I want to do it so I can still like everyone. So, when I see you IRL, I can be happy and think only of the things I love about you. I do not want my feelings to be clouded by the recent post that I saw that you liked or by an inflammatory video that you posted. And likewise, I do not want you to think badly of me because of my politics.
But before I go, I want to leave with a few things that have been on my mind these last few days.
My husband is a first generation American. His father was born in Tehran, Iran. The last name that I carry is Persian. After 9/11, our family was on a "watch list" when we flew for about a year. Solely because of our last name. This was okay. We all understood. But we could still fly, just with some inconveniences.
My husband would not be here if his father had not been allowed to come to the United States.
The 2000 +/- jobs that had been created in the 27 years of operation of our business would not have happened.
My brother-in-law is also married to a 1st Generation American. Her two parents were both from Iran and came to the United States.
My father-in-law's wife is from Iran and came to the United States fairly recently.
Her son, my other brother-in-law, a respected dentist, is also from Iran.
They all have family still in Iran.
So, when you think it is insignificant that a travel ban is put on Iranians, when you post your ha ha jokes about the ban ruining your summer vacation to Iran, keep in mind that there are real people that have real family in these countries.
And, just a little sidenote, Iran is a gorgeous country. It is one that you would probably actually love to visit on a summer vacation.
Back in the late 70's and early 80's, when relations between Iran and the US were strained, and my husband was just a small boy, someone had spray painted "Nuke Iran" on the side of the neighborhood 7-11. This terrified him. Terrified him that someone would find out that he was Persian. Terrified him that someone out there hated him.
Now we are back to this again.
It breaks my heart that someone might look upon my niece and nephew, that look very Middle Eastern, and hate them or think that they are terrorists.
I recently saw a video that had been making its rounds that featured a large man that seems to be working security in Iraq. In this video, which I admit is compelling, he speaks about how if he left the base in Iraq and went into town, what would happen to him. He says that the Iraqi people that he works with said that he would be killed by the townspeople and beheaded as an example.
He then goes on to make his point, which is why would we let in these same people to the United States. If they would do that to an American in their country, what would stop them from doing it to Americans when they are in the US.
As I said, compelling.
However, his argument doesn't hold water. Look upon the approximate numbers of immigrants from the countries that are on the banned list that are living in the US:
Iran 1,000,000
Iraq 102,000
Syria 143,000
Yemen 20,000
Somalia 85,700
Sudan 49,000
Libya 9,000
And these are just the numbers of the legal people.
So, with all these people already in our country, where are all the beheadings?
Be kind to one another, friends. Don't live in fear. And remember that love always wins.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
Monday, January 23, 2017
Let's Build Bridges
Since the election, (yes, that election), I had debated off and on and off again about writing this post. This post which I am now writing here instead of Facebook.
I grew up in a small, rural town where I would guess that most people were, and still are, Conservatives, although at that time, people did not wear their political views on their sleeve. These are the people that I grew up with. I know them and their hearts and I think they know me. They are part of who I am today and I can say that I love them. Perhaps I do not agree with some of their views, but I see in ways how they were formed.
As a younger adult and small business owner, I identified as a Conservative. Yes, I was a card carrying Republican. I voted for George W not once, but twice. My views were formed due to several factors. One being that as an entrepreneur, I felt that in most cases in the United States, with enough hard work, fortitude and hustling, anyone could make something of themselves. In addition, many labor laws put a squeeze on us, sometimes unfairly.
I also identified as a Conservative because of my beliefs about abortion. I am adopted. For as long as I can remember, I felt this gratefulness that my life had not been extinguished because my birth mother was not prepared to be a mother. I had, and still have, a keen awareness that it would have been much easier for her to have aborted me. I would not be writing this if she had.
Finally, I aligned myself as a Conservative because at the time I was misguided into believing that as a Christian, that was the political party I should align myself with as it was supposedly the "most Christian". Please, don't get me started on that.
Now, before you make your final opinion of me and chalk it up to "so typical". Let me tell the second part of my story. The one that begins as the financial meltdown of 2008 happens.
You see, suddenly I was on the side of the people needing help, needing a handout. I was desperate despite my hard work. I was just trying to keep my house and provide for my children.
This changed me forever. I saw firsthand how quickly a broken down car could lead to disaster. I knew the pain of not being able to buy Christmas gifts for my children.
I will never forget this.
Because of this experience I was given, I saw things through a different lens. And my politics began to change. And I began to understand that for me, a more liberal viewpoint aligned more rightly with who I now was. My heart began breaking for people and their situations. Sometimes things are not all black and white.
