the thing is, i can honestly say that if i lived in a world without babies, i’d almost never think about them.

but i don’t live in a world without babies – i live in a world which is chockablock with them. both of my sisters gave birth to their second children in the last few months, my old university friend just had one. babies are in the street, the topic of conversation at work, on the television. babies are everywhere – they are the universal denominator.

and so, like it or not, the world is designed to force me to continually confront my decision not to have any. biology makes it difficult to avoid having children. society makes it difficult to avoid thinking about them.

i mention this because even though i’ve long since decided that giving birth isn’t for me… i would be lying if i said i never thought about it. every woman of childbearing age thinks about it, and i am no different. how could i not?

in fact, i might think about it more than many – because every day, i am made to continually evaluate and re-evaluate my “no” decision, in a world where the default is set to “yes”.

every day, people around me are pregnant. every day the media around me categorises women as mothers and mothers-to-be. every day i see or hear or read about children and babies and parents and how special and magical and wonderful it is – for everyone else.

and setting myself deliberately outside that circle, where i have consciously chosen not to share in the commonality of that experience, where i have opted out of one of the most singularly unifying human roles…

… well, sometimes it is a lonely place to be. sometimes it *does* cause me to question, in spite of myself. more to the point: sometimes i wish that i wanted a baby the way everyone else wants babies, because not wanting them feels like missing out. it’s annoying that babies take up my dedicated brainspace, that i so often find myself thinking about something i don’t want. but it’s built into the automated system: whenever i see a baby, my mind involuntarily does a little self-audit: “sure you don’t want one of those? yes, i’m sure. okay then… but are you *really* sure?” biology is an annoying fucker.

society knows this. it plays on this. i have unending sympathy for women who are infertile, because i imagine that, like them, i am hyperattuned to the saturation of messages that insist babies and children are the single most fulfilling life event to ever happen to a person. and i’m sure it is for those who have them – but it is tiresome to have to mentally reassert that my life is not bereft of meaning because i don’t want a baby.

yes, i’m actually saying that not having kids is sometimes lonely and tiresome. that’s hard to understand for most. and no reason to actually have one, of course.

still, it’s impossible to deny – in the face of all my certainty, the world that is full-of-babies constantly tries to throw clouds of doubt. and sometimes i can’t help but think the easier, less solitary path would have been acquiescence. to do what everyone does because everyone does it.

but that’s no reason to have a kid either. i know that, and believe wholeheartedly in my choice – i just wish life wasn’t constantly forcing me to think about it so often.

because it gets tiresome. and it can be lonely.

pressure free – nada surf

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(see here for my blog for choice entries from 2009, 2008, 2007)

“This year, we are dedicating Blog for Choice Day 2010 to the legacy of Dr. George Tiller. Dr. Tiller often wore a button that simply read, “Trust Women.” As we reflect on Dr. Tiller’s contribution and the current state of choice, our question to you is this: What does “Trust Women” mean to you?”

this really resonates with me. last year, in the wake of dr. tiller’s horrific murder, i found myself arriving at some surprising conclusions – that “trust women” extends far beyond the issue of abortion rights.

to live in a fully realised egalitarian society means that we must trust women:

-to control their own lives
-to control every aspect of their own bodies
-to make decisions that are right for them
-to make decisions that are right for their families and relationships
-to exercise the same kinds of autonomy, freedom and choice that are afforded to men

..and trust that doing so will lead to stronger societies for us all.

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you know, i guess i’ve been pretty lucky so far – for as long as i’ve been a massachusetts voter, i’ve had the luxury of knowing that my two congressional senators were champions of most the things i hold dear as a self-avowed bleeding-heart liberal. i’ve known that my two senators were in favour of women’s rights and choice, social services and benefits for the poor, environmental causes, full civil rights for all races/sexualities/gender identities, and protection of individual’s rights to privacy and speech. i knew, without even checking, that ted kennedy and john kerry were always on my side of the vote.

and now, i’ve been lumped with a representative whose politics i not only disagree vehemently with, but who will be actively voting against my interests as a woman, as a progressive, as a humanist. that sets me on edge just thinking about it.

worse than that, though, is that this vote was a proxy vote for the rest of the country. and that fills me with despair. it has taken nearly seven years living outside the u.s. to realise just how conservative and insular so many americans are. they don’t care about healthcare for all, they care about taxes. they don’t care about gay rights, they care about protecting their own hetero-normative mythologies. they don’t care about women’s rights, they care about their own patriarchal religious beliefs. they don’t care about global warming, they care about not spoiling the view from their condo with wind turbines. they don’t care about the american dream, they just want to make sure someone’s not stealing their dishwashing jobs.

ted kennedy must be turning over in his grave.

i was there for the obama election. i dared allow myself to hope that people wanted a kinder, gentler society. i’ve often felt alienated from my countrymen over the past seven years, and i’ve often thought that because of that, i could never go back. turns out, one-in-five obama voters supported brown.

today, what i know is this: there is one less vote for the kind of america i want to live in, and my hope was too fragile to sustain this kind of blow.

so fuck you, massachusetts. if you don’t care about me, why should i care about you? a friend recently posted this on their facebook profile, and it’s so apt that i’m quoting it here:

“elections belong to the people. it is their decision. if they decide to turn their back on the fire and burn their behinds, then they will have to just sit on their blisters.” ~ Abraham Lincoln

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*thwack*. the sharp point of an elbow slammed into the back of my head and i saw stars float in front of my eyes.

sitting at my desk, i hunched low and kept my eyes down, hoping the teacher hadn’t noticed.

