This was a 2016 post that didn't see the light of day, and looking back I can remember the feelings of doom, of loss. But the last sentence really resonated as foretelling.
I really did need, and use all the strength I could muster. 2020 was horrible in every possible and unbelievable way imaginable.
My strength is still sapped and I'm suffering from a sort of PTSD feeling. Terrified and hiding.
I hope I can find a well of strength to call on soon. In the meantime I'm purging the things around me that contribute to my stress. Will dance stay a part of my life? I'm not sure. In the meantime, 2016 was one f**d up year:
Good riddance 2016. You've been relentlessly cruel you capricious brute. Sadness, shock, fight or flight? It's been a wake up call for the frailty of a world I loved.
The first sorrow of the year was expected, yet bittersweet. The death of Merle Haggard, whose music was the soundtrack for a happy time in my life as a young adult, appreciated all the more as possibly the last thing I could connect to my father with. "Ramblin' Fever", "The Runnin' Kind" I could relate to in an aching way, it was a freedom I longed for.
The next blow set me reeling. I wrote about the death of Prince and the relationship to Tarab in my last blog post. It would be best to read it to capture the sense of loss that astounded me. My not being a person to care one bit for celebrity, it was his art, his genius that captured me.
The next big blow was personal. A close dance friend from the '70s Joanne Domenici, a mentor of sorts for her calm demeanor & wise comforting words, passed away quickly after a diagnosis of a fatal cancer. How could someone so dedicated to healthy living leave this world so quickly, just as she was beginning a new chapter of work retirement & a new life of travel & grandchildren? She wasn't old, it wasn't fair. I miss her every day.
The last blow possibly set me reeling more than any of the aforementioned tragedies. I have done a lot of soul searching as to why the election of a man like Donald Trump to the highest position in the world would slam me against a wall, & I think I have uncovered the very personal & ugly reasons. We all have our personal journeys that shape our worldview, & here is mine, as it relates to the recent election:
I was born in the American '50s, when assimilation to the Anglo/Saxon world was key to survival & success. Only this year have I discovered through DNA, that my father's claim of being pure Basque was either a complete & total lie (wouldn't be surprising as lying was a way of life for him), or there was a deep family secret kept from him - that he was at least 40% Native American & the rest a combination of Iberian Peninsula, North Africa, West Africa, South & East Asia. Not surprising at all actually for a New Mexico native with deep roots, but deeply shameful & life altering if it was known in those times when it was illegal for blacks to marry whites, & Mexicans, etc were to be kept separate from whites in much of the USA.
That I heard the "n" word on a regular basis among some family & family friends as a child, & that all manner of prejudice was the fabric of white life in the '50s & early '60s, a life I was supposedly a part of, came up against a conflicting deeply personal reality: I had brown skin.
Because children played outside all day in the California & Arizona sunshine where I grew up, I was different enough to attract the ugliest comments anyone could inflict upon a child. I remember with laser clarity the following occurrences: I was called the "n" word by fellow students. "Give me the ball black ass" was an elementary school chestnut from a boy with a face full of self righteous indignation. "Beaner", "Taco Bender" (or "Vendor"?) I could never figure that one out. A grown man yelling out of a car window "Hey Injun Joe" as I walked to school in pigtails. It was no wonder that when an Armenian girl finally came to my school, I looked down at our hands side by side & was relieved to see someone was browner than me. I had grown to hate myself.
I kept all these insults a secret, since there was a deep shame in being called something that was the antithesis of all that was "acceptable" in my life in those times. I was supposed to be a white girl, but somehow I wasn't treated as one in the outside world.
As a teen, & a young woman, as all young women, daily sexual slurs were hurled by all manor of older men. Not sitting on a creepy old boss's lap was grounds for having to leave a job I loved before being fired. Other deep humiliating secrets.
Listening to the Orange Man (I can barely speak his name) hurl insults verbally, not to mention on Twitter, of all things, brought back in stark reality the face of that smug bully in elementary school demanding the ball from me. All that was painful & cruel about the time I grew up, was suddenly a world white people wanted to return to. It was payback time for perceived losses, & the insults have been gleefully lobbed all over the internet, the schools & the streets of America. Mean is back, with an angry vengeance.
So if you prefer to call me a bleeding heart liberal, one of the people who has brought down this country, so be it. I have tried, but I've failed to be tough. I'm a born empath, a care giver, overly maternal, & that will always be at my core. I'll never feel good enough, & if you read my blog you may notice the overabundance of self deprecation. I'll knock myself down before you do it.
