To March or Not To March

Following the inauguration of President Trump, a Women's March was held in Washington D.C. The purpose of the March was to advocate legislation and policies regarding human rights and other issues, including women's rights, immigration reform, healthcare reform, the natural environment, LGBTQ rights, racial equality, freedom of religion, and workers' rights. Despite the broadly stated purpose, the March soon prompted responses from women who claimed to not support the March because they had never experienced gender bias.  The hash tag #notmymarch flooded social media. It left the impression of a divided gender, a divided front. The movement lost credibility as a result of the disagreement. As one man in the Special Forces told me, "You women need to get on the same page."

Initially, I was angry at the women who claimed they had not experienced gender bias. You see, I'm a woman who has never fit neatly in the female category. Growing up, I liked boys toys and most of my friends were boys. I was a girl picked first for kick ball on the playground, not last. I cried when I had to get a bra because I did not want to be a woman-in my small town that meant you just had babies and got married and I wanted so much more. I was punished dearly in my small town for being who I was. The girls in my elementary school became increasingly mean to me as they began to be interested in dating and I did not. One of my best friends who was a boy had to hide our friendship from his boy buds or else he would have faced ridicule. One year in either fourth or fifth grade, I had a hot pink winter coat that I was particularly proud of. I was proud of it because it was pretty and even though I liked boy things, I also did like pretty things like most girls do. Someone took a scissors and destroyed my new coat while it was hanging in the locker room. I was devastated. You see we were poor and I knew I would not be able to get another pretty pink coat. Even today this memory bothers me. Why would someone ruin the one pretty thing I had? What sort of hatred makes a person do that to someone else? I knew, even back then, that gender bias was hurtful, harmful and very effective.

And yet, I still could not entirely conform to gender norms because that was not who I was. I went on to join the Army and work in male dominated professions where I continued to encounter various forms of gender bias. You see, I can lift as much weight as a man and run faster than many men in my unit. I can't and won't change these things even when I am unwelcomed. I like shooting weapons and being strong physically. When my husband and I first started dating, I remember we went snowmobiling together and got a snowmobile stuck. He said we would have to leave it and get help because we wouldn't be able to move it. I told him, "The fuck we can't." We tried it and lifted the snowmobile together. He was in utter shock. Just the other day he told me, "You know, people have no idea how strong you are."  He is amazing and I'm so lucky to have such an understanding and non-threatened husband.

It also means I can't and won't be a traditional woman. I won't deny myself that and will not let anyone else deny me that either, no matter what gender they are. So even today, subtle bias pervades my work day.  As a result, I was incredulous when these women on social media started claiming they believed they had the same opportunities as men, or worse, did not believe women were entitled to the same opportunities. How could they say this when there us research that affirmatively demonstrates women are paid less or experience the mommy penalty in the workplace after having children? How could they not want at least a choice in pursuing these opportunities? How could they assume I would make a good stay at home mom because I was born a woman? Because trust me, my kids would probably be irreparably harmed if this asshole stayed home with them.  Brooklyn would be telling people to "Eat a dick," at age 3 and Trevor would be the 9 year old kid teaching all his friends how to string balls, fuckface and cock sucker together in a sentence. I would also be an asshole because I am terrible at unstructured child play. I can play sports and games but ask my to build legos or play babies and I'm totally flummoxed. So you see, it is better if my kids get me in smaller doses. It keeps them normal and me sane. And if you think otherwise, you probably don't know me and my demons.

I have pondered on this topic for the past three months. What I have realized, however, is that as women, we hurt ourselves in believing that our own experiences are the universal truth. Instead of incredulity, today, I am happy that there are women who have never felt the sting of discrimination. Instead of tearing these women down, which is so typical of our gender, I want to support and acknowledge their experience, not convince them they are wrong or imply and assume they have lived within gender norms or are too entrenched in patriarchy to recognize it. If they haven't experienced bias, that is awesome. It gives me hope for what may eventually be my or my daughter's experience. But, because I'm a selfish asshole, I also want the same back. My experience as a non-traditional mother, wife, soldier, lawyer, and daughter has not been easy. No one has the right to deny me that. It is MY experience and MY truth. It may be different than yours but it did happen and I have experienced it, sometimes with much emotional  pain and distress.