*thwack*. the elbow met my head again as she returned to her seat, ostensibly using the wall-mounted pencil sharpener. i did my best not to flinch visibly, even as the words on my paper swam in front of me.

crystal n_________. probably the smallest girl in the entire school. my tormentor.

hard to believe that back at the start of september, we’d been friends. i started sixth grade in a different middle school from all my old fifth grade classmates. at eleven, i was shy and awkward, with a choppy home-grown haircut, still getting used to my brown owl-like glasses. so when i recognised crystal from the accelerated enrichment class we’d both been in the previous year, it was a huge relief. we were both learning to play the flute, both liked prince and wore purple legwarmers. crystal had an indefinable edge to her, a coolness combined with the defensiveness of living in a grittier area of town – but i didn’t care. we quickly started hanging out together, passing notes, exchanging stickers, and even had a few sleepovers where we played 1999 til we wore out the record.

and one evening, lying in our sleeping bags in the dark, she confided to me that she was abused at home.

i didn’t know what to do – what do you do when you’re little and someone drops that kind of reality in your lap? i only knew that when someone reveals something bad, you’re supposed to tell someone in authority. someone responsible. and so i persuaded her to tell our teacher.

we sat in the teacher’s meeting room, the three of us. i don’t remember what was said, but i remember staring at the wall as if my life depended on it. i’m sure the teacher said all the right things, made the appropriate reassurances.

that wall was seafoam green.

what came after that, was a fury directed at me that blindsided me, spun me round with the force of being clocked. at began with a campaign of silence. crystal no longer spoke to me. when i tried to talk to her, find out what was going on, she looked through me as if looking through a ghost. my notes and calls went unanswered. i couldn’t understand what i’d done to make her reject me so completely. but she never let up, not for one second. from that moment in the teacher’s meeting room, with the seafoam green walls, it was if i had ceased to exist.

until, that is, she switched alliances. crystal and i had been a pair of oddball friends, but somehow less odd for begin together. everyone else in our class had pre-established friends from years of graduating up through the grades together. she and i had become friends out of necessity. but now she began cultivating relationships with the popular girls, currying favour with them through her acid remarks and brazenness. as the leaders at the top of the food chain, they admired someone who could act so tough. they took her into the clique, and she soon became one of them.

i’m not sure what she told them about me, but it must have been pretty awful. previously they’d ignored me – i was completely peripheral to their day-to-day, not even worthy of attention. once crystal joined their group, all that changed. they began going out of their way to trip me, sneer at me, steal my books off my desk when i wasn’t looking and hide them. to them, i was something for their amusement – it made them laugh to knock my flour on the floor in home economics class, or snigger at a private joke until my face burned red. it was crystal, however, who reserved a special kind of hatred for me.

“you’re dead. after school, you’re dead,” the note flung surreptitiously into my lap read. i managed to leave unseen by the rear exit of the school, and walk home by the back streets that day. but she wouldn’t let up – she hissed epithets in my ear when no one was looking, continually threaten to beat me up, shoved vicious notes through the slats of my locker. and her specialty – the elbow to the back of the head with an innocent look on her face, while i swallowed the pain.

and day after day, i endured it in silence.

i don’t know why i didn’t tell anyone. perhaps i knew without asking that the adults couldn’t do much. after all, she was so sneaky about most of it, it was invisible to the naked eye. perhaps i assumed that without proof, no one would believe me. perhaps i knew any intercession on my behalf might make things worse.

when, towards the end of the long school year, i finally told my mother, i remember only this: she offered me a prayer. a prayer that i clung to, repeated ceaselessly like a balm. a prayer that did little to stop the bullying, but somehow felt soothing nonetheless.

god has not promised
skies always blue
flower strewn pathways
all our lives through

god has not promised us
sun without rain
joy without sorrow
peace without pain

but god has promised us
strength for the day
rest for the weary
light for the way

god has promised us
help from above
unfailing sympathy
undying love.

i don’t know why or how that was supposed to make me feel better, but it did. even as i stumbled home in shame, hot tears running down my cheeks when i couldn’t hold them back until i got home. it makes me angry now, that message – that somehow the torment of that year was part of my cross to bear, and that if i only believed hard enough, i could continue to bear it with god’s help. no child should believe that the cruelty of others is part of god’s will.

and i did bear it. sixth grade finally ended, and by the following autumn, crystal and her friends had moved into different classes. i was once again blessedly ignored, forgotten about.

but i’ve never forgotten about her.

as an adult, i came to understand, of course, why she turned against me so viciously, in an effort to protect herself from someone who knew her secrets. funnily enough, i was a threat *to her*, though even in all that grief, it never once occurred to me to lash out, or use what i knew to discredit her. i understand why she did what she did.

i can understand it, but even now, more than twenty-five years later, i can’t forgive it.

i looked her up recently on facebook, out of curiosity. and there she was. looking almost exactly the same, only an older version of the eleven year old she was. my stomach seized up involuntarily – it seems unbelievable to me that someone who’s lived so long in my memory as this feared image could be right there, looking innocent in her curls as ever. if her facebook profile is anything to go by, she doesn’t seem like she ever softened at all. i guess she might’ve had a difficult life if she was so hardened by eleven. maybe life didn’t get any better for her after that.

and of course, i wonder if she ever thinks of me. if she’s ever sorry for what she did, the hell she made my life for that whole year. writing about it now, the tears i never let her see then, still spring easily to my eyes. it probably doesn’t even register on her memory.

i wish i could say the same.

just like anyone – aimee mann

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how long can you hold on to a dream?  i was talking to my work colleague the other day about our current disillusionment with our jobs.  and they’re *fine* jobs – they’re good, solid jobs that make a difference to others.  but we just sort of fell into these roles, and they’re jobs that we’re good at, but not passionate about.   we spent an hour daydreaming about the kinds of things we wished we were doing instead.  “so what do you want to be when you grow up? ha ha ha,”  – but the laughter was hollow.

then the other day, amity wrote a blog post about not knowing which direction to head in her future.   and i, (always so quick with the sage advice that i am incapable of following myself), said don’t worry! lots of people are just feeling their way along in life! you’ll get there eventually!

but those two occurrences have left me feeling very unsettled.

i don’t remember how it was that i came to know i wanted to be a therapist, but at seventeen when i was applying to university, i knew that that was my ultimate goal.  there was never any question – i’ve always just known.

and now…well, three weeks ago i turned 37.