But 2016, you've made me stronger. A new emotion - anger has taken over a previously soft place in my soul. I've wanted to hurl insults at mean internet tolls, but my desire to be gracious (& common sense) overruled. I've thought of writing wild conspiratorial fake news stories for internet sites, because I know there's a good buck to be made & a sucker born every minute. But I just can't do something so deceptive. So this new strength needs to be processed & I'll see where it takes me. I get the feeling I'm going to need all the strength I can muster.
The first sorrow of the year was expected, yet bittersweet. The death of Merle Haggard, whose music was the soundtrack for a happy time in my life as a young adult, appreciated all the more as possibly the last thing I could connect to my father with. "Ramblin' Fever", "The Runnin' Kind" I could relate to in an aching way, it was a freedom I longed for.
The next blow set me reeling. I wrote about the death of Prince and the relationship to Tarab in my last blog post. It would be best to read it to capture the sense of loss that astounded me. My not being a person to care one bit for celebrity, it was his art, his genius that captured me.
The next big blow was personal. A close dance friend from the '70s Joanne Domenici, a mentor of sorts for her calm demeanor & wise comforting words, passed away quickly after a diagnosis of a fatal cancer. How could someone so dedicated to healthy living leave this world so quickly, just as she was beginning a new chapter of work retirement & a new life of travel & grandchildren? She wasn't old, it wasn't fair. I miss her every day.
The last blow possibly set me reeling more than any of the aforementioned tragedies. I have done a lot of soul searching as to why the election of a man like Donald Trump to the highest position in the world would slam me against a wall, & I think I have uncovered the very personal & ugly reasons. We all have our personal journeys that shape our worldview, & here is mine, as it relates to the recent election:
I was born in the American '50s, when assimilation to the Anglo/Saxon world was key to survival & success. Only this year have I discovered through DNA, that my father's claim of being pure Basque was either a complete & total lie (wouldn't be surprising as lying was a way of life for him), or there was a deep family secret kept from him - that he was at least 40% Native American & the rest a combination of Iberian Peninsula, North Africa, West Africa, South & East Asia. Not surprising at all actually for a New Mexico native with deep roots, but deeply shameful & life altering if it was known in those times when it was illegal for blacks to marry whites, & Mexicans, etc were to be kept separate from whites in much of the USA.
That I heard the "n" word on a regular basis among some family & family friends as a child, & that all manner of prejudice was the fabric of white life in the '50s & early '60s, a life I was supposedly a part of, came up against a conflicting deeply personal reality: I had brown skin.
Because children played outside all day in the California & Arizona sunshine where I grew up, I was different enough to attract the ugliest comments anyone could inflict upon a child. I remember with laser clarity the following occurrences: I was called the "n" word by fellow students. "Give me the ball black ass" was an elementary school chestnut from a boy with a face full of self righteous indignation. "Beaner", "Taco Bender" (or "Vendor"?) I could never figure that one out. A grown man yelling out of a car window "Hey Injun Joe" as I walked to school in pigtails. It was no wonder that when an Armenian girl finally came to my school, I looked down at our hands side by side & was relieved to see someone was browner than me. I had grown to hate myself.
I kept all these insults a secret, since there was a deep shame in being called something that was the antithesis of all that was "acceptable" in my life in those times. I was supposed to be a white girl, but somehow I wasn't treated as one in the outside world.
As a teen, & a young woman, as all young women, daily sexual slurs were hurled by all manor of older men. Not sitting on a creepy old boss's lap was grounds for having to leave a job I loved before being fired. Other deep humiliating secrets.
Listening to the Orange Man (I can barely speak his name) hurl insults verbally, not to mention on Twitter, of all things, brought back in stark reality the face of that smug bully in elementary school demanding the ball from me. All that was painful & cruel about the time I grew up, was suddenly a world white people wanted to return to. It was payback time for perceived losses, & the insults have been gleefully lobbed all over the internet, the schools & the streets of America. Mean is back, with an angry vengeance.
So if you prefer to call me a bleeding heart liberal, one of the people who has brought down this country, so be it. I have tried, but I've failed to be tough. I'm a born empath, a care giver, overly maternal, & that will always be at my core. I'll never feel good enough, & if you read my blog you may notice the overabundance of self deprecation. I'll knock myself down before you do it.
But 2016, you've made me stronger. A new emotion - anger has taken over a previously soft place in my soul. I've wanted to hurl insults at mean internet tolls, but my desire to be gracious (& common sense) overruled. I've thought of writing wild conspiratorial fake news stories for internet sites, because I know there's a good buck to be made & a sucker born every minute. But I just can't do something so deceptive. So this new strength needs to be processed & I'll see where it takes me. I get the feeling I'm going to need all the strength I can muster.