As I thought back to what my Special Forces friend said to me I realized he was wrong. Women don't need to want the same thing. But we do need to stop trashing those who want something different. We don't have to all be on the same page, we just have to support each other. Fuck, I don't think all men are on the same page and the fact that my friend said that to me implies that some men believe all women are the same, when we clearly are not. And so we need to change the dialogue. Instead of #notmymarch, which divided us and only made it easier for patriarchy to prevail, perhaps we could change it to #notmyexperience, which would leave open the possibility that our experiences as women are not universal.  That slight modification at least subtly recognizes that as women our experiences are as vast and diverse as we are and we aren't all the same nor want the same things.

I am reminded of the Iroquois story of the Peacemaker. The Iroquois tell a story about how they were at war until the Peacemaker brought the original Five Nations together: "he demonstrated the confederacy’s strength in unity by first taking one arrow and breaking it, then bundling five arrows together and showing how the bundle could not be broken." The Iroquois confederacy was cited as an example to emulate by founding fathers such as Benjamin Franklin, and the arrows still appear today in places such as the Onondaga seal and the 2010 US $1 coin. Women of America, I implore you to always remember the moral of this blog--united we stand, divided we fall.

This Too Shall Pass

My mom has an affinity for dispensing cliches and phrases in nearly any situation. When no one asked me to dance at one of our seventh grade dances, she assuaged my hurt with, "Every dog has its day!" (To state the obvious, this was before I didn't give a fox, solo dancing when need be in most any music venue.) When I was in college and frustrated and confused as to why a date didn't kiss me after we'd gone out, my mom voiced the bright side of this conundrum with, "Well, at least he wasn't all over you like a biting sow."

There are the old standbys that remain from my childhood and there a few new ones, my favorite being in the event the likelihood for something isn't great..."The odds are slim to none and slim just left town." (From the first time I heard her say this one, I have imagined a thin cowboy in a plaid cowboy shirt, faded jeans and black cowboy hat sauntering towards his horse to head out into the sunset). She also has a certain tone and inflection of voice for these sayings (I know my sisters know exactly what I am referring to) and has annoyed (and continues to annoy) each and every one of her children with them.

As much as I don't want to admit it, I think some of the annoyance comes from the fact that her cliches are usually somewhat on target. The annoyance has grown exponentially over the years as I have found myself repeating some of them in conversations not with my mom. Growing up, I didn't think too much about what these nuggets of wisdom meant, beyond the surface. Some of them I repeat because I think they're hilarious (the biting sow will always be one of my all time faves). There is one, however, that has remained with me and become a personal and shared mantra...this too shall pass.

My friend Dave, who has been a guest blogger for Dissident Daughters, was having a shitty week. I wanted to comfort him and during the course of our texts, I told him, this too shall pass. Lo and behold, not too long after, I was going through a rough period and, as a true friend does, Dave reminded me of my sage words and told me that this too shall pass. I remember where I was sitting at the time...these words that I had said and shared frequently sort of slapped me in the face that day. They were exactly what I needed to hear at that time.

Dave and I both love and respect words and the meaning behind them. The fact that this phrase had given us both room to breathe and the wherewithal to mentally "back up" from the situations we were faced with, in such a proximate time period, prompted us to research the origin and meaning (we were both vaguely convinced it came from The Bible). What I found when I dug farther into this beautiful statement held even more power, truth and light than what I had imagined. The phrase is thought to originate from Persian Sufi poets and there is no mention of this phrase in The Bible. The meaning of the phrase was also expanded for me.

I have only heard this phrase in times when comfort is needed...the bad, the sad, the uncomfortable, the heartbreaking...this too shall pass. This is, in and of itself, enough. However, it really became a personal mantra and something for me to live by when I found that the phrase originally meant all things, things we judge to be bad and good, will pass. In addition to providing solace in times of grief, despair, sitting through The BFG in the movie theater, the adage also advises one to be aware that happiness, "success", joy, contentment, reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part Two for the first time...these things also will pass and as such, we would be wise to enjoy these moments to the fullest and remain humble and kind through our successes (as opposed to becoming prideful and puffed up with our "successes").