and in talking about it, it suddenly hit me like a punch to the gut – the hard realisation that *twenty years later*, i am no closer to my dream than i was then.

fuck me. twenty years.

oh sure, i’ve got a b.a., and i’ve made two aborted half-attempts at getting into grad school.  but those jokes i make about “working on a 50 year career plan” are worn threadbare of amusement.  i look at friends who are doing jobs they really love and wonder why the hell i’m not.  i’m filled with a deep, disquieting jealousy.

how did i let this happen?  i still want to be a therapist just as much as i did those twenty eager years ago.  more so, even.  it’s all i’ve ever really wanted to do, always been my ideal.  i can even picture myself doing it – i can imagine my office, i can imagine what i would wear, i can imagine what i would say.   i know i’d be good at it too, damnit.  if there was ever anything i thought was destined to be in my life, that’s it.

and every day i spend stuck where i am now, is one more day that i’m not working towards making that dream happen.

part of the holdup is that up until now j and i have been dithering about our moving plans – i wanted to hold out for more travelling opportunities first, he wanted to get to canada as soon as possible.   back-and-forth we go about the best approach, who will apply for a visa, how much money we need in the bank, can we take off for another couple months, yadda, yadda, yadda.

it’s the paralysis of indecision, and i’m sinking in it.

so the other day when i realised it had been twenty years, twenty fucking years, since i first knew “what i want to be when i grow up”… well, it occurred to me that maybe it’s actually time to grow up.

enough with the half-assed attempts, enough with always wanting to do just-one-more-thing first, enough with being stuck in the kind of job that makes me jealous of other people’s jobs.  i’ve been casting about for something new to anchor to, a new challenge – and i think i’ve found it.

for twenty years, it’s been there all along.

distopian dream girl – built to spill

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under the bush administration, i used to hear from a lot of people who said they wanted to move to the u.k. because they thought it was “more enlightened”.

to those of you who imagined that britain is some sort of liberal utopia, i present to you three news items from today:

5 convicted in Britain over protest at parade

LONDON — A court found five British Muslim men guilty on Monday of harassment and using insulting language during a protest they had staged at a parade welcoming British troops home from Afghanistan. The men had shouted slogans describing the soldiers as “murderers,” “rapists” and “baby killers.”

The highly unusual trial, in a district court in Luton, a town with a large Muslim population 30 miles north of London, was seen by the defendants’ supporters as a rare test of Britain’s liberal free speech laws. Lawyers for the men argued during testimony last week that they had been justified in the words they displayed on placards and shouted at the soldiers because they were speaking “the truth.”

But the district judge, Carolyn Mellanby, found five of the seven defendants guilty of offenses under Britain’s public order laws, specifically of using “threatening, abusive or insulting words” and of “behavior likely to cause harassment and distress.”

now here i have to take exception with the n.y. times characterisation of britain’s free speech laws as “liberal”. in fact, as i’ve pointed out here many times before, there is no such thing as “free speech” in the u.k. – only that speech which has not been made illegal. and “hate speech” which is thought to be unduly inflammatory or potentially provoking violence, is illegal.

which brings me neatly to exhibit b:

britain moves to ban controversial islamic group

LONDON (AP) — The British government banned an Islamist group notorious for glorifying al-Qaida and tied to terror plots at home and abroad, but its Lebanon-based spiritual leader promised to reorganize under a different name.

The group, Islam4UK, will be banned starting Thursday after its British leader, Anjem Choudary, threatened to bring hundreds of people marching in protest through the streets a small market town known for honoring the British soldiers killed in Afghanistan.

The latest ban puts the group in the same league with terror organizations such as al-Qaida, and the Tamil Tigers. It could lead to the arrest of anyone meeting under the Islam4UK name or using the group’s insignia.

The group, previously known as Al-Muhajiroun, was banned before only to change its name and resurface again.

nope, no freedom of assembly here either! setting aside the obvious inanity of “banning” something which can simply reform the following day under another name, you’d assume that if they were actual terrorists, they could be arrested under the terrorism act (rather than just oh, “banned”), right?

oh, wait. someone already said that.

“‘Shouldn’t we, as a democracy and a country which upholds the rule of law and order, be banning individuals who break the law rather than banning organizations?” spokesman [for The Muslim Council of Britain] Inayat Bunglawala said.

and speaking of the terrorism act:

stop and search powers of the terrorism act ruled illegal by the european court of human rights.

Police powers to use terror laws to stop and search people without grounds for suspicion are illegal, the European Court of Human Rights has ruled.

The Strasbourg court has been hearing a case involving two people stopped near an arms fair in London in 2003.

It said that Kevin Gillan and Pennie Quinton’s right to respect for a private and family life was violated.

Home Office Minister David Hanson MP said he was “disappointed” and would considering whether to appeal.

those are the same laws which have in the past few years pretty much allowed any police person to stop and search any person anywhere without reasonable cause… as long as they record it in a notebook. they’ve made excellent use of this law – using it for everything from trying to get knives off the streets to harrassing climate change protestors to intimidating news photographers and tourists from taking photos of tourist attractions… but not actually catching many terrorists.

so tell me again what kind of “enlightened” society i live in?