But the point of all of this writing is to call for us to build bridges with one another. While I no longer call myself a Conservative, I can understand where the Conservatives are coming from. I may not agree with them in many areas, but calling them names is never going to change anyone's mind.
Likewise, Liberals calling Conservatives names or thinking that they are all brainwashed is not going to create a place where we can talk and discuss and exchange ideas.
It is easy to build a bridge. First, find some common ground. Then build from there. A bridge cannot be built by throwing stones, it is built by lying them down carefully. It is built from both sides until meeting in the middle to cross the chasm. You cannot start the bridge in the middle, as there is no common ground to hold it up. Bridge building is precarious and sometimes dangerous. Sometimes you need to be braver than you want to be and sometimes it is better to lay down a big stone that you just want to hurl. You can work with other bridge builders and not agree with them about every single thing, but the key is to keep looking back at that common ground. You don't have to like your fellow bridge builders, but only accept that they too want this bridge built. Building a bridge is not a matter of being the most right, it is a matter of working together. And, in my very humble opinion, unless we work hard at building bridges, nothing is going to change and we will be in for years and years of what we all have experienced these last few days.
I don't believe that anyone, Conservatives or Liberals, want that.
I grew up in a small, rural town where I would guess that most people were, and still are, Conservatives, although at that time, people did not wear their political views on their sleeve. These are the people that I grew up with. I know them and their hearts and I think they know me. They are part of who I am today and I can say that I love them. Perhaps I do not agree with some of their views, but I see in ways how they were formed.
As a younger adult and small business owner, I identified as a Conservative. Yes, I was a card carrying Republican. I voted for George W not once, but twice. My views were formed due to several factors. One being that as an entrepreneur, I felt that in most cases in the United States, with enough hard work, fortitude and hustling, anyone could make something of themselves. In addition, many labor laws put a squeeze on us, sometimes unfairly.
I also identified as a Conservative because of my beliefs about abortion. I am adopted. For as long as I can remember, I felt this gratefulness that my life had not been extinguished because my birth mother was not prepared to be a mother. I had, and still have, a keen awareness that it would have been much easier for her to have aborted me. I would not be writing this if she had.
Finally, I aligned myself as a Conservative because at the time I was misguided into believing that as a Christian, that was the political party I should align myself with as it was supposedly the "most Christian". Please, don't get me started on that.
Now, before you make your final opinion of me and chalk it up to "so typical". Let me tell the second part of my story. The one that begins as the financial meltdown of 2008 happens.
You see, suddenly I was on the side of the people needing help, needing a handout. I was desperate despite my hard work. I was just trying to keep my house and provide for my children.
This changed me forever. I saw firsthand how quickly a broken down car could lead to disaster. I knew the pain of not being able to buy Christmas gifts for my children.
I will never forget this.
Because of this experience I was given, I saw things through a different lens. And my politics began to change. And I began to understand that for me, a more liberal viewpoint aligned more rightly with who I now was. My heart began breaking for people and their situations. Sometimes things are not all black and white.
But the point of all of this writing is to call for us to build bridges with one another. While I no longer call myself a Conservative, I can understand where the Conservatives are coming from. I may not agree with them in many areas, but calling them names is never going to change anyone's mind.
Likewise, Liberals calling Conservatives names or thinking that they are all brainwashed is not going to create a place where we can talk and discuss and exchange ideas.
It is easy to build a bridge. First, find some common ground. Then build from there. A bridge cannot be built by throwing stones, it is built by lying them down carefully. It is built from both sides until meeting in the middle to cross the chasm. You cannot start the bridge in the middle, as there is no common ground to hold it up. Bridge building is precarious and sometimes dangerous. Sometimes you need to be braver than you want to be and sometimes it is better to lay down a big stone that you just want to hurl. You can work with other bridge builders and not agree with them about every single thing, but the key is to keep looking back at that common ground. You don't have to like your fellow bridge builders, but only accept that they too want this bridge built. Building a bridge is not a matter of being the most right, it is a matter of working together. And, in my very humble opinion, unless we work hard at building bridges, nothing is going to change and we will be in for years and years of what we all have experienced these last few days.
I don't believe that anyone, Conservatives or Liberals, want that.
Friday, October 28, 2016
How It Happens
When I was around two, I was enamored with a girl that lived down the street. She was five and went to kindergarten. She had two older brothers that were young teenagers.
One day, I went to her house to wait for her to come home from school, as I sometimes did.
Her parents weren't home, but one of her brothers was.
I went in and we started watching tv. It is like a snapshot in my mind. It was the show, That Girl with Marlo Thomas. I was disappointed because I didn't like the show, but I was always impressed with her umbrella twirling at the beginning.
