As the days go by, some obvious, some Tuesdays feeling like Saturdays, we're surviving. Some of us have grown frustrated, while others have grown accustomed to their leisurely activities. Some are working outside, some inside, some from home. All, I'm sure, are given a fresh perspective on their lives and the lives of others. Some have been granted a gift of "free" money, while others are waiting for theirs. Some are being paid, less than those who aren't, and some have simply not felt the changes we're all being forced to speak about daily. Masks are worn, some not. Confusion as to how they fit, how they work, and how we're supposed to move forward have consumed many. There is fear. There is joy. It's a weird time, but in many ways, it's like all other times. What's really changed other than our routines? The same routines we complain about, even when they bring us some happiness. We're taught that efficiency is brought on by routine. Routine brings on contentment. Contentment brings on happiness. Happiness is the goal, right? Routine is many things. Routine for me is getting out of bed the moment I wake, feeding Swag, and starting my day. It gives me a boost of energy, much more so than that first sip of coffee. Routine creates laziness, bitterness, envy, and a host of other sins. Routine for most is a reminder of their displeasure towards their own lives. Routine during these somewhat strange times have increased others' frustration while creating a sense of calm in many of us. We're the minority. We must remember this. We must never conform to it. Nobody gains by waking up angry and frustrated. Nobody! The sunny days have been spent outside for me. A sunburned nose will be a regret, but I can't imagine the poor soul who had to work on a Sunday, while the sun shone brightly down upon my glistening nose. Even worse is the person who chose to sleep late, then sit inside a dark room, frantically doing what could have been done on any one of those rainy days that preceded this blue warmth. I saw families who never walk, walking together. I myself took a rare solo hike, leaving behind my neighbor's dog, who has become my walking companion. I almost (almost!) relished in the slip that caused me to be covered in mud. Noticing termites eating trees that once stood tall, now just a pile of dust. I wondered if I had not gotten up. Not a macabre thought, but just the cycle of things. I have noticed a lot more over the past few years. I love this part of me. I worry about how much I've missed being sheltered, close-minded, and having an inability to adapt. I'm trying to make up for it. I still have hurdles, but as my mother always scolded me for, "You put up walls." She was, of course, being metaphorical, but as always, she was correct. I look back and I sometimes believe these metaphorical deterrents were not always to prevent me from doing what needed to be done, but often stopping me from being selfish. This is not to say selfishness was not part of my youth. I strongly believe, unless you're Greta or Malala, selfishness is almost a youthful right. It's our time to find ourselves and maybe my subconscious told me I'd be needed closer to home. Now, nearly a half-century old, I have this freedom. Freedom of choice that escaped me. I've had it since my mother passed and haven't embraced it, putting up those walls she chastised me for. I know I can climb them, smash them, or simply walk around them. My mother always took her advice, but always quietly, and often not so quietly reminded me that money creates these walls for all of us. She never let me feel those as a child, nor as a young adult. As I grew, got somewhat wiser, I realized that most of us, who never fly that far from the nest, use the same walls that protect us, to confine us. Now, with nothing to confine me, I stare and wonder what's keeping me. In this way, the virus has changed a thing. It's just another excuse to accept where we are and to go no further than we're told we're allowed. I want to flee now more than ever. If I get enough money, and the courage, I'll do it. Wearing a mask, of course.
This was a post I wrote on Facebook after surprisingly not seeing any moaning about the Documentary by Jose Antonio Vargas, titled White People Dayyum! I just scrolled my timeline and not a single white person got their feelings hurt by White People. I unfortunately haven't seen it, but the number of fake accounts that popped up on twitter, tells me it was a damn good show. Here's the thing. If someone of color aka non-white says "White Privilege," are you offended? If you said yes, then you are exhibiting white privilege. It has nothing to do with how hard you work or study, how you stayed out of trouble, because here's the thing, that is entirely the point. Somewhere out there, there are 100 Black, Spanish, Native American, Arab, Asian, who worked and studied as hard as you and never got in trouble, but they don't have what you "earned" or achieved. Stop looking at the one person you know who isn't white that achieved as your benchmark. Loo...
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