It was a busy day today

And HOT.

It got up into the triple digits all of a sudden.

THere were a set of crises at work, and then some personal goals I had to move forward.

And then a party. Veronica’s school had an end-of-the-year party, with a DJ

I would have enjoyed it more if it hadn’t been so hot.

And still it was amazing.

Then we came home to put an exhausted and over excited daughter to bed.

FINALLY I get to be with my husband. And we have a lot of exciting things to talk about.

and I’m tired too. but I don’t want to stop talking.

That’s a pretty good day.

Something happened today. I could tell you what but it doesn’t matter. The specifics are unique and oh so uniform.

Someone said something that made me doubt myself.

There is a Greek chorus in my head waiting to perform when I doubt myself.

They were on a power ballad of JUST how much I suck, how irredeemable and intolerable I am.

I called someone. 

That helped a little. Then I talked to a person in my vicinity. That helped a little more.

My hands got cold and my shoulders clenched.

I didn’t want to feel that way.

Why did I fall right into that self doubt? A very familiar bog. I know it’s stenchy pools well

I was desperate for someone else to give me affirmation. 

“You’re ok”

I wasn’t giving it to myself.

So the tepid conversations I’d had didn’t do it.

I guess sometimes I’m going to fall in the mud.

I will try to have some mercy on myself. I need it especially right then

Someone asked me what my job was yesterday.

I said I help import consumer electronics and musical instruments from China.

“That’s cool!”

Hm. I guess it is.

I haven’t written about my jobby job directly on this blog in a long time. I felt gagged for a long time, and then before that a little wary of being indiscreet.

But. This part of my job is not indiscreet.

When I am working with a team in China, they are on a different time zone, and a different day.

Thursday, therefore, is special.

I think often of the Truman Capote, and his words in Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Holly Golightly: Thursday! It can’t be! It’s too gruesome!

Thursday in California is the last workday in china. I must make sure to get whatever communications that are necessary to the China team on Thursday, because on Friday it will be Saturday in China.

Thursday has extra franticness…and Friday is a little calmer.

Monday is 2 days worth of emails.

That’s the day today. A little gruesome.

It’s been a meme on the Internet for at least a decade. There was even a hit song made out of it. It ends with “dance like no one is watching.”

Me? I like to dance like everyone is watching. I love to dance and I am not shy.

But I get it. Expressions of joy and creativity are frightening, and it is often easier to imagine you are alone.

My daughter had a talent show last week. We heard about it last minute, and she had already said what she wanted.

“I want to sing.” And she wanted to sing her own song.

“It should start out romantic, and then turn rocky.”

Daddy handed her off to me.

I was going to help her write a song, an original song to make her vision come true.

Yes, it was impossible and ridiculous.

But if she wanted to do it, I was going to make it happen.

I found a sound track that was free for re-use and close enough to what she wanted.

The biggest constraint was that the talent show only allowed 3 minutes. But the track fit that constraint.

Next were words. I asked her what she wanted to sing about.

“The starry night. And how the moon is beautiful. I am in love with the moon and I want to marry the moon.”

So I gave her a microphone (a prop) and let her freestyle it.

She sang low, and it wasn’t her best singing. She can sing better than that.

So we took it through again, and I had her sing higher. That was a little better.

We talked about what sorts of words she could sing. She had a lot of ideas. I tried to see if we could hone in on a few.

We did practice repeating phrases throughout. It was pretty great! She just said the same thing, but it was melodic.

She said she wanted to sing whatever she was thinking.
“But won’t you be nervous, and forget what you were going to say when you are in front of people?”

She thought about that.

So we practiced a few nights.

Then the talent show happened.

She was not nervous. She sang what was on her mind, straight into the real microphone. She did sing low and off key, like I’d been trying to help her avoid. Yet she had her hand on her hip, and did spontaneous twirls where appropriate.

She sang and danced like everyone was looking, because that was exactly what she wanted.

Afterwards, she solicited fans.

“Mommy! I have 6 fans!”

Not once was she shy or embarrassed.

