Today I am Inconsolable

I have a secret that most of my friends and family don’t know: they break my heart almost every day. I am not using hyperbole here. Every day. Broken heart.

Every day people I love and respect choose to torture and kill animals for no good reason. I have friends who pay people to tear baby calves from their bellowing mothers for their cereal milk. All of the members of my family pay people to keep chickens in filthy, dank, feces and ammonia filled warehouses, without sun or fresh air, because they like the taste of eggs. My closest, funniest, generous friend, someone I love so much it hurts, pays agribusiness to swing baby pigs head first onto concrete floors because blunt force trauma is an industry standard and she craves bacon. And worse. Much worse.

Most days I let my heartbreak pass, so that I can move forward with the normalities of life—getting on the bus, working with people I admire, getting drinks with friends who make me laugh or think. Most days I tolerate the torture. Which seems strange. I don’t tolerate racism or gay bashing. I stand up against bullies and I point out misogyny in every day culture. I think that if one of my friends killed her dog by hanging him upside down and slitting his throat, or who tortured her cat on “rape racks” seasonally for kittens, I’d not be interested in prolonging that friendship. But I tolerate animal torture on a much wider scale.

Why do I withhold judgement against animal abusers who pay others to do the bloody work? Here are two logical reasons:

1. Hurting and killing animals is accepted behavior in our society. Everyone does it. It is normal and expected. I used to do it. I’d be the extreme one if I expected my friends and family to give up this practice just because it was unnecessary. Just as racism and xenophobia used to be the norm, animal exploitation is not frowned upon and to judge my friends, family, or colleagues for this practice would be bizarre.
2. Judging people doesn’t reduce the suffering. No amount of condemnation, self-righteous grand standing, or subtle guilting makes veganism more appealing. My secret crying, public protesting, or this blog post will not reduce the number of animals in pain in the future. People deserve compassion and I have no right to judge anyone. Contrary to what this post might seem,  I don’t have a high horse. Just a broken heart.

But the real reason is that if I were to judge my friends for what they do it animals, I’d have to think about it for more than a few minutes each morning. And that amount of grief is debilitating. My friend Alex recently pointed out that my high standards cause my disappointment. I disagreed when it comes to veganism. If I held everyone to vegan standards, disappointment would be the least of my problems. I’d be overwhelmed, wrecked, distraught—there is no usefulness in the feeling I sit with this morning.

This morning I lied in bed with tears stinging the sides of my cheeks.  Right now I can hear their labored breath. I can see their eyes. If I let my mind wander, I can reach out and feel their bristly muddy fur and feathers. I can hear squeals and panicked deep cries. I know that they are in cages, in dark places, in pain, completely without comfort or hope. Never experiencing a moment of human kindness or mercy. My stomach is cramped. Thinking about this for even more than a few minutes is crippling.

Beasts are suffering horrors we  can’t bear to watch because my friends like the taste of cheese—or chicken or bacon or yogurt or buttery pastries, or juicy burgers or what ever flavor idea they have that makes it worth it for them.  Today I am without hope. My heart breaks. I am miles beyond disappointed.

Most days I am comforted with the fact that there are growing numbers of people abandoning practices of animal abuse, exploitation, and killing for a kinder future. Not today. Today I am inconsolable.

Hacking at the Roots

Y’all have heard the Thoreau quote “There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root,” right? Well, that is how I feel about abortion. Of course I don’t consider children the root of evil. I don’t even believe in evil. But what I do think about is how to get to the root of problems—to have an impact there instead of dealing with everything that comes from it.

For the next two months I am raising money for The CAIR Project. If healthier women, healthier families, and healthier societies sound like good things to you, I hope you support my efforts.