The next thing I knew, his pants were off. He was standing in front of me naked, asking if I had ever "seen one of these before". What happened next is blurry. I have a snap shot of me running through a hall, and then one of me sliding down some stairs. I remember him chasing me, and then I remember being back at home.
I told my mom.
I don't know what happened, but I don't think anything did.
This is where it begins.
Next, when I was somewhere between eight and ten, my parents had a party. It was kind of a neighborhood affair. An older man that lived down the road was there. He was always a curiosity, as he lived alone and his house was filled with Playboy magazines and posters of naked women all over his house. I do not know why my parents thought it was okay for my brother and I to ever go to his house. He was also a drunk, although I didn't realize this at the time.
At the end of the party, when he was leaving, he gave me a hug that was too close and then he kissed me and put his tongue in my mouth.
I told my parents.
I don't know what happened, but I don't think anything did.
When I was in high school, a friend's boyfriend, whom I was also friends with, took me out onto a backroad. We were drinking. My friend was out of town. The plan was that we were going to drink a little, then go to a club to go dancing. I was drinking a wine cooler. He took his pants off.
He told me to try taking my clothes off. That it was fun to drive naked. I said no.
He parked the car and told me to touch him. I started to cry and said no. He put my hand on him and then tried to kiss me. I asked him to stop. He then started to touch me. I told him to please just take me home and I wouldn't tell his girlfriend, my friend.
He agreed. The next morning, my friend called me and was mad at me. He told her, except he told her his own version, which included me being willing.
My friend told another mutual friend, who said "I'm not surprised".
I guess it was my fault.
When I lived in Hollywood, I was walking down the street near my apartment. I was on the side of the street that seemed to be a little less savory. There was a group of three guys hanging out. My gut told me to cross the street and avoid them. My head told me to not be afraid. I listened to my head.
When I reached the guys, they started saying things to me and I ignored them. I tried to keep walking. One of them asked if I thought I was too good for them. I said no, but tried to walk by them. He then grabbed my arm. The other two guys scattered as this guy began pulling me into the alley. I knew that I could not over power him. I knew that screaming wouldn't be heard. So, I used my best weapon, my mind. I asked him to please not do this thing. I asked him if he would want someone to do this to his mother, his sister, his grandmother. I looked him in the eye. He dropped my arm and I backed away. Slowly at first, then I walked, then I ran home.
I did not tell anyone. I did not call the police.
What would they do? Tell me I should have crossed the street when I saw them?
Another time when I lived in Hollywood, a man entered my apartment and came into my bedroom while I was just getting out of the shower. I don't remember what happened next. I then went to work and told my boss this was why I was late. She did not send me home although I was in shock and shaking. I did not call the police.
Just recently, I saw a Facebook post from a woman that I know that was defending Donald Trump and his rapist type actions. She queried why the women didn't say anything until now if these allegations were true. She then went on to say that if any woman was assaulted, she should have the brains to report it.
Read the things I wrote. These are the reasons why women don't say anything.
One day, I went to her house to wait for her to come home from school, as I sometimes did.
Her parents weren't home, but one of her brothers was.
I went in and we started watching tv. It is like a snapshot in my mind. It was the show, That Girl with Marlo Thomas. I was disappointed because I didn't like the show, but I was always impressed with her umbrella twirling at the beginning.
The next thing I knew, his pants were off. He was standing in front of me naked, asking if I had ever "seen one of these before". What happened next is blurry. I have a snap shot of me running through a hall, and then one of me sliding down some stairs. I remember him chasing me, and then I remember being back at home.
I told my mom.
I don't know what happened, but I don't think anything did.
This is where it begins.
Next, when I was somewhere between eight and ten, my parents had a party. It was kind of a neighborhood affair. An older man that lived down the road was there. He was always a curiosity, as he lived alone and his house was filled with Playboy magazines and posters of naked women all over his house. I do not know why my parents thought it was okay for my brother and I to ever go to his house. He was also a drunk, although I didn't realize this at the time.
At the end of the party, when he was leaving, he gave me a hug that was too close and then he kissed me and put his tongue in my mouth.
I told my parents.
I don't know what happened, but I don't think anything did.
When I was in high school, a friend's boyfriend, whom I was also friends with, took me out onto a backroad. We were drinking. My friend was out of town. The plan was that we were going to drink a little, then go to a club to go dancing. I was drinking a wine cooler. He took his pants off.
He told me to try taking my clothes off. That it was fun to drive naked. I said no.
He parked the car and told me to touch him. I started to cry and said no. He put my hand on him and then tried to kiss me. I asked him to stop. He then started to touch me. I told him to please just take me home and I wouldn't tell his girlfriend, my friend.