That talent show was a safe place. She didn’t have to fool herself into thinking no one was listening. She knew that everyone was listening and everyone loved it, loved her.

I would that the whole world could be that for all of us.

Seth Godin says that everyone should write in their blog daily.

i used to do that.

I stopped because people stopped coming.

But just because i”m not on a stage doesn’t mean i stop singing. I sing in stairwells and walkiing down the hall.

I dont’ know. Maybe I should start blogging daily again.

It could be fun.

I stayed out late last night hanging with friends learning more about totem animals.

So I got home late and didn’t fall asleep till about 1 AM.

Veronica woke up at 5:30 she was awake she wanted to watch TV. She had had a bad dream I could see that she was tired. I knew I was tired.

She had had a bad dream. I could see that she was tired. I knew I was tired.

So I tried to help her get back to sleep.

It was tough. She knew what she wanted, to watch TV. I thought I could help her get back to sleep she kept arguing that the sun was up.

I gave her some milk and graham crackers after 45 minutes. She still wanted to stay awake. Our bargain was she would try to sleep.

She started crying and said I don’t know how. So I held her on my lap. She lay her head on my shoulder. I told her the story of the tiger I knew, that this tiger was strong and powerful. And the tiger told me I was strong. Then she really started crying and said “I don’t feel powerful.”

I told her I thought she was powerful, but my heart was breaking how do I help her?

I wrapped My bathrobe around her and she quietly laid her head on my shoulder. I waited five minutes and then put her back in her bed.

We all slept until 9 AM

Of course Chris is still sleeping. But it reminded me of when she was very little, and how I am grateful that she mostly falls asleep on her own. I am sad that she doesn’t feel powerful.

Maybe she feels more powerful in the daytime, and less powerful right after a nightmare.

I used to blog a lot more. I kind of miss it. 
The internet changed underneath me and there are a lot more tools. I tweet and Instagram and participate in Facebook  Groups. I write a lot every day 

I used to email. a lot more too.  Hmm

The Internet has changed beneath me

Sitting outside the D.A.’s office, waiting for what’s next. A man in a suit had told me that the D.A. was busy, but that she’d be out soon.

Waiting patiently. Waiting nervously.

I’m glad the guy in the suit helped me out, because the receptionist women behind heavy glass was taken up with a man and a women for a long time.

The older man and his adult daughter were speaking Spanish and I didn’t understand them. They sounded worried. They had a lot of questions. It was a good long while before they sat down in the waiting area with me.

He was holding a subpoena too. I guess I am a person who knows how to recognize a subpoena now.

I’d seen on the schedule that my case was supposed to be seen first thing. Later I learned that all cases were scheduled to start first thing, and then they just kinda fit them in whenever.

Waiting. A middle-aged women in jeans and a shirt asked the receptionist how to find out whether her son was going to be transferred to prison that day.

I’d never been around someone who needed to ask that sort of question.

Subpoenas are not a good day. They start out this way:

YOU ARE COMMANDED TO APPEAR

All-Caps and everything. You can’t make this up. I haven’t been commanded to do anything in a long time, if ever.

It’s not a nice feeling.

Dad and daughter sat on the seats waiting like me. We were the only ones in the room.

I said, “Good morning.”

Daughter was distracted and didn’t notice. Dad nudged her to respond to me. Then he said “Good morning.”

Daughter shook herself out of her haze and said good morning.

Dad smiled at me.

I asked the receptionist if there was a bathroom nearby. I didn’t want to be distracted while I was testifying.  She pointed to the end of a long hallway.

She was very jaded. She was shielded by more than glass.

I was trying to ask her to let the DA know I’d be right back if she came out, when Dad spoke up, “We will let her know.”

I saw him clearly then. He was a gentleman, he liked being a nice guy. He was not just a person with a subpoena. He could do the nice thing, and he was eager to do it.

There is so much pressure on us to fit our roles. We must obey implicit commands all day long.

The suited men and women had been walking fast back and forth across the hard floors, voluntarily assuming the uniform. I wondered at the stiletto heels and how much sensation those women had in the soles of their feet.