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yesterday “jen’s den of iniquity” passed its 6 year anniversary.

the form and function of this little blog have evolved so much since its inception. saying that, this has been a difficult year for me as a blogger – i’ve had more than a passing thought this last year about hanging it all up. small personal blogs like mine feel like they’ve been outmoded in many ways – unless you have a particular theme or tailor your writing for a specific audience (something i’ve steadfastly refused to do – for me it would just feel so artificial), it’s become really hard to build up a following. without concerted effort at self-promotion, the “community” of bloggers seems less organic than it was back in 2004. it’s particularly difficult if you don’t have any kids – so much of blogging seems to revolve around parents these days. that’s no knock on parents who blog … just the reality of who is reading and who is writing. for reasons i can’t quite pinpoint, i seem to have lost a large portion of my viewership this year, and (if i’m honest) spent some time sulking about that.

i spent a few months grappling with the atrophy of readers – it is difficult to feel that you are writing into a void. it’s hard not to take it personally when you spend a lot of effort writing something, only to have it go unnoticed. it makes it terribly difficult to stay motivated. i hate to admit how much even a few words of external validation mean to me. it’s *painful* to feel like you’re the last kid picked for the kickball team. this is not an appeal for anyone’s pity – just a recognition of why it bothered me so much.

but in all my pondering, sulking and mulling, i kept returning to this: it would pain me far more to not write at all. even if i only have an audience of one, writing has become so important to my daily life, so central to my being, that i could never quit it.

it’s become reflexive – i write in my head even when i can’t get to a keyboard. i write in my heart, even when it means nothing to anyone else.

i just can’t seem to quit you, my little den of iniquity.

so even if it’s just you and me and nobody else out there, happy anniversary.

last year – akron/family

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so 2010 didn’t get off to a great start for me. it all began back in 2009, when our boiler decided to cut out a few days before christmas, leaving us without any heat or hot water.

in an old flat with lots of falling-apart single pane windows – we’re talking stand in front of one and feel your hair blowing with the outdoor breezes.

during a 2 week cold snap with average temperatures of 0C (32F).

the thermometer read 12C (53F)… indoors.

thus began a 12 day saga to get the bloody boiler fixed. it included a mad dash for a space heater on Christmas day, waiting around for five plumbers appointments (two no-shows, and two where they didn’t actually even open the boiler) countless irate emails to our landlord, one denied request to stay at a hotel, one registered faux-legalese letter threatening to report it to the local council, and one episode of taking off work in the middle of the day to go home and identify the boiler model number. not to mention countless hours banging on the boiler fruitlessly, countless kettles boiled in order to take a lukewarm bath, countless tears of frustration, and countless hours huddled under blankets shivering.

it was hell. it was pure misery. it ruined my holidays.

finally, blessedly on monday we got our heat and hot water back. even now, two days later, i keep touching the radiators for their reassuring warmth.

imagine my reaction, then, when on New Year’s Day i awoke to an internet outage. which lasted six days. area outage, we were told – every day we would call up and be informed that it was estimated to be fixed by later that day, only to go to bed with the green modem light blinking sadly instead of glowing happily. finally they began telling us they couldn’t estimate when it would be fixed, and we stopped calling. thank god for 3g service – on those overlapping days when i was unshowered, freezing cold and internet-less, my iphone saved my sanity.

and then this morning i woke up to a happy modem light. praise jeebus and pass the beer nuts! there was a hairsbreadth line between me and the men in white jackets.

i may have previously mentioned my white hot hatred of virgin media.

this did not help.

so – not an auspicious start to the new year. but now i’m showered, warm, and fully connected again. it’s got to get better from here on out…right?

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I don’t make new year’s resolutions, as I think i’ve mentioned here before. Resolutions are doomed and there’s no point in making them – if you weren’t motivated enough to try to accomplish them throughout the year, you’re not likely to be any more successful just for starting on the magical 1st January. Instead, I enter into each new year with a sense of those things I want to try to shed and leave behind in the old.

This year, one of those things I want to leave behind is eating habits that are harmful to our planet.

There’s been a lot of mainstream attention given to our interaction with the food chain lately. Michael Pollan’s “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” and Barbara Kingsolver’s “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle”, along with films such as “Food Inc.” and “Fast Food Nation” all document the way in which the public demand and consumption of food has changed, and the dramatic way in which those changes have impacted how food is produced and delivered.

None of this is news to me -it’s not that I didn’t know any of this before. But with each additional piece of information, I’ve had to do even deeper exploration of why I eat the way I eat. I’ve had to question why I continued to ignore the clear messages. I’ve been taking it all in, but closing my eyes when I bite into that burger.

Because when I take the time to examine it, it doesn’t make sense. I choose not to shop at ASDA or Tesco’s because I disagree with their marketing and labour practices. But day after day, I pretend my eating habits don’t matter. I continue to put meat in my mouth, knowing the environmental toll it takes on the planet.

What it boils down to is this: I, more than many others, have the luxury of making deliberate, considered choices about the food I put in my mouth. Doesn’t that obligate me to do so? And why would I not?

The problem is, once you start thinking about it, it’s hard to stop. There are people in underdeveloped countries who are most vulnerable to the effects of global warming and overfishing, and yet have the least power to affect change. I’ve been to some of those places, I’ve met some of those people, I’ve seen the pollution first hand. How can I ignore it?

Over the past few years, I’ve reduced my meat consumption dramatically due to the meat-churning factories, and patted myself on the back for doing so. But I’ve increased my fish consumption exponentially – and that’s just as harmful. The fishing-industrial complex rivals that of the intensive beef or pork or chicken industries. It is estimated that by 2040 *all* fishing will have collapsed. For millions of people in developing countries, fish is the primary source of protein.

A few years ago now, I stopped eating chicken because of the gross practices of the chicken industry. I’ve bought only free-range, organic meat when I do indulge – and it is an indulgence, sold at a premium. I’ve rationalised that if i’m going to buy meat, I should always buy the most “ethical” meat I can. That’s a good place to start.

But why do my ethics seem to stop there?

I have a choice. I have the knowledge and money and availability to eat in a way that reduces the impact I have on the planet, the suffering of animals, and my personal contribution to the suffering of other people. Many people don’t have that opportunity. It’s hard to justify squandering that opportunity and continuing to eat meat and fish, out of habit or craving. I’ve been wanting to make the change for a while now… so what am I waiting for?

And so from the new decade, I’ve turned over a new (old) leaf. I was vegetarian for 14 years previously, but reverted to eating meat this past decade, because it tasted good. These days it’s harder and harder to get past the taste of the bitter disappointment in myself.

I can do better… and so I will. No grand resolutions, just a quiet saying goodbye. Leaving behind the old lazy rationalisations and excuses, starting to exercise my firmer judgement and choice. Not perfect, not holier-than-thou, just an improved version of who I know I can be.