There have been so many pleasant and joyful surprises that have come to me as I have gotten older...one of which is that I have lived long enough to know the truth in these words. I have survived everything in my life because I am still here now. (Sounds obvious, but really think about that-I don't think we give ourselves enough credit for the events and emotions we have come through in our lives.) Every situation in my life that I was worried about taking care of or getting out of or paying for...I may not have stuck the landing for a 10.0 but I landed. When I encounter similar situations now, I repeat my mantra (realizing that it might take a while for "this" to pass) with the knowledge that it always has passed or at least become something I can bear to live with, over time.

I'm not in the job situation I want to be in right now-I love what I do and I also want more for myself. I have had to deal with the sometimes despairing, fearful emotions, financial frustrations and kicks to self confidence that come along with trying to change career trajectories. And I tell myself, when I am in the thick of it, that this too shall pass (sometimes I have to repeat it, hear it from others and wallow for a while before it sinks in but it does sink in).

This mantra has also made me more mindful of the things I enjoy and feel I have achieved success at in my life. One timely example is the success I have found in running in the past two years. I have been running since I was 20 and I have not been very good at it. I enjoy it, that's why I keep doing it (that and it keeps the crazy at a mostly socially acceptable level). After I "accidentally" qualified for the Boston Marathon, I realized I was kind of good at running, particularly for my age group and I have medaled and been acknowledged in four runs since then, the most recent of which was Loop the Lake (8km) where I got first in my age group.

I would have kept running, anyway, but my new understanding of "this too shall pass" has put an extra spring in my step, a brighter smile on my face and a new commitment to enjoy and do all of this while I can...because at some point, this too shall pass. And I am okay with that-it is the ebb and flow of life and when something leaves, it makes room for something else to take its place. Or maybe it looks a little different as it fits in to the cycle of our lives. Of course, there is sadness that accompanies some of the passings and that is also a part of the ebb and flow of life. Eventually the sadness will become a little less and a little less and someday may even turn into something else.

I got my mantra tattooed on my arm because I want to be reminded of it every day. I had it done with a symbolic representation of the lunar cycle (I have always loved the moon, la luna) because for me, the lunar cycle is a very beautiful, very real and tangible symbol of the passage of our time here on earth. Being mindful of this has, as I said, given me the gift of being present, thoughtful, joyful and grateful for the good things in my life, which has allowed me to enjoy all of these things even more.

Life: Through the Lens of a Marathon

Hey guys! It’s been a while since I’ve posted, hell I’m not even sure I’ve posted during 2017. I think Molly Alesch and I have been the slackers of the blog lately lol. I’ll own it. Anyway, since it has been so long since I’ve posted I would like to talk about an accomplishment of mine that occurred nearing the end of 2016. For those of you that do not follow me as closely on social media, December 2016, I ran my FIRST marathon here in Memphis with my sister Jill Finken and brother-in-law, John Finken. Before I even begin to talk about what I have planned, I would first and foremost like to encourage anyone who has ever considered heck hasn’t ever considered running a marathon, to just fucking do it. It’s amazing, magical, terrifying, and shitty and the most awesome thing you will ever do. So do it.

I think one of the main reasons my marathon experience sticks out to me isn’t because of my time, isn’t because of the accomplishment in itself and it surely isn’t because it was fun. The reason this memory is so keen is because of my family. I use family very loosely because not only did my sister Anne, Dad, Niece and Nephew all came down to support Jill, John and I running in this race, but my friends Jennie and Soren and principals all came out to support me in this endeavor. It was very motivating to see their smiling faces encouraging me from the sideline when I was perhaps, hating my life, so to say.

