I don’t precisely understand why, for some reason I’ve always felt like words were important. And that my words mattered. That someone would read what I said and would repeat it back to someone, like all the wise people we’ve quoted in the past. Whether it would be Dr. Seuss, Martin Luther King Jr, Oprah, etc. Wow, does that mean I have a huge ego? Shit, I’m comparing myself to some greats of my time. Holy crap. Seriously, though. I don’t know why I feel like my words might have meaning to someone – or anyone for that matter. Regardless, I write because I feel like my words might reach someone, somewhere. Even though I haven’t exactly gotten to understand myself – someone could benefit from the wisdom I have yet to express. So, here goes.

I value you, reader, wherever you are. Whoever you are. You take the time to read whatever I plop down on my page. You give me the time you could dedicate to something else. A massage, a trip to the gas station, a coffee break, whatever. You could be elsewhere right now. Instead, you’re finding out about who I am and where I’ve come from. I knew that myself, as a woman, would be complicated. Let alone any other women that exist outside of my realm. We say things, but don’t mean the things we say. We expect those within our bubble will be able to ‘read between the lines’ and know that when we say we’re fine, that truly – we’re NOT fine. We try to show you that side of femininity – that delicate nature we possess, even though we’re tough as nails. I don’t think many people understand truly what a woman is. You can pretend that you’re just what gender defines you as being – but you’re more than gender stereotype. I am definitely within that. I have lived some harsh shit with and without being under the influence. Many people might not have been able to contend with what I’ve dealt with. In fairness, everyone has their own shit that we can’t imagine someone else dealing with. It changes us. It doesn’t exactly define us, but it helps pave the way to who we become.

I remember as a kid, and I don’t remember how old I was, there were three African American children on the bus in Negaunee Michigan. I remember seeing their faces through the bus window. I stood there in awe. I had never seen a child that looked like that (at that time in my life). And I never saw them on the bus or in my town again. It was formative for me. I think I was angry at what I perceived happened. Could the now former mayor and community caused that family to move? After all, we were a primarily Caucasian community with a sprinkling of American Indian. There was no range in ethnicity. I wanted to see everyone as equal. And to explain that further, I wrote a letter to the editor after reading many many many Martin Luther King Jr books. I wrote about how African American people should be equal, etc. I didn’t exactly understand slavery yet. I guess I hadn’t studied that as much. I just knew that the African American community or black people in general had gotten a major raw deal (to say the least).

In my high school years, I was intrigued by World War II and the German SS and Holocaust. I’ve been interested in human injustice. I didn’t have anything I could do with it, aside from stating my thoughts on the matter. Gay people entering the Military? Let’s do it! They deserve a chance not to be seen as perverted and trying to find a date, but to be able to potentially defend their country and die for their country if it so happened. No one should ever truly be shamed about who they are. Could that happen to be because I didn’t feel like I had a voice? I know nothing about what the African American struggle is. I have white privilege. I was not alive during WWII and am not Jewish, Polish, etc. I’m not homosexual, but I believe that everyone is human. We bleed the same, we have similar motivations (though not always), we generally know right from wrong. Nothing separates us. Our skin, our gender, our sexual orientation, our identity, our family members, our disability might make us different from one another – but that doesn’t make one unworthy of being loved. From being validated. From being respected.

It is true, (trust me) that people are people. We are all conceived the same way. Whether consensual or not, we come into this world approximately the same way. There are things we (as humans) become afraid of – through our experiences, our teachings, our predispositions. And we act on things we’re afraid of. I try not to be afraid of people that are different from me. I think different just means adapting. Trying to be understanding. Christians are different from Muslims and the Jewish. Does that mean that one is more wrong than the other? No. It doesn’t. Being Caucasian doesn’t mean that you weren’t baked in the oven as long as a person that is black or brown. If there were people that were purple and polka dotted, what would we say then? Freak? Sigh…. Just stop.

I don’t understand what makes a person who they are. Hence why I started this blog. I wanted to understand myself. I have watched the news long enough to say that I’ve been informed about harmful stereotypes that have made me nervous about certain groups of people. And I’ve had to confront them. Although, there was a time where I had no idea – for example: I was working at an insurance company. A couple women were talking about being Hmong. I wasn’t busy at the moment and interjected. “What is Hmong?” And one of the women kindly responded with what the Hmong people were. She didn’t become agitated with me for my unfortunate ignorance. I truly didn’t know. When you live in a very tiny community – with no diversity, that happens. There was another experience I had. I was walking back to my car in the parking lot of a shopping center. I saw a man that – according to my learning through public scrutiny, this man was anxiety inducing. He was probably Hispanic, buff, and looked intimidating. He was, however, holding a chihuahua puppy very lovingly in his hands. I mean, the puppy could fit in the palm of his hand. The way he conducted himself with that puppy was flippin adorable and did not conform to the intimidating way I’d generally see him on his own. I walked up to him and asked him if I could say hi to the puppy. (FYI – dogs are an obsession of mine. If my husband wasn’t around, I might have been the crazy dog lady of Kewaunee, WI)

I do not condone ignorance. I think to some degree, ignorance is innocent – if you don’t know (like my experience learning who Hmong people are). If you are taught and continue to teach ignorance, that’s different. Fear is a deterrent from understanding the fundamental truths of people. Poor people are not a drain on those that are not poor. They are just not able to (in that space in time) to achieve as others that are not poor could achieve. Matter of fact, those same poor people that people love to hate – they are kept there in jobs others consider menial because society wouldn’t operate without them. Could you imagine not being able to get your fast food or pay for your donuts? Come on…..

It’s easy to judge a person that’s on food stamps or medical assistance. It’s easy to watch a person spend too much on a phone but can’t afford other things. It’s easy to judge when it’s not you. It’s easy to move into that space of fear and despise. I remember watching an interview with Cory Booker (Senator in New Jersey). He lived in the projects in Newark, NJ. He didn’t assume he was better than some of those same people he served. He could have lived in better quarters (as most do) – it was just showing his constituents that he was just like them in a very human fashion. I respect that. I truly do. I don’t know Senator Booker’s political beliefs, I do know that in that moment, that he was showing humility and compassion. And that’s not something you often see in politics.

When are we all going to become human, again. If you’re upset about someone being on food stamps, ask them about why they’re on food stamps. I imagine you’d be surprised to hear their stories. Other countries support, not suppress or oppress those who cannot afford the same goods and services. You don’t have to deserve same treatment as everyone else. Self esteem is not just achieved by who raises us. When you hear people abuse the qualities that they perceive make you less than, it impacts us all.

And in the end, Machiavelli said “The ends justify the means” So, a person that cannot afford their spouses’ cancer drugs will do things that are immoral or illegal to get them for the betterment of their spouse or loved one. A person who is hungry will steal a loaf of bread. A person who needs companionship will pay for a sex worker. There is a lot that we cannot appreciate, on the outside. Maybe if we talked, truly talked, understanding could be achieved and we wouldn’t blame. Life is short. Don’t hate.