He agreed. The next morning, my friend called me and was mad at me. He told her, except he told her his own version, which included me being willing.
My friend told another mutual friend, who said "I'm not surprised".
I guess it was my fault.
When I lived in Hollywood, I was walking down the street near my apartment. I was on the side of the street that seemed to be a little less savory. There was a group of three guys hanging out. My gut told me to cross the street and avoid them. My head told me to not be afraid. I listened to my head.
When I reached the guys, they started saying things to me and I ignored them. I tried to keep walking. One of them asked if I thought I was too good for them. I said no, but tried to walk by them. He then grabbed my arm. The other two guys scattered as this guy began pulling me into the alley. I knew that I could not over power him. I knew that screaming wouldn't be heard. So, I used my best weapon, my mind. I asked him to please not do this thing. I asked him if he would want someone to do this to his mother, his sister, his grandmother. I looked him in the eye. He dropped my arm and I backed away. Slowly at first, then I walked, then I ran home.
I did not tell anyone. I did not call the police.
What would they do? Tell me I should have crossed the street when I saw them?
Another time when I lived in Hollywood, a man entered my apartment and came into my bedroom while I was just getting out of the shower. I don't remember what happened next. I then went to work and told my boss this was why I was late. She did not send me home although I was in shock and shaking. I did not call the police.
Just recently, I saw a Facebook post from a woman that I know that was defending Donald Trump and his rapist type actions. She queried why the women didn't say anything until now if these allegations were true. She then went on to say that if any woman was assaulted, she should have the brains to report it.
Read the things I wrote. These are the reasons why women don't say anything.
Friday, October 7, 2016
Surrender
In Glennon Doyle Melton's book, Love Warrior, she says
My friend, Rhiannon, pointed this quote out to me. My friend, Rhiannon that I clicked with the moment I met her. My friend Rhiannon who gets me, who sees me.
And because I believe in signs that show you the way on your path, I knew it was telling me something. So I read it again and listened to my heart tell me what this sign was saying. And then I knew. The words jumped out at the page (okay, the screen) to me "surrendered to my powerlessness". And then further back up, "It's a holy space we can enter with people only if we promise not to tidy up."
You see, I had recently began being depressed and sad about aging. But we are powerless against aging, aren't we? Unless I begin worshiping at the idol of vanity, I am going to begin to sag, wrinkle, shift and fade. We all do. But there is more power in surrendering to my powerlessness than fight a losing battle and become completely wounded in the midst of it. All before finally dying. And who the hell wants to walk toward death all miserable, beat up and defeated? Certainly not me.
I do not want to find myself at the age of 70, or 80 or 90 still hating myself because I am not perfectly fresh and young. No. No. No.
So, I am going to create the holy space, as Glennon calls it, of my pain and allow you in. It will be messy. I am not cleaning it up first. You will see it, because if I don't allow you to see it, I am not being real with myself or with you. I would be helping to perpetuate that war out there that is against women.
So, please come into my space.
Surrender with me.
"The journey is learning that pain, like love, is simply something to surrender to. It's a holy space we can enter with people only if we promise not to tidy up. So I will sit with my pain by letting my own heart break. I will love others in pain by volunteering to let my heart break with them. I'll be helpless and broken and still - surrendered to my powerlessness."Read it again. More slowly. Savor every sentence.
My friend, Rhiannon, pointed this quote out to me. My friend, Rhiannon that I clicked with the moment I met her. My friend Rhiannon who gets me, who sees me.
And because I believe in signs that show you the way on your path, I knew it was telling me something. So I read it again and listened to my heart tell me what this sign was saying. And then I knew. The words jumped out at the page (okay, the screen) to me "surrendered to my powerlessness". And then further back up, "It's a holy space we can enter with people only if we promise not to tidy up."
You see, I had recently began being depressed and sad about aging. But we are powerless against aging, aren't we? Unless I begin worshiping at the idol of vanity, I am going to begin to sag, wrinkle, shift and fade. We all do. But there is more power in surrendering to my powerlessness than fight a losing battle and become completely wounded in the midst of it. All before finally dying. And who the hell wants to walk toward death all miserable, beat up and defeated? Certainly not me.
I do not want to find myself at the age of 70, or 80 or 90 still hating myself because I am not perfectly fresh and young. No. No. No.
So, I am going to create the holy space, as Glennon calls it, of my pain and allow you in. It will be messy. I am not cleaning it up first. You will see it, because if I don't allow you to see it, I am not being real with myself or with you. I would be helping to perpetuate that war out there that is against women.
So, please come into my space.
Surrender with me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)