Happy New Year to all.

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for the past few years, i’ve been taking part in the mayfly project: the year in 24 words.

i enjoy the challenge of distillation. when it all boils down to just a few words, what *really* mattered this year?

here, then, the essence of my 2009.

new president, new home, new job, new family members. physiology frustrated, marathon scuppered. running to stand still, but plans afoot for the coming year!

the new year – death cab for cutie

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a british man in china was convicted of drug smuggling and put to death this morning.

that, in itself, is sadly not shocking in the least. china has long had a history of summarily executing people for non-violent crimes – something which the international olympic committee chose to overlook last year, and which most western countries, even those with the death penalty themselves (united states, i’m looking at you), choose to excuse in the name of global economics (or indebtedness – united states, i’m looking at you).

what i’ve found shocking is the number of britons who are either apologists for it, or chiming in with agreement.

the comments in most op ed pieces, or online polls, are truly shocking. to me, anyway.

here i thought i lived in a country which (along with the rest of the EU) had long since condemned the death penalty as a barbaric practice which has no place in modern society. and outwardly, politicians will tell you that’s true. but scratch the surface of that genteel british veneer and you find people saying stuff like:

“I’ve seen the dark side of drugs and what they do to a community. There is NO punishment too harsh to counter the evil that comes with drugs — especially heroin.”

“A dose of chinese justice would not go amiss in the treatment of drug smugglers in the UK. This execution will benefit sick chinese people who will receive vital organs transplanted from the criminal. No damage to the vital organs is ensurred by a precise shot to the back of the neck. Thus out of evil some good is obtained.”

“They should do the same thing with murderers over here in my opinion, for the same reason – it sends out a powerful message that there are some offences that are so bad that, if you commit them, you will pay the ultimate sanction.”

“the chinese made the RIGHT decision. pity the british government dont follow suit and make a dent in the uk drug problem!”

“Maybe if we had a legal system like China we’d have less problems with ferral drug addled layabouts in this country.”

“A good drug smuggler is a dead one.”

(and lest you think these comments are culled from the right-wing daily mail or sun, they’re from the guardian and bbc websites, every one of them.)

now, perhaps that’s not representative of the british public at large, but i have to say that my sense is that it’s more representative than i would like to admit. much like the backlash which has garnered the bnp so much support recently, i believe the same is happening here.

people are dissatisfied with the status quo – and expressing it in some truly ugly ways.

it’s typical, really. when we can’t figure out how to really solve a societal problem, we revert to advocating the most simplistically crude and unthinking course of action possible: killing.

it’s so discouraging – i thought that having left the u.s. (where the popular alternative of locking up drug users and dealers alike en masse is nearly as stupid and useless) i would no longer have to endure the kind of bloodthirsty and vengeful arguments for the death penalty that are so common there.

more fool i. the public are disgusted with their government. people are clamouring for change. and the pendulum will continue to swing to the far right until they have it.

* and the post title is a nautical saying to remind sailors which side to keep of the buoys, but it sprang to mind today as being alliteratively apt.

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tomorrow’s my birthday, and so i present to you 37 things i’ve learned along my 37 years. i started this a few years ago now, and i quite like the ritual of it – it puts me in a positive frame of mind to face the coming year, and allows me enough self-reflection to feel a bit wiser for my age.

so here we go:

1. waxing is *not* better than shaving. no matter what anyone says.

2. trying to get back to the weight of your 20s is futile. nature is conspiring against you on this one.

3. ditto #2 for the face.

4. a real xmas tree or none at all.

5. forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, and the freedom it brings is priceless.

6. giving really is better than receiving. and there is always something you can give.

7. simple meals done well are better than fancy meals that never get made.

8. things worth spending money on: good sheets, good coffee, good shoes.

9. things not worth spending money on: nylons, name brand ibuprofen.

10. the best things in life are still free. snow days, running, moonlight, footrubs.

11. the amazing thing about humans is that we are always capable of change. never give up hope that people will change for the better.

12. then be there for them with open arms when they do.

13. the internet has made expat life immeasurably better. email, video, voice, facebook. even in the past seven years, it’s made a massive difference to my world.

14. but sometimes nothing can substitute for being home.

15. the best friends are also family.

16. and the best families are also friends.

17. never take a working boiler for granted (she types with frozen fingers whilst awaiting the arrival of the plumber).

18. resolve never to take your partner for granted. you inevitably will, but it’s so important to try not to.

19. some people will cling to the illusion of security above all else: truth, justice and freedom. try not to judge them for needing it so badly.

20. health is merely the slowest possible rate at which we can die.

21. but access to healthcare is a basic human right which should never be dependent on how much you earn.

22. if you have the opportunity to go to school, always do it now, rather than later. my one regret is that i didn’t go to grad school when i had the chance earlier. it gets harder later.

23. people’s beliefs are so intimate, so personal – when you criticise their beliefs, you criticise their heart. try to be respectful, even when you vehemently disagree.

24. if you treat people with respect, you’re more likely to be respected.

25. choose your battles carefully – life is too short to spend it being angry all the time.

26. the iphone is even better than the hype.

27. “Serenity is what we get when we quit hoping for a better past.” -Alanon

28. you make your own luck in this life – sitting around waiting for a stroke of luck never worked for anyone, and wishing doesn’t make things so.

29. risotto is worth learning to make from scratch.

30. whimsical socks make me happy – even when i’m having an otherwise shit day, i can look down and see frolicking penguins. it’s hard to be unhappy when your feet are smiling.

31. if you’re talking, you’re not listening.

32. you can tell people you love them, but if they don’t feel heard, they don’t feel valued. so shut up and listen already.

33. you will spend your whole married life renegotiating three things: money, sex, and the thermostat.

34. give love unreservedly and often. lavish people with love. you will never be in short supply of it, and you will never be sorry for having done so. if we have nothing in our cupboards and nothing over our heads, we will always have love to give in abundance.

