A baby taking its first breath.
A momma who chose not to carry her baby to term.
The nurse who assisted with the procedure.
The pastor holding a condemning sign outside the clinic.
The man forcing his girlfriend to stay in the waiting room.
Hi. It’s Kelley. It’s been more than two months since my last confession post.
The last few weeks, I’ve been wholly self-absorbed. My youngest squirrel graduated from high school. We sold one house and bought another (much smaller) one. We discovered none of our furniture would fit in the new place, so we spent hours shopping for a bunch of new stuff (which is not nearly as fun as it sounds) (first-world problems).
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I brag about my kids on Facebook.
Over the past several weeks, I’ve posted many, many times about my high school senior, Bekah. Yesterday, in my ongoing attempt to dispel my kids’ assertion that I have a favorite child, I posted about my college sophomore, Emily. I mentioned how smart she is. I mentioned how much she’s learning and, consequently, teaching me. I mentioned that she’s a queer woman.
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Oh my gosh, you guys, I’m a blogger who, apparently, does not blog. But I can’t not write today, so here are four things I have to say:
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Saturday
I’m getting in my car to take it to Firestone for an oil change. Jack’s planning to follow me so I have a ride home.
Me (as I walk past my car): Hey, Jack? Any chance there could be a mouse in my car?
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It took me eight years, but I finally did it: I gained back every pound I lost. All 30 of them.
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She was sitting on the shoulder of an I-70 west on-ramp, holding a sign that read, “SOUTH.” She was wearing plastic sunglasses and a hoodie, and to her left was a collection of 11 or 12 suitcases and duffle bags. As Launa and I passed by her, we talked for a moment about going back to let the woman know she was sitting in the wrong spot to go south, and we marveled about all of her bags, and we wondered who might’ve dropped her there and why.
An hour later, Launa texted me: “I can’t stop thinking about that woman on the side of the road.”
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I’ve been arguing with myself all evening about writing this post. I’m always, always, always afraid of saying something stupid/offensive/ignorant, particularly when it comes to issues of social justice. But then I decided that if we don’t talk about stuff, nothing’s going to get better. So, here I am: Talking.
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I think I’ve told you this—or you’ve undoubtedly noticed: I’m the angsty sort. I get wound up about all sort of things—some worthy of the wind-up and some absolutely not. While I’m not ready to label myself a pessimist, I have to admit it’s been easier for me, lately, to see the yuck and the wrong and the not okay.
But the last couple of days have been just… well, they’ve been pretty great.
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It’s February—still nine months away from Election Day—and I’ve already started unfollowing people on Facebook.
I should back up.
A few weeks ago, I had myself a bit of a moment and I unfriended more than 600 people on Facebook. Not unfollowed. Unfriended.