is it me

Good Sunday to you, readers!

Today I borrow a blog convention from my good friend Heather. She is one-third of my Artist’s Way trifecta (we are in week 4! one-third on our way to being creative/spiritually fulfilled!), and her blog posts often begin with this title. (Just a shameless ploy to coax her back into blogging…join me in this cause…)

I ask the question, “is it me?” today because I am not certain whether I am justified in a favorite complaint of mine. Come with me if you will…
Today is the first tank top + shorts running day of the spring! Callooh Callay! Sunshine and the smell of grass and legitimate, hard-earned sweatiness! ‘Tis a glorious thing.

(Callooh Callay explained, for those of you who aren’t schooled in Alice in Wonderland. My fav Disney movie, if anyone was curious…and curiouser…)

BUT today’s cloud behind the silver lining was the five (count ‘em) FIVE honks from five separate cars in the 30-or-so minutes I was out running on Kearney Street. Daaaamn, Northsiders! That’s some unprecedented dickishness, even for y’all.

I mean, I suppose it’s sweet of these fellows to take notice of me and express their feelings for all to hear. But I do dare them, honestly, to man-up enough to pull over and actually talk to me. Go ahead, put that passerby savoir-faire into practice! I would welcome it. I’m sure I could love a guy in a CRX, with a GED and STDs, on his way to KFC. (Not that I could blame him for that choice. The ol’ Colonel has some tricks up his sleeve. Homeboy turned “chicken” into BREAD, you guys!)

It BUGS me. It bugs me more than it should. I’ve ranted about it more than once on the blog…and I always conclude that there’s nothing I can do about it…men will be men…some guys are douchey whether I like it or not…bla bla bla…don’t let it bother you. It doesn’t matter.

Sure, it’s only a honk or cat call from a stranger. Harmless, right? I’m not so sure. I think respect is a thing that matters in the small moments just as much as the big. And if you can’t respect a stranger as you pass her on the street, how much will you respect a woman who chooses (god & logic forbid) to allow you into her personal space?

It irks me. Consider me irked. Call me Irk-le.
(Did I do that…?)

And so I’ll try this again, again.

How strange to return to a blog after (oh, let’s be honest here) at least six months.

That’s a long time to put off a good idea. Too long.

I’m wrapping up my last half-hour of the work week, reading the first chapter of Half The Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide. Reading at work?? you say. Well, it’s technically for a story in the next issue of Drury Magazine. Somehow I was able to swing it that I’m writing a story on women’s issues in the world, for the issue themed Women at Drury (sorta my idea). I feel like I’m getting away with a big pulled-one-over-on-the-man here, writing about something I’m currently passionate about…sneaky, sneaky.

But I’m a big believer in Rumi’s philosophy:

let the beauty of what you love be what you do.

so maybe it’s not such a radical idea.

I thought about returning to this blog because I’m sitting here reading this book (in my newly IKEA decorated and climate-controlled office, sipping my filtered water) whose first chapter is about sex slavery worldwide.

Kristof and WuDunn are ballsy, indeed, choosing not to tiptoe around these issues. Starting with the big stuff. It’s humbling and angering and empowering all at once—which I think is their point. As they say in the intro:

The plight of girls is no more a tragedy than an opportunity.

I constantly feel like I’m not living up to my ideas. Like I put things off and let myself down. I disappoint. I leave behind. But can’t I turn my own tragedy into opportunity, too? It’s not too late to ignite this good idea.

So here we go.
I’m reading Half The Sky.
(and One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, and The Seeker’s Guide: Making Your Life A Spiritual Adventure)
(and Harper’s Bazaar–Tina Fey’s on the cover)

I’ll be back.