My companion, Dad, with the slightest provocation, became the person he wanted to be: the kindly gentleman, willing to help. I had given him a peek of a chance to be a human, not a role.

He glowed with the opportunity.

It made me want to see all the people all the time. To show people, in all the kind and comfortable ways, “I see you. You are the lovable person you hope you are.”

My attorney finally came out to tell me the preliminary hearing had to be rescheduled. She was wearing comfortable shoes, which made me happy for her.

We’re all just people here. It’s okay to be human.

Thursday I testify.

I will stand before a judge and tell how I was assaulted– thrown to the ground, my pants jerked down by a stranger intent on raping me. My voice will tell what happened describing that unlucky day.

I know my fellow women, my sisters, will be safer because I do.

I also know that many of my violated sisters chose not to testify. A stranger attacked me. Far more women are attacked by someone they know, a family member or supposed friend who harms them. These women must balance their hurt against the value of the community, often receiving no support for her person. She swallows her pain for the group.

I will stand and testify where many sisters did not.

I am lucky–yes, I am privilege–to be in an environment where I can trust the law. My citizenship is unclouded, and my family need not fear scrutiny. My alabaster skin gives me unfair advantage. I called 911 without a second thought. The whole police force, it seemed, came down to the park where I was attacked. I was treated with respect the whole time. I know that is not always the case. After I got home, I paused and called an attorney friend to check if I needed to protect myself somehow. As privileged as I am, I still had memories of stories that didn’t end well. I chose to cooperate. And to my utter amazement, he was caught.

I will stand and testify where many sisters did not feel safe from the police.

An ignorant man said to me “Oh, he wasn’t successful. That’s why you can talk about it.” I’d like to think I would testify with greater intensity if the crime were greater. I know that it would be harder to talk about a greater violation in front of strangers. When I worked with the police, one woman told me that many assaulted women do not report the crime for months after. Some women, when they do report it, say that the police are the only ones they can speak to about it. My heart breaks to think how these women felt so isolated, when I was surrounded with love. I told everyone. I was confident in my community to support me.

I will testify, and not be silent, for my many sisters who were so alone in their pain.

I’m not sure what will happen. They caught the guy, and he’s been sitting in jail for most of a year. A private investigator working for his defense left a business card and a note on my front door. It scared me to think of him knowing where I live. Was it an intimidation move? I don’t like it, and it will not silence me. I think of Malala, and how it’s hard to be a woman in this world. I shall not be a victim. I will not be an object. I am a witness to the world around me.

I will testify.

I wrote a story about it, and won a prize. My first accolade for writing about my life. “Alaskan Road Rules”, the eponymous story, talks about the wheels of a car.

The car in the story lost one of its wheels. While in full motion.

I’ve learned as a grown-up to have a greater respect for car tires.

You see, cares have a lot of parts and are very sophisticated machines. But the simplest of all the parts that make up a care is the wheel. Maybe the oldest machine ever, these wheels are the only thing that is keeping the car on the road.

Those four wheels are the only thing that touches the road. The rest of the car is only a concept, the potential for motion, without those four wheels.

There’s another wheel, though. If I get into the driver’s seat, I put my hands on the steering wheel. The steering wheel is the one *I* touch. I can sit in the car, put my hands on the wheel, and think about where I might want to go. Where I might NOT want to go.

The possibilities are seemingly endless. Abstractly, I would like to think I am considering the places I want to go. In reality the dread of places I don’t wish to visit occupy a lot of my thoughts.

That mean former friend who said those things–or even the place where she said them—don’t want to go there.

That place where that awful thing happened.

That arena of humiliation.

I think of those far more often than I would like to admit as I sit holding on to the steering wheel.

Sitting and considering while in the driver’s seat looks a lot like going somewhere.

But it’s not. It’s not going anywhere.

Thing is, even if I have to go somewhere I dread, moving those four wheels under the car is a lot different than sitting in the driver’s seat. Every action has unique aspects.

Sitting is sitting. Moving is a completely different experience.

Doing the thing, engaging the rolling rubber tires, teaches me more than any thinking ever could.