I’m now on day 5 of a cold virus which followed on the footsteps of another nasty virus, which lasted 5 weeks. Actually in between was two weeks of relative calm, when I had just began to notice I was not coughing. To say I am discouraged is an understatement.
Me, the one who never got sick ever, for decades, now has had this nasty cold in one form or another three times in the last 8 months. That’s counting the post-air travel colds which always seem to inhabit my body despite all my OCD cleaning on board the aircraft, eating healthy, exercising and taking lots of Vitamin C.
So while obsessing about why I keep getting these bugs I remembered something a healer once told me. Getting these bugs and conquering them is building resistance for the really big things. OK, that sounds good enough. But really, two colds in 2020, already?
Before the latest cold arrived I enjoyed two weeks of angst about my work. I have not been able to just start …although I have plenty of ideas and God knows, fabric. I have a new clean sink in my wet studio, that is just begging for abuse. And still there was nothing, but angst.
Meanwhile someone (who?) recommended a book on FB, that I decided to read. I have notoriously poor retention when I read, so seldom does a book capture my attention. But the recommender (is that even a word?!) said the book gives clarity on white privilege. I decided I needed that clarity, as I was certain I did not have white privilege, thinking it was attitude more than anything. Was I wrong!
I could not put this book down. It was fabulous and really gave me insight and understanding. The footnotes were enlightening, especially to read the author, being a white woman, had great concerns about writing about white privilege, and how her novel would be perceived & accepted.
I followed up by buying another book from her bibliography, titled ‘Waking Up White’by Debby Irving. I was reminded of my gratitude once again to my dear friend Marion for initiating my education on race. It was so incredibly easy to think racial issues do not apply to me or my life, which of course is part of the problem.
In other creative writing…today while reading the Sunday Chron obituaries, I was reminded that my father wrote his own obit, as I have come to realize a lot of folks do. Today’s paper brought another, of a 74 yo male, who died ‘unexpectedly’ and yet whose obituary 9 days later was nothing short of his professional CV. Clearly he was expecting to die and in his spare time, between being the world’s greatest barrister of all times, a superhuman husband and ‘loving’ father of four; he found time to write this lengthy and (dare I say) boring tome about his life. To me it is the ultimate control freak who writes their own obituary! Nobody’s life is THAT interesting, and nobody cares, after you die, and maybe even while you are living, how many dragons you slayed on your way to the office in January 1963.
There is something synchronistic about white privilege and the obituary of the white male professional. It is another reminder that success often comes at the expense of others.
As a footnote, you have NO idea how challenging it is to me to write these words publicly. It is my heritage and my upbringing that nags me to remain small, unseen, no opinion, no voice. If I have learned anything from my own narrative art it is I do have a voice and my opinion matters. It may be like that guys obit, who cares? but the world has not ended with my going public on various taboo subjects. My husband is often unsure who it is with whom he is living. Subjects he relished 40 years ago have just wandered into my consciousness. Needless to say life here is never dull, although he has better cold-fighting mechanisms than I do.