35. never be afraid of sounding like a sentimental fool.

36. getting older gracefully is not about letting go of little vanities – it’s about letting go of the struggle to be something you’re not.

37. if your 20s didn’t kill you, nothing will.

the birthday wars – oxford collapse

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now that i live an ocean away from my family, we usually don’t exchange gifts at Christmas. but the other day i saw a link to this charity gift card website, and thought it would be a really nice idea. so i sent everyone a small denomination giftcard which they can then donate to the charity of their choice. as part of the message going along with the giftcard i wrote:

This year I thought people would like the opportunity to pass on some good to any cause that is near and dear to their heart. Our family is so lucky, we have more than enough cheer to spread around

and while that it technically true – my family are lucky in that we all, thankfully, have enough to eat, shelter, and clothe ourselves – upon reflection, i think i’ve probably been a bit insensitive. i was really speaking only for myself – because while *i* have enough money to donate to others, others in my immediate family are definitely not as well-off. in fact, there are some in my family who probably could have made good use of that $25 themselves.

talking about this makes me a bit uncomfortable, actually. truth be told, i’m fairly well-off in comparison to many – i live in an expensive city, yet still have enough to do things like travel, go out to concerts, give nice gifts, and generally not worry too much. in fact, i live a fairly cushy lifestyle by some standards. that’s not to say that jonno and i don’t work hard, or watch our spending in other ways. but overall, we are extraordinarily lucky to have not only enough, but more than we need.

others in my family have it a bit harder. there are some who’ve had to rely on public aid. there are some who’ve had difficulty finding steady employment. there are some who worry about keeping the jobs they have. there are some who make ends meet – but only just.

and to be perfectly, excruciatingly honest, this is the only time it has occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, it might bother them that i have certain financial freedoms that they don’t.

don’t get me wrong: there’s no one in my family who would let any one of us go without. but charity is a luxury available only to those that have a surplus. that’s a luxury that some of my family just don’t have.

if i critique my motives, i know that my heart was in the right place. but i have to wonder if perhaps i was so caught up in making the gesture to make myself feel good, that i never considered whether it was something that would make others feel good. if i wasn’t giving what i wanted to give, rather that what others would want to receive.

how’s that for selfish? i never stopped to think about it at all.

they say there is no such thing as a truly altruistic act, and i suppose i proved that to be true. but maybe even if my magnanimous gesture wasn’t such a great present for everyone else, at least it gave *me* something in return – a little self-awareness, a little sensitivity, and a little reminder of something i’d clearly forgotten. that no matter how well-intentioned, Christmas is not about the giving – it’s about family.

and what a gift that is indeed.

god knows (you’ve got to give to get) – el perro del mar

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little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid

look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i’ll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they’ll stare!
oh but you’ll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
“Noel Noel”

~little tree, by e.e. cummings

christmas time is here – vince guaraldi

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there are nights in our history that my family don’t talk about. nights where the calm of domesticity and image of family was shattered into a million sharp pieces that left us all scarred.

it is enough to say that much. in fact, i’ve probably said too much.

but this is not a post about the things that happen to a family, or the things that happened to our particular family. i’ve long since come to understand that all families have their hidden scars. given enough time, they eventually form part of the strength that hold us together – or sometimes, hold us apart. the shared bond and shared vulnerability of having survived – without words, we share a story.

and the thing is not that every family has them – because every family does. the thing is that we forget that others don’t know. me: i forget that others don’t know. i forget that people who did not know me during my twenties, don’t know what a massive crater those things that happened left in me, for so very long. they have no idea that i was not always whole.

there are people whom i’ve known for many years, who helped me live through some of those times, so they understand that there are things that are redacted from my past. for a very long time, the things that happened to my family were a source of pain that was sometimes so all-consuming that i was a walking, weeping wound. they felt like *the* defining characteristic of my family, and by extension, a defining characteristic of me.

(and just as my family doesn’t talk about those scars amongst ourselves, i do not tell the story of others in my family – those versions, those experiences are not mine to tell, and as much as i am open about myself, i am very private about most other people in my family.)

but friends i’ve made in the past ten years have no idea. and i forget that they don’t know. this post came about because i was with a friend in a pub the other day, and on a tangent of our original discussion, i found myself filling in the backstory to some of my own darker days. i had forgotten, you see, and said something along the lines of, “you know how when such-and-such happened…” and the blank look of complete non-recognition fell across her face.

so why is that remarkable in any way? because the friends i’ve made in the past ten years have no idea. those scars? they’re faded. the pain that once left gaping wounds in my heart for all to see? it’s no longer the hole at the center of my life. it too, has faded into memory. i can tell you where and how things shattered – but it is no longer the central, defining story of my family. it no longer defines me. in fact, i forget that many of my friends don’t know.

and the miracle of that forgetting?

that tells me i’ve healed.

change of heart – el perro del mar

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seems there’s a meme going around where people write letters to their younger selves.

i thought about writing one myself – but in my case, it wouldn’t ring true. you see, while most people experienced the teenage angst of wanting to be an adult, or feeling that they were waiting for their lives to *begin*, i never really went through that. for me, that exhilarating freedom that comes with the autonomy of shaping your world and who you are, in accordance with no one else’s rules but your own… for me that happened at thirty.

i was thinking about that as i approach my 37th birthday in just a few weeks time. i always have this funny game in my head where i start thinking of myself as older long before the actual turn of the calendar. so really, i’ve been thinking of myself as 37 for a while now, and it has long since occurred to me that 37 is much closer to 40 than i realised.

i suppose i expected that, much like my dramatic and prolonged run-up to 30, i would be filled with dread at that prospect. after all, unless you’re planning to live to 100, 40 is truly “middle aged”. i expected to be struck down early by the doom of a “mid-life crisis” (seeing as how i tend to be ahead of the curve on such things – hell, i had a quarter-century crisis long before they became fashionable).