If you’ve ever donated to a food bank, given winter coats to foster children in need, volunteered to hold addicted premature babies, volunteered to help any under served children or adults in any way—then you should be doing something to help women who want to have an abortion, but can’t pay for it, get one. I know this isn’t a popular way to talk about this—it sounds as if I am trying to keep poor women from having children. Nothing could be farther from the truth—I trust women to make decisions about their lives, bodies, and families. I am trying to help poor women from having children against their will. And women are forced to have children against their will daily. Our culture, society, government and healthcare system allow this to happen. This is one root of many of our society’s ills.

Did you know that no federal funding is allowed to go towards this legal, medically sound, doctor-supported procedure? This means women whose income is low enough to qualify them for Medicaid, can not use their insurance to pay for an abortion—the very women who are least likely to be able to pay out-of-pocket. This also means women in the military, or the wives of those in the military, can’t use their insurance for an abortion. This means women who are on Medicare because of a disability can’t use their insurance to get an abortion. Read the stories of some of the woman who have asked for help from The CAIR Project to get a sense of the scope of the issue.

Last year while raising money for The CAIR Project on Facebook, a pro-choice member of my family responded that women who get themselves into trouble shouldn’t be “rewarded” with having their abortions paid for. Let’s see here:

• First, an abortion isn’t a reward, it is part of good healthcare which is a right (see article 25 of the U.N.’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights).
• Secondly, women don’t get themselves into trouble – women and men follow biological urges stronger than hunger and find themselves with unwanted pregnancies. It is seriously normal.
• Most importantly, even if the woman wanting help paying for an abortion is the WORST WOMAN you’ve ever heard of—mean, greedy, irresponsible, lazy, stupid, violent, drug addicted, cruel, criminal, thoughtless, racist, whatever you think makes someone undeserving of help—is that who you want forced to have a child? Yes, some women who need help paying for this procedure could be said to make very poor life decisions. But why then, when she is trying to make a sound life decision for her and her family, would one be against it? Having a child shouldn’t be punitive. And of course, most women who need help aren’t the worst women you’ve ever heard of. They are students and mothers and underpaid hard workers. They are teachers and soldiers or in bad relationships. In the end, our judgement of their character should have no bearing on their right to plan their families as they see fit.

Women’s rights are human rights, whether one can “afford” them or not. Wealthier women, who have private insurance or can pay directly, are allowed to keep their healthcare and family decisions private (as they should be). But women without the means, are forced to ask for help and it is the least we can do to step up. By helping women fund their abortions we are truly striking at the roots and stopping cycles of poverty before it starts. I realize that I may be preaching to the choir on this one, but I am doing it in hopes that every one of my friends will be inspired to give what ever you can spare to this cause.

Oh, and bonus, for those of you who see overpopulation as one of the main roots of evil, this donation hits that root too.  Fewer pregnancies means fewer people. That is smart math. Two roots one hack!

Please donate.

I’m two people. But I like one best.

In case someone stumbles upon this blog and reads this post first, please don’t let this post ruin you for the rest of the thing.

To Bacchus or not?

I am two people. First, I am the worst of myself. The person who interrupts, holds opinions not well researched, laughs too loudly in public. The inconsiderate, overly confident, and mostly lazy person. The one who will try to find the shortest route to anywhere—you know, the type of person who prefers things be done, rather than done right. My worst self makes fun of people and exclaims regularly how stupid, short-sighted, and weak most of the human species is. Self-righteous for sure. I’m constantly judging, frustrated, bitter, selfish, smug, and pedantic. I think we are doomed and I drink way too much.

Second, I’m the person I should to grow into, the Better Me. I hold my tongue when I’d rather not, and listen closely to others stories. I forgive others quickly and keep my judgement buried very, very deep. I’m patient, supportive, and active. A productive person, I get things done efficiently with care and order. I work hard at things that are important. I don’t swear except to put folks at ease. The type of person that others trust and can turn to. Someone that you can be rude to and know you are unlikely to get slapped. A person unruffled, mindful, generous, and above all respectful. I don’t say angry things aloud. I think there is hope and I juice regularly.

Is everyone like this? Two people? Probably. Or more maybe. The reason I write this is not because