Just My Bit of Ground
Sometimes I get overwhelmed with the news of the world. There’s too much suck and I want to burn it all down.
But that doesn’t work.
That won’t, can’t work.
Things are actually way better than they’ve been, Donald and Dougie notwithstanding – life on Earth is way better than it’s been since the beginning… (well, the beginning that we know about anyway).
There is unprecedented health and literacy and personal freedom. There is an all-time low in global wars and violence. I know, it seems impossible – but it’s true. Things are actually pretty amazing. Not that the media shares that part of it – apparently there’s no money in happiness and satisfaction – we only consume when we’re scared.
When I get overwhelmed with the crappiness of the news and it all seems too much and beyond me, it helps to remember that I’m only actually responsible for my little bit of Earth. Me. My body – this is the only thing that I’m actually responsible for healing.
It calms me the hell down when I want to hyperventilate over the world being a giant cesspool of corruption. We are literally carrying the Earth with us as our bodies. As we heal our own frozen fearful bits and knotted twisted beliefs, we literally heal our little bit of Earth as a result. If that’s all we’re able to do in this life – it’s enough.
It’s enough to heal our own shit, own our foibles and eccentricities and learn how to be less critical and more loving – or learn how to build better boundaries and say no. A small part of the world is healed when we heal ourselves. Imagine how amazing this world would be if every single person here took responsibility for owning and healing their shit? Everything would be transformed, forever.
Do your thing.
Do your funnest choices. What else is there? Yay, the life of chores and shoulds. Sounds super.
Most of my readers are women and I’m committed to seeing women break free from our self-imposed shit-limits and start flexing our power to speak and create and be people of action and change in this world.
I want to see women take up space.
We’re unpacking thousands of years of constant and consistent messaging about our place and purpose and our role and value in the world. For so very long our place was small and limited and powerless and “woman” was a mere handful of home activities that did not extend beyond the front door.
Just when I feel that I’ve thrown off a shackle of “should” from my gendered past, another one forms to keep me small and quiet and pretty and agreeable. Sometimes I want to murder all societal expectation and becoming a raging, hairy, harsh, cunt of a woman who gives zero shits about anyone or anything and is willing to push, and shove, and demand and point fingers and grab at opportunities and openings like a man would.
I don’t though.
I still want people to think I’m nice.
I still have much work to do on my Earth.