It's not easy being red

Wrote this over on Facebook, in response to some of the questions I was seeing about why people made their profile pics red and what the point of it all was. Thought it was as good as any a way to kick off my tenure here...

I thought to myself, why not? I'll make my little picture red, and do my little homo-solidarity thing regarding an issue that's important to me, and then on Thursday I'll swap it back over to the amusing cartoon of myself glaring and that will be that.
And then the day progressed, and I saw more and more red as I scrolled along my newsfeed, and I became more and more moved. 
Each time another "so-and-so changed her profile picture" showed up, I found myself getting emotional and near tears.
There's something that is nearly impossible to express in words; something that can only be felt and, unfortunately, seems to be connected closely to having experienced pain at some point. 
When you feel like you are all alone in the world, to see one other person across a crowd who looks like you can be a lifeline. 
When you feel like saying "sure, I know I'm okay, but I really wish I didn't have to fight all the time" and you hear someone else take up the fight for you, even if it's just once, that can feel like a boulder has been moved from off of your shoulders. 
When you have become so used to hearing hate that you tune it out; even if it's just a numb throbbing noise in the background it's still there. 
And to see the people you know, not even the people who you'd necessarily say you "love" but just the ones who make up your world, the ones who have just simply always been there, the ones who are happy to know you, stand up and say "look, I'm going to just put this here. Just to show that I care. That I got your back. That I might not get what it's like to have someone demonize me or wish me dead or treat me as less, but that doesn't matter, because I'm here" - that matters.
Seeing all of this red is amazing.
It isn't lost on me that this is also going on during Passover - when the red mark on a doorway meant that the inhabitants were safe, protected, not to be harmed.
I'm just so grateful. And I wanted to say thanks.

(in)adequate

I've been thinking, since I decided to embark on this little public writing voyage, about why it's so...goddamned...terrifying.  I'm constantly writing in my head, but letting out into the world sends me into a near panic attack.  As if any negative response will leave me crushed beyond recognition or recovery; as if any positive response will be utterly undeserved.  I don't know how or when I acquired this deep-seated fear of putting myself out there, but it's become paralyzing, and it's getting old.

I can remember every single instance where someone told me that I was good enough or smart enough, and I guess over the past few years, I have accepted every single one of those instances as truth, and have set about living up to them.  Or, I suppose, down to them.  

Which is pretty fucking stupid.

I wonder how many of us accept positions that allow us to merely survive.  I wonder what it will take for us to start telling people who insist that we are worth so little to fuck off.  I wonder what would happen if we all, tomorrow, say, or next week, just started saying no.  No, we won't keep silent.  No, we won't keep our passions quiet so as to better serve your dreams.  Nope. Sorry.  Not anymore.

What would that world look like?

I always swore that I'd never be one of the people who started a blog.  Swore. Up, down, and sideways.  I never felt informed enough, intelligent enough, motivated enough, articulate enough.  I felt that it would seem self-important: "Come! Read my opinions! Marvel at my natural depth and profundity!"

And more: how dare I present myself as someone who had the right to comment on...anything, really?  I have no expertise, and I (as will, undoubtedly, be discussed at some point) loathe this growing trend of internet writing that allows anyone to come off as an expert, simply because they had the wherewithall to figure out how to set one of these damned things up.

And even more: most days, I'm so fed up/pissed off/blown away by what's going on that I can't even find the words, let alone a whole bunch of them, that could even begin to comprise something that anyone would actually want to read.

And finally: I know that often, my opinions are unpopular. I've lost friends, lovers; I've pissed off family members, alienated myself at jobs--because of how I see things.  I've learned, through painful experience, to just shut the hell up already.

So it's come to this: wake up, go to work, try to ignore everything, go to job number two, try to ignore everything, come home, and fall asleep to another Chopped rerun so I don't think too much.

But I do think, all the goddamned time, and so when left to a monotonous task for too long without the distractions of teevee or another chat about how the kids next door are doing, I'm writing--composing essays that never find their way to the page, practicing perfect responses to bosses, friends, professors, exes, that will never be given breath. The whole living under a rock thing is not really working.

And then a chance moment poking around online reminded me of the sad fact: that almost everyone I know is in a similar boat--broke, pissed off, frustrated, and about ready to implode.  

So.

Herein will be rants, raves, and outlandish statements that can, at any moment, be revised or retracted. If you feel compelled to comment, if anyone ends up actually reading this, go right ahead.  Disagree, but respectfully, because we've all been there, and that shit ain't going down here.  And who knows.   Maybe we'll come up with some answers, find some expertise, or at the very least, make the drudgery of the work-work-sleep cycle a little more bearable because here, finally, is a place where we can all say the shit we hold back.  Where we can leave our rocks behind and find, if only for a moment, a bit of solidarity.