The world is terrifying right now. There’s a full blown civil war looming in Libya, Russians invading the sovereign nation of Ukraine, an extremist army in Iraq and Syria trying to control the region, Israel and Gaza are still at war, Africa is currently dealing with the worst Ebola outbreak in history, black people are being killed for their skin color, and women are still being demeaned and oppressed. I wonder what’s going to happen next. There’s just too much chaos.
"how do we know you’re not a cop?"
could a cop do this?
[unarmed black teen walks by without getting harassed or shot]
"ah okay you’re cool"
You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don’t waste your time on anything else.
Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things (via itsjustalilstigma)
Reblogged mostly for the URL. Also, because everyone is telling me I HAVE TO read “Wild”. Or go see the movie.
Hate to be a bitch here, but why? Why do I need to see it? The very genre of ‘heal-yourself’ kickass female protaganist memoirs seem to exist to give ableists a chance to tell you to get the hell over yourself while simultaneously feeling very good about themselves.
I will probably read “Wild” because I loved Ms. Strayed as Dear Sugar and I don’t want to see the movie.
But I hate hate hate and resent the idea that one woman’s journey out of darkness is a WYSIWYG template for those of us still inconveniently broken.
I feel about Strong Female Characters Kicking Depression to the Curb stories like I imagine straight men feel about romantic comedies.
And I realize I’m about to quote myself here.
But - I can appreciate and respect one person’s story as just that, that ONE PERSON’s STORY.
It is the well-meaning, insenstitve family and friends (and people who only read books that are for people who don’t read books) who make the exception, into an ideal.
The information-consumerist, social media culture, always eager to turn a complicated narrative into a feel-good trope, transforms the exception into an ideal.
The ideal becomes the norm. The norm is imposed on all of us still broken, still unable to drive to the goddamned store every day, let alone fuck around in Bali or hike the Pacific Trail.
Cheryl Strayed gets it about love, though.
I won’t waste my time on people who don’t love me in spite of my own individual ways of being happy and healthy through my own journey.
Watching “Peggy Sue Got Married” on OnDemand.
I’d like to think that if I had a way to travel back in time, I’d try and stop slavery.
But I really would just probably go back to two hours ago, before I killed the absinthe.