Running a marathon is a very good example of the way life works in cycles. Sometimes we are the ones running and leading the pack while other times we are the ones that need to be ran with. At the beginning of the race, I started out strong. I started out at about an 8 minute mile. When I got to mile 8, I saw my principals. I was still feeling pretty good at this point in time and seeing them made me feel even better. My principals both hugged me and my assistant principal gave me a drink, or should I say made me, drink a sip of her mimosa for a boost of energy. I continued running and got to mile 12, the mile in which the marathoners broke away from the half marathoners. I was full of adrenaline as my mind was saying, “You’re really fucking doing this.” My adrenaline only continued to release, as right around the corner I could see my dad, Trevor (my nephew), Brooklyn (my niece) and Sister Anne. It was encouraging to hear my dad say, “Good job, Kris!” and hit Trevor’s hand for a high five. One could say I was on the “high point” of life.

Now, everyone knows that with every high point in life, there HAS to be a low point that either got you to that high point OR that is coming after the high point to only make you appreciate that high point even more. Let me tell you, MILES 13- 19 SUCKED MAJOR NUTSACK FOR ME. I’m not even kidding when I tell you I can’t even count how many times I thought about walking off the track quitting. I was exhausted mentally and physically, hurt and had minimal motivation left. Around mile 16, my brother in law, who pretty much had busted out his knee 3 weeks before the race, passed me. That gave me a little energy because I got to see a familiar face in the trenches, but was mostly defeating because the dude with the crippled knee was now taking the lead to me lmao. My mental state only became worse. I had reached my low point. Surprisingly throughout this shit storm, I never walked. I kept going through the hurt because I knew I would eventually finish.

I was coming up on mile 19 and was becoming a little anxious, as I hadn’t seen my friends, Jennie and Soren, yet. They promised me they would come and cheer me on and I was worried they had missed me. I turned the corner, I was on the street very close to my house, and I saw two familiar faces glancing out into the crowd of runners. I was filled with energy and screamed, “JENNIE!” I sped up and ran to them in tears. I gave them both hugs and said, “I’m fucking doing this!” I continued to run and keep a steady pace as I knew my family would be at mile 20 again.

I was coming up to mile 20 and my pace had wavered again because like I said running a marathon is hard. I once again see my dad standing on the side of the road. This time, I didn’t have the energy to pick up my pace. I kept my slow, consistent pace and couldn’t squeak out an excited yell. I was once again back or simply returned to a low point of life. Instead of yelling and cheering me on, my dad said, “Good pace, Kris. Let’s go.” My dad ran with me up until the end of the street where I was greeted by my sister Anne and Brooklyn’s smiling faces. My dad said, “Take over, Trev,” and Trevor proceeded to run with me for a portion of the street. He of course ran faster than I did, as he is an 8 year old ball of energy. Trevor stopped running once I got so far and my sister Anne yells out, “You’re almost there Kris! You can do it!” My friends and family didn’t necessarily get me out of my low point, but they sure as heck carried me through it and made the suck, suck a little less.

I had 6.2 more miles to do. I told myself if I could just keep putting one more foot in front of the other, I could make it. I kept a count in my head. I counted 1,2,3,4 with every step and then would start over again. I knew it was just me and the open road from here on out, as the next time I would see anyone would be the finish line. I made it to mile 23 no issue and started to falter again, until “Jju Jju On That Beat” came on the loud speaker. This immediately made me think of my students. I actually started doing the dance to the song while I was running. I dedicated mile 23 to my kids.

I eventually made it to the finish line. It’s crazy how much energy I got once I knew how close to the end I was. I think I sprinted across the finish line. My sister Jill who came in before me said, “Kris, you don’t even look tired.” I was exhausted though, it was just masked with a lot of happy emotions. As you can see, I would not have been able to complete the marathon without the support of my family and friends. Well, I could have, but it would have just sucked even more lol. A marathon captures the beautiful and not so beautiful moments of life. Sometimes you are the one who is doing the lifting (high on adrenaline and cheering with everyone) and sometimes you are the one who needs to be lifted (having your 68 year old father run with you a portion of the race). The low points may not seem as beautiful as the high points in life, but there is definitely beauty to be found within them. Peace out, blogsters <3.