can handle, and it never feels like enough. I tell myself my priority is just staying alive for a decade or two more and figuring out to sustain what I have built, alone and with others.

It's getting harder. My son visited with the idea of helping me cut down a tree and that was fun. I use hand saws and it makes me feel powerful and strong and he got that. He enjoyed it too. I think a lot of things I should have taught him and I did kind of convey that you can do everything and may not need to jump through all the hoops that seem to be necessary...I remodeled my own house mostly by myself but I also did a lot of things kind of inadequately...so we talk about that as I have to redo them now, fifteen or so years later. I did it mostly before the internet, with library books for research and some help from men, which was pretty problematic but I did get it mostly done. My motivation, as I recall, was to get him a room with a door on it (he slept in a pass-through room to the bathroom) and I did accomplish that in his mid-teens, more or less. It was almost good enough, and better than many single moms did. I worked very hard. Work was always my priority and we didn't travel or do a lot of the things other families did. I passed on some flawed thinking, but he went farther and can now teach me, which works. We love each other. He will be of some help as I really age, though I am trying to set it up so that will be bearable for him. Independence and individuality is still the strongest undercurrent of my life, as it serves me, but I am lucky enough to have a huge community which I sadly mostly take for granted. 

So I have some challenges about giving back, maintaining friendships, being compassionate, and not isolating. I wouldn't say life looks easy going forward. But at least I am not really alone, and have opportunities to engage much more as I shed my self-importance and am more humbled.

Yesterday gave me some new respect for people who keep selling at Market when they don't make much in sales. It was my all-season low and actually lower than several seasons, and yet I made what many others would have thought to be a great day. I was bored and mostly just went over to farmers and bought things for winter as there are only two more weeks for me to shop there. I have stopped collecting crafts as I have to get rid of things now, not get more, so food is all I buy. I used to go around and make sure people who weren't doing well got some of my encouragement, but I just can't bring more things home. 

The end of the day was scary. A Free Palestine march came through, a very passionate group. It was not anti-Israel or anti-US, just anti-genocide and violence and promoting freedom for this oppressed population. To me it is obvious that the Palestinian are the victims of the violence and although the US is making a small effort to help them, the majority of our aid is oppressive death-dealing weaponry. Our world has changed and war with it...targeting citizens is blatantly a tactic while it used to be pretended that ordinary people were just "collateral damage." Now everyone is at risk. I suppose this was always true but our news coverage allowed us the imaginary view that ordinary people are generally safe. Like they are here in the US, right? Not now. 

Cars were backed up behind the march. There were a couple of groups of bike cops on the sidelines watching but they were not escorting at the front or back to protect the marchers. That was done by the courageous group of people we see in all recent marches, who watch and protect and make sure it stays fairly safe. I've benefitted from these guardians several times as angry people tried to engage me in arguments on the sidelines and they silently stood near me, ready to assist. This time I instinctively walked to stand behind the bikes but as I was doing this they yielded and the angry drivers were able to go down 8th for half a block, where some tried to go down Park or Willamette and others just got madder. One truck went on Park the wrong way and others just went around the block to harass some more. Trucks with "patriotic" flags and yelling men at the wheel, cars blasting horns, people convinced that their right to drive on a public street "trumped" (so ironic to say that) a large group of people exercising free speech to defend justice and the right to live in peace. They must have a nuanced and dissonant argument about free speech and liberty, not that I want to hear it. 

For me, my mind went to our recently developed active shooter plan, which I doubt will help me as I just fawn in crisis and will no doubt try to crawl behind a tree and cry. I didn't even get out of the street until a truck came by with two extremely menacing dogs in the back, free to jump on me and tear my throat open. As it turned out, somewhere on the march a truck forced its way through and the driver menaced with a gun of some type. He was arrested about a block from us, with more guns, it is rumored. Needless to say there was no business happening for the last hour of our day. I support the marchers, if that isn't obvious, and deplore the angry people who followed them. I don't know if I will feel safe for awhile. I am not going to feel safe about Hallowe'en next week with all the opportunities for people to display disturbing images and hide themselves behind masks and characters. I hope it is all Barbies and Kens because I may have to stay home.

I don't think it is unrelated to the noose with the black doll in overalls that was hung briefly in Springfield. That is certainly not the only place white supremacy culture is displayed around here. We overlook it all the time. We spread it ourselves in our ignorance and refusal to learn. We deny our complicity and fail to do the scary things to even discuss it in our communities. We close our eyes and hide out. 

I'm not having the pleasant day off I was looking forward to. I'm hypervigilant and in a weird way glad I have some kind of redneck neighbors with guns, because I think they would help me if I needed it. They are actually the most unsafe and least understood people on our street, but they call me hon and I rake their leaves. I'm kind of glad they have barking dogs. My illusions are tarnished, as they well should be. None of us are safe from hate.