SABOTAGE

This morning, as I left Vancouver BC the sun was on it’s way up but the moon wasn’t finished. It was the largest I have ever seen it in that part of the world; low on the horizon, all its lunar mountains and valleys visible. What a bittersweet, lovely vision. I am so tired. I am activated, but I can’t show it. After this book tour I am excited by information and nutritious cultural exchange and new understandings. I am validated by stories of those I so look up to and admire. But I am flattened. The confluence of all my projects and where they dump me out into the world leaves me behind and in arrears. 

The morning found me so excited about something great about to happen. I wasn’t sure what but it didn’t matter, I trusted my horizon, which feels good in and of itself. I had enjoyed a coffee with my dear friend, Stacey, and watched her board her flight back to the States. Mine wasn’t set to leave for another hour. It was gonna be a LONG travel day. Luckily (for my back, especially) I got upgraded on my flight to Chicago. The day was flowing with me rather than against me which was so helpful as I am as worn out as a person can be; mentally and physically. I sat in my seat, exhaled and slept a tiny bit. I was coated in sweat from walking the long-ass Vancouver airport hallways to my gate with two heavy bags. I could only sleep 15 minutes or so as the screen two short feet from my face could neither be dimmed or shut off. The channel could not be changed. It was CNN News. Every white douchebag talking head’s face was in mine.  I hate the news and I hate CNN. I did not want to be advertised to or to hear/see about what the Nazi’s were up to in that moment. I don’t want screens in my face anymore. It took my joy. It took my rest and my peace. It took the tiny ball of hope and excitement and snuffed it out. 

I tried to ease my mind by finishing “Splittooth” by Tanya Tagaq. I finally had time to read it since it came out in 2014. It’s beyond brilliant.  I had been savoring the beauty and sharpness of her writing. But today, I wasn’t in the right place for it’s disturbing finality. Tagaq is much more raw and of nature than most writers. She was able to get into my marrow. Her pain became my pain, and I understood that as a white person I was only feeling the mere title page of the pain she experienced as an Indigenous person. The fact that there was so much further to go on the ladder of anguish re-broke my heart several times. I do not regret for a second that I read it, but I was so depleted and the talking heads on the screen in front of my face took my last drop of ability to mask and be in public I was officially “emotionally frail.”. As I sat at O’Hare waiting for my connection I made a couple calls and looked for comfort. None could be found. One more flight to go.

It’s a short flight from Chicago to Burlington and we would arrive at around 10pm. I had been up since six and there would be another hour and a half to drive home. The guy next to me accidentally dropped chocolate crumbs on my laptop. He didn’t say sorry or care. Finally we landed and the bell dinged to get out of our seats. I was on the aisle so I stood up and got my bag out of the overhead bin. The guy on the other aisle smashed into me backward and shoved me back toward my seat. People do that now. They try to occupy the space you are standing in like you aren’t there when you have nowhere to go. The guy next to me had already taken over my seat so I could not step back into it. I breathed. I scooched forward a tiny bit and just breathed. The door opened and people in front of us gathered their belongings. I was smashed up against the left side with my head against the open luggage bin. The guy next to me decided he needed his bags right this second and they happened to be right next to my head. My head didn’t matter. I lost it. “COULD YOU WAIT AN EXTRA THIRTY FUCKING SECONDS PLEASE?!” I roared. “THAT’S MY HEAD!” I finally was able to leave the plane, and not a moment too soon. 

Now I was hypervigilant and using all my remaining power to keep it together. Airports are not the place to get mad, or to fall apart. I texted my partner to come in and help me. I was in trouble. He misunderstood my text and did not come in. I waited for what seemed forever for my bag then drug it out into the cold. My partner was waiting with a smile on his face which I immediately ripped off. It was a misunderstanding on his part, but I was over. I was yelling and mean and I scared my dog in the back seat. I saw her scared face and I immediately turned my exhausted rage on myself. I was so ruined. How did I get this way?

I knew how. I had been talking about personal things in front of and with other people for almost a month. What is all this work for if the feeling of worthlessness can come back so easy? I had learned very disturbing things about my taxes a few days prior and had had to shove it down into my stomach. I was a chump yet again. Because of this tax problem I was not able to move my family out west to be near my daughter. I was a failure, I thought, because I was just a mark for people who think I have money and count on the fact that I will just keep paying like an idiot. After so many contractors siphoning off you’d think I’d know by now. No, because I’m a terrible judge of character… Or is it because people are just awful or people hate women and feel entitled to anything they have? You are not invited to answer any of those questions.

I thought about suicide when I first heard about my taxes. Not the kind where you kill yourself; the kind where you just don’t want to exist. (Don’t worry, this is not a cry for help) I knew that having a kid and a partner I love would keep me from that. But now I was thinking about it again. Yelling about it actually… I didn’t want to fight anymore, but here I was screaming in the car. I was never gonna get out of this hole and I was gonna keep letting my family and my close friends down. “ It’s not my fault I have a fucking stupid vagina!” I yelled as I sobbed. “It’s not my fault I was born!” I was so tired of fighting for my right to be. My heart is kind and these cruelties, including my own, were tearing it up. I received an email congratulating me for making the New York Times bestseller list. At the news I felt nothing. I still feel nothing. I let my family down. I wasn’t going to see any money from being on the bestseller list, nothing that would make things ok. I got a message from a surveyor (who is a straight up, excellent fellow) that the town I live in won’t let me sell the tiny trailer on my land without paying some random local guy around 5k for a service it didn’t need. I just have deep pockets apparently? Despite the fact that I have lived here for twenty years, the people of the region I live in see me as someone who pays for stuff, not as a person. There is no anonymity. I had internalized that too. I was just trying to pay COVID taxes, man. Between that and the surveyor fees I will not be able to subdivide so there will be no selling it. I think about suicide not because of the money, but because of being a woman reduces you to in the eyes of other people including other women. Including myself. The intrusive, forever-long reminders that you are less than. How can you blame me for wanting it all to be over? 

What does this have to do with being a woman you ask? Everything. Why did I think I could talk to people around the country about hard things and not have to pay for it? You always have to pay. How could I possibly come out the other side transformed into a lighter being?  I will keep fighting for that, but now and again I smash my soul against the glass ceiling and scream my fucking lungs out. 

The truth is I did have a wonderful time out there, though the travel and being sick part was a bit grueling at times. I loved seeing all of you who came out. I loved speaking to all the conversation partners and book partners, and all the folks who worked at the venues hosting us. I loved seeing old friends and getting bear hugs. THANK YOU for coming to the events, THANK YOU for letting me grieve in public and thank you for buying my book. Like I said, YOU ARE the better future, so take up the space with great light. We can turn back the tide of cruelty together. I know we can. And so I will get up, dust myself off and try to find that little spark of something good again. I love you.

My attempt to block out the news.