I have been a little tuned out from a lot lately. I have quit something that I had a lot of hope for, I am trying to find something new and I am planning something potentially big in my head. I need something radical of most likely, my own creation, to be a part of and I have not quite fully formed it yet so there is that floating around too. Basically, it is the end of summer and the beginning of fall and I’m never much good then anyways.
But there is a guest blogger at Feministe and I am looking forward to the posts. This struck me, right off the bat. There is more to the post but I pulled a little section. It is where I am and where the others I am looking for will need to be too:
“See, I can refuse to admit vulnerability, but that won’t make me not vulnerable. There is nothing that can do that, not even covering myself up with layers and layers of the armor we all use to get through the day and pretending away the ugly things and the hard parts of my history and everyone else’s. This isn’t about complaining. I’m just stating facts that are, yes, relevant to who I am, why I participate in feminism and the greater movement toward social justice, why and how and what I write and contribute. Pretending it isn’t so forces me into a strange and inhuman position where we just posture at each other. You’re not vulnerable, I’m not vulnerable, let’s have an abstract debate about theories, and hey, justify your feelings, andhey, little lady, the grownups are talking and why are you so upset and comeback, we were just having a friendly little debate about ideas, and what do youmean this is real life for you?
Social justice is about theories and ideas underpinning our actions, but if those theories and ideas are to mean anything, they have to be grounded in our real lives. They have to pay attention to what happens to us, and what can hurt us, and why some things–like a seemingly-innocent comment, like a sudden noise, like a bigoted slur, like making it through a day of work or classes when the only thing in your head is the rape you may never be over or how you’re going to be able to feed your children this month or when the water is getting shut off or just that thing your parents said that will never stop eating at you–affect some of us more than others. A functional movement isn’t one like the one we have, where people burn out and drop out and vanish because it’s all too much and they aren’t being supported and they just can’t take it any more, where everything we do is met with all of us tearing each other apart and always always always going for the throat until we stop being people to each other and start being…adversaries? interlocutors? enemies? objects? Have you noticed who suffers when we build a movement premised on never admitting that we can hurt each other, on never admitting that we’re tired and limited and human and just aren’t up for it today? Who stops making blog posts, who stops showing up to meetings and town halls and community projects, stops putting their work out there and speaking openly and honestly? Who stops making friends? Who stops taking risks? Have you noticed what happens in a world where we do this? Where we never talk about what weneed, let alone what we want, all while we’re told all day what we should buy instead?
We fight an impossible battle against troubles we don’t even admit exist. We focus on enemies, and neglect ourselves and our loved ones, lose track of what we’re for in a storm of obsession with what we’re against. We don’t let it get to us, until it does. And then we go down in flames and everyone has to start over.
Can we do something different, start from different premises? Like: I’m hurting right now. Like: I can’t do everything. Like: I get tired and hungry and scared and confused. Like: I’m grieving. Like: I’m human, and human beings are vulnerable, and I can be hurt, and I can hurt others. Like: if we’re all going to make it, we have to do this together, and that means being vulnerable, and we can either choose to avert our eyes from that fact or we can embrace it and build something more compassionate, more functional, that makes our lives different for the better.
Like: let’s let vulnerability be radical. Let’s embrace it. Let’s admit that even the best things in the world are unsafe and go into it with open eyes and held hands.
We can choose make it work, or we can choose not to. I am going to spend my two weeks here choosing to try to be as vulnerable with you all as I possibly can, and maybe some of you will feel more able to be vulnerable, too. A dear friend told me once that writing is like getting up in front of people, pulling open your ribcage, and saying, here are my organs. I hope you like them.” – Lovers In A Dangerous Time @ Feministe
my girlfriend led me to a super disturbing 