and perhaps i would be, if, like my 27 year old self, i felt i was living someone else’s idea of an expected life. if i had kids and a mortgage and a car and a flatscreen tv and a responsible career and parent-teacher nights and remodelling projects and vacations to disneyworld and retirement accounts and the local pizza place on speeddial and a sensible haircut and a life insurance policy and the prospect of another 40+ years of the same, i’d be absolutely despondent. i mean no offense to anyone else who has those things. they are good, honest and true things, and they were the things i was headed towards because they were what i thought i was *supposed* to want. but once i threw off those expectations, i realised they were not my idea of a life.

but where i am now is so vastly different from where i was then. the other day jonno and i were discussing where we want to live next – new zealand, australia, or canada? we are discussing the possibility of doing another few months of travelling. i am readying myself to begin training for another marathon. the other day i had to go buy more dishes and silverware for my thanksgiving dinner, and i kinda resented it – for the past three years, we’ve had exactly four forks, four plates, four glasses, and i’ve loved that minimalism. in a few minutes, i’m heading out to the pub for a few drinks. on a school night. because i can. i have a job i could leave in a heartbeat, but provides a decent lifestyle, so i stay on. i have enough money to do the things i really want, and enough flexibility to do them. in short, i *love my life*.

and i live it according to no one’s expectations, no one’s rules but my own. it took me 30 years to achieve a life of my own, and i feel as though i’m just getting started.

if the past six years are anything to go by, i’ve got everything i ever wanted to look forward to.

so bring on 37. hell, bring on 40. i can’t wait to see what’s in store.

possibilities – frankie and the heartstrings

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now that it’s officially december, and only 3 short weeks until christmas/my birthday, i like to give those who may need multiple gift ideas for me (read: jonno) a few helpful hints. with that in mind, i present my annual “gimme gimme gimme” list!

tokyomilk “honey and the moon” perfume.

i very rarely fall in love with perfumes this quickly, but i love this – it’s sweet and spicy, and just a little bit complicated. unfortunately it’s only available either shipped internationally, or at the new anthropologie store on regent street. but it’s a steal at about £25

alternatively, fresh “sugar” perfume.

in a word, delicious. this has been on my wishlist for years now, and now there’s an actual fresh store in london!

the crumpler new delhi 230 camera bag

now that i have a camera worth protecting, and extra lenses to lug, i need a new camera bag. but this also wonderfully doubles as a regular messenger bag when you remove the camera pouch! so i can use it as an all in one when i want to bring my camera but also need to stash my wallet/keys/etc, but also not look like a big dork if i use it for other stuff.

a philips wake up light alarm clock

i’ve heard people rave about these for years. in the winter, my sleep gets all kinds of messed up, and prising my eyes open in the pitch-black morning is pure torture. i’ve heard tell that these alarm clocks help wake you up gently over the course of a half hour, and you awake feeling alert. which would be a fine change from my generalised discombobulation.

sonicare toothbrush

i want to upgrade my electric toothbrush. nuff said.

almost forgot! some yoga blocks

i’ve been working on my jump through for a year now, and still can’t manage it with straight legs. so i need some blocks to practice. and hey! cheap present!

and finally at the other end of the spectrum: an imac

i admit it, i want one. my first ever computer was a mac, and since i got my iphone earlier this year, i remembered why i loved them so much. my current computer is already 3 years old, and starting to show signs of wear. however since they start at £900, i have a feeling santa won’t be dropping one down my chimney any time soon.

so there you have it – my greedy little heart, version 2009. truthfully, though, i’d be so happy with just the company of good friends, some good food, and peace and health for all my loved ones.

but if you were on your way out to the apple store, i won’t stop you…

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another year, another post about world aids day.

year after year, i write about the global aids statistics. year after year, they tell the tale of how this virus ravages those who are most vulnerable – the poor, the young, the weak.

this year, though, there is some good news mixed with the grim: although there continue to be more and more people living with hiv/aids, the global pandemic is officially in decline.

unfortunately, even in the face of some of the best news since this epidemic began, there is a very sobering statistic : the world health organisation reports that hiv is the number one killer worldwide of women of reproductive age.

that means all those public health policies that work to combat hiv/aids disproportionately affect women – they are policies about women’s health. women are more at risk for hiv/aids for both biological and sociological reasons, and there is “strong evidence of the link between gender based violence and hiv”.

and therefore the funding cuts looming in this shaky economy will disproportionately affect women, and threaten to undermine the hard-won gains that have been made.

now, more than ever, it’s important to keep fighting. after decades of campaigning and fundraising and marching and wearing ribbons, we finally have some progress to show for our efforts – we can’t allow it to backslide!

i’m going to try (again) to run the edinburgh marathon this coming may, and will be fundraising for the hiv/aids fight.

isn’t there something you can do? it makes a difference to so many.

2.7 million people were newly infected last year, and 2 million people died.

but where there is help, there is hope.

if 2 million is too hard to wrap your brain around, this year remember just one person.

and then do something for them.

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the other day on thanksgiving, i rang up my brother dave’s house to talk to the family gathered there. after chit-chatting with all and sundry, my brother raul’s girlfriend, passed the phone on to dave’s long-term-partner-now-new-wife. as she handed over the phone, the girlfriend called out, “hey Mrs. B___! jen’s on the phone!”

as she did so, it suddenly struck me: after being one of only two Ms. B___s in my family tree for years (the other being the one who gave birth to me), another woman now shares my surname.

you see, my grandfather’s surname was B____. he had sisters who all changed their surname upon marriage. dad’s surname is B____. my dad has five sisters, who all changed their surname upon marriage. my two sisters have both changed their surnames. my mother is Mrs. B___ by marriage, and although my parents divorced years ago, she kept her married surname.

so for several years now, i have been the lone female B___ who is descended from this particular line of the family tree… stuck way out of the very furthest twig of the limb. and in spite of childhood teasing, misspellings and mispronunciations far too numerous to count, and marrying twice… i’ve never had any inclination to change it. i like to joke that that’s out of sheer laziness, but the truth is that i’ve always been very attached to my surname.

my surname is pretty unique, even in cities chock full of multi-cultural populations. in fact, for many years, it was thought that outside of the cluster of B____ relatives in the new york/new jersey area, there was another cluster of distant cousins somewhere in california – and that was it. these days an internet search brings up a small smattering of people, who are, i’m sure, in some way related to me by historical lineage – i can see the familiar high slavic cheekbones and noses staring back at me with such familiarity in people’s facebook profile pictures, including those with alternate married surnames. my particular surname goes back to a tiny island called unije, off the coast of croatia, where my grandfather, Matthew B____, emigrated from when he was barely a teenager. he journeyed alone by boat (his father Martin having emigrated to parts unknown in the states several years earlier), landed at ellis island, as in the classic american immigration narrative. there’s a famous family story that a dockworker at the port, who happened to know Martin B___, happened by chance to recognise my grandfather Matthew B___’s surname from the hundreds of names on the ship’s records, and managed to put him back in touch with his father who was also working the docks. in a city of millions, what were the chances?

and so it was another set of coincidences that lead me, in one of my periodic google searches, to find a book called “The History and Families of Unije”, a small genealogical book put together as a personal project by an author tracing his own family history. unije’s modern history has been checkered by the forces of war – it has been a various points part of austria, italy, the former yugoslavia, and now croatia. in 2005, a set of parish records were uncovered which dated back to the 18th century. suddenly, thanks to this book, i now can look back and trace the origins of my B___ surname to 1753. i can see pictures of the island where my grandfather lived as a boy. i can see the olive mills and the sardine factories. this amazes me to no end.

i’m not a history buff, and i’m not a genealogist. but something about this commonality with people whose blood lives on in my veins pulls deep at the core of me. it feels essential to who i am. i am the granddaughter of an immigrant, i am the great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter of Martin B___, who was one of about 140 inhabitants of the tiny island of unije in the early 1700s. even before i knew this, i felt it.

genetic links are strong stuff. in recent years, my brother and sister who were adopted as infants, have both been in contact with their biological birth mothers. i have seen them standing next to each other, their mannerisms, facial features and smiles mirroring each other. in spite of the years of separation, and differing surnames, they are linked at the cellular level. as my brother dave married the new Mrs. B___, i watched his birth mother and biological sister look on with smiles that were perfect images of the one beaming across his face at his new bride.

this is the truth of why i have kept my surname. it is, for me, a way of representing those links to people whose dna from hundreds of years ago, still circulates through me, and whose immigrant story has made my life possible. i am a B___ because my grandfather and great-grandfather left their stone houses and olive mills and sardine factories to travel across an ocean to the docks of lower manhattan.

but it also represents the links with those to whom i am tied not by the genetic bonds of blood, but by bonds of choice and love. my siblings and i are not of the same genetic descent, we don’t look alike or act alike… but we are family just as true as if we were born that way, and our shared surname reflected that. my new sister-in-law is of greek heritage – her parents too, emigrated here, and are also part of the famed american melting pot. she shares none of the B___ dna, but in adopting her into our crazy family, she is just as surely “one of us” now.

i am Jen B___. the B___ represents my family – the old and the new of it, the blood, bonds, marriages, divorces, adoptions, journeys, oceans, history, stories, deaths, olive mills, birth mothers, misspellings and cheekbones of it all. for me, it represents all of who i am, past and present.

it is my family, it is my identity, it is quintessentially *me*. i wouldn’t change it for the world.

it’s cool to love your family – feist

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another thanksgiving here in the uk.

i will be working on the day, but hosting a traditional turkey dinner on the saturday – a motley dinner party of three americans, three south africans, two brits, and one canadian. they are friends and family both.

between the the two years i lived in Canada, and the nearly seven years i’ve been here, i’m almost getting used to celebrating on a completely different day. scary.

but i am grateful. this past year my family has welcomed a new nephew, a new sister-in-law, and very soon, another new niece/nephew. so much love.

happy thanksgiving to one and all – i hope you have as much to be grateful for as i do.

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

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last night, my friend amity and i attended a reclaim the night march, as i’ve done off and on since university. it’s a way for women to demonstrably protest the culture of sexual violence which makes the streets unsafe for women.

so we’re marching along in the rain through the centre of london streets. several hundred women, surrounded by dozens of police escorts, chanting, holding placards, drawing the attention of tourists and onlookers. there are guys who feel the need to boo or mock us – which is par for the course, really. some mentally unstable guy spat. whatever.

and then, out of nowhere, in the middle of leicester square, some guy cuts through the crowd, walks up to my friend amity next to me, gropes her breasts, and slips away into the crowd. in the middle of hundreds of women, in the middle of dozens of police.

after the initial shock wore off, i found myself getting really emotional.

it was a massive fuck you. more so than if he’d made some snarky remark (like some men did), more so than if he’d booed (like some men did), more so than if he’d laughed (like some men did).

it was a bold statement: you think you’re safe, you think you can fight back, you think you can reclaim the night… well i’m going to prove to you that i can do whatever i want to you, whenever i feel like it.

you are never safe.

it really shook me. i nearly abandoned the march at that point. after all, if a guy can do that anytime he wants, just because he feels he’s entitled to – then what the fuck is the point?

but as i continued clomping along in my wet boots and bedraggled hair, my sodden sign wavering, my voice having escaped me…

i began to get angry. i mean white hot fury. that “fuck you” was *supposed* to completely dispirit us, make us feel vulnerable.

i will not let that happen to me. not ever. and certainly not because some fucking arsehole managed to momentarily catch me off guard.

fuck you, motherfucker. if you meant to scare us, you failed.

still – if there was ever any doubt that we still need to reclaim the night, that was a perfect example of exactly why it’s so important. why i will continue to participate even when there’s rain, or in-fighting amongst feminist groups, etc.

because until that culture of sexual entitlement changes, nothing will change. until every single person is free from sexual assault, none of us is.

until the streets are free of those who would mock us, or undermine our safety, i’ll keep marching.

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