At some point you reach your destination.
Been thinking about how to write this. I am, off course, sick. Not sick. Handicapped. Walked into a door. Fell down some stairs. Gave birth to 4 children. Carried too many heavy things for too long. It´s my back. It´s my pelvus.
When I was younger I was offered handicap welfare so that I would never have to work. I said “no thanks”. I would rather work. I would rather not be sick.
As if you can create your own reality, as if you can exclude the things you cannot accept, ”God grant me the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to accept the things I cant”. Something airy like that.
Can´t really accept that my body is broken. And my back. And my bones.
But I am.
So here´s how we deal with it. He says: “I´ll carry the chair down to the apple tree and you just sit there and be a writer. You´ll need a cup holder and a straw hat. I can be your muse. You can be my fan. I´ll do all of the work”
Sometimes I hate him.
Sometimes I don´t.
So I say hello to my old friend
… and my old friend ties me together, binds me together, holds me together.
(yeah, this old feminist is wearing a corset)
A lot of people write me and tell me that they can´t go live in the wilderness even if it´s been their dream ever since childhood.
They tell me that they are too weak.
I´ve known my share of disillusionment and drama, I´ve been slain to the ground numerous times but some time ago I read this article and it kickstarted a whole tsunami of thoughts.
Like: how every single problem is individualized. Like: victim blaming.
So I tried to see myself not as weak but as strong.
Look at what I did. I trail blazed into the wilderness, I showed people that this is a human option, I pointed to all of the other people living like this. I did this DESPITE the fact that I am handicapped.
And look at you then. Look at what you have done DESPITE all the shit you have working against you.
I´m so tired of this discourse of self loathing, it is nothing but a lullaby, a hammer to the head.
We are not weak. We are kind and we are strong. Even if we are bound to the armchair by chains of the mind or the body.
It´s not like the world stops because we sit here, it´s not like we are not in it.
We could look to the beauty. You know where to look. We could have each others back.
What if the first thing we did was to declare that there is nothing wrong with us. How revolutionary would that not be?
(yeah this old feminist is talking to her self but she´s also talking to you)
My son Sebastian went walking in the forest. He brought with him the camera for he knew that I was sad to not be able to join him on his walk. Even though he didn´t say it I know why he took these pictures. He took them because he wanted me to know that the broken is just as much a part of the forest as everything else.