As often as I take solace in metaphor, and am sometimes too capable of detached wonder, this extraordinary week my emotions have been all over the map. Disgust. Anger. Despair. Sadness. For years I tried unsuccessfully to believe the people who said, "Times have changed. There's no need for feminism any more." But of course there was, and is. This isn't about one situation, but about the experiences of most women at some point in their lives. This week, millions of memories have flooded to the surface across the country and the world. There's a kind of post-traumatic tsunami racing across the female landscape. And of course, if you scroll through social media, you know it's not just about women's lives. Each and every previously disempowered group is thankfully finding a voice. It's like a dark, dank box in the basement has been opened and a flashlight is shining on the contents. It's all coming out now. It is hard to go through, but absolutely essential if we are to move forward as a species.
If I stand back just far enough, I rejoice in this hard but noticeable growth spurt humanity is going through. I rejoice that paradoxically, there seems to be so much more love and appreciation of beauty and humor about. I actually feel sorry for people with no love in their hearts; they simply will find it harder and harder to tolerate a love-filled, cooperative world. They will flail about and bluster and lash out, and ultimately shrivel up if they cannot turn the corner and learn to love. It is very hard to start from scratch. I know. But those of us with some capacity for it must set the tone. Let's grieve and rage and cry, then stand strong and find something to love this weekend.
What a week.
