harder, not easier

I see people posting links to tiny houses on Facebook, with longing comments about their dream of living a simpler life, and I contrast it with the number one comment people make when walking into my house, which is, ‘we would kill each other.’

It seems like life would be easier, looking at someone else’s tiny house, cleared and staged for a photo shoot, but the reality is a lot more complicated.

Having a small space does not make it easier to get rid of things, it just makes it more necessary. Also, the things you do have, things that you treasure and are important to you will become more oppressive. Quickly.

It’s time to get rid of my books.

I have come to believe there are three sorts of women, when it comes to questions of maternity. There are women who are born to be mothers, women who are born to be aunties, and women who should not be allowed within ten feet of a child.

It’s really important to know which category you belong to.

It can be a tragic situation (personally, for a family, and for the community at large) when a woman ends up in the wrong category, based on her true nature. Women who long for children but cannot have babies suffer enormously, as we well know, and my heart aches for their loss. But children who are born to inadequate or unprepared mothers also suffer enormously (and their mothers suffer, too—trapped in a responsibility that they can neither meet or enjoy.)

Those of us who are natural-born aunties are luckier. We love children, we enjoy children, but we know in our deepest heart that we are not supposed to have children of our own. And that is absolutely fine, as not every woman in history needs to be a mother, or would be good at it. Now, listen—if you put a baby in front of me, rest assured: that baby is going to get cuddled, spoiled and adored. But even as I’m loving on that beautiful infant, I know in my heart: This is not my destiny. It never was. And there is a curious rush of joy that I feel, knowing this to be true—for it is every bit as important in life to understand who you are NOT, as to understand who you ARE. - Elizabeth Gilbert

“TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”
― Howard Zinn

The road into the halfway point of Saturday’s ride was lined with signs. They were photos of kids with cancer, the colors of which were running in the rain. It looked like they were crying. Or maybe that was me.I knew the biking would be hard, physically. I knew the night before that the conditions would be challenging. I was not prepared, though, for the people lining the roads with signs, screaming and cheering encouragement in the pouring rain. I was so grateful for every one of them. I kept thanking them. ‘Thank you. Thank you for coming out. Thank you for being here.’  And almost every time I got back ‘No, thank you. Thank you for riding. Thank you for doing this.’ Every one of them had been touched by this disease. Every one of them had felt powerless in the face of it, and wanted to find a way to make some difference. When we pulled into that rest stop, Mel turned around and said to me, ‘Was that supposed to help? I was practically bawling.’  I don’t know if it was supposed to help. But nothing about this is easy. That much I do know.

There is still time to donate if you are so inclined. The PMC hopes to raise 40 million dollars by October 1st and every little bit helps.
http://www2.pmc.org/profile/KW0158
  • Camera: GoPro HERO3+ Black Edition
  • Aperture: f/2.8
  • Exposure: 1/200th
  • Focal Length: 2mm

The road into the halfway point of Saturday’s ride was lined with signs. They were photos of kids with cancer, the colors of which were running in the rain. It looked like they were crying. Or maybe that was me.

I knew the biking would be hard, physically. I knew the night before that the conditions would be challenging. I was not prepared, though, for the people lining the roads with signs, screaming and cheering encouragement in the pouring rain. I was so grateful for every one of them. I kept thanking them. ‘Thank you. Thank you for coming out. Thank you for being here.’  And almost every time I got back ‘No, thank you. Thank you for riding. Thank you for doing this.’ Every one of them had been touched by this disease. Every one of them had felt powerless in the face of it, and wanted to find a way to make some difference.

When we pulled into that rest stop, Mel turned around and said to me, ‘Was that supposed to help? I was practically bawling.’  

I don’t know if it was supposed to help. But nothing about this is easy. That much I do know.

There is still time to donate if you are so inclined. The PMC hopes to raise 40 million dollars by October 1st and every little bit helps.

http://www2.pmc.org/profile/KW0158

Last night Mel said, I’d much rather be drinking a coke with Kris Kono than doing this ride. It made my eyes fill up. But only one of those options is open to us, so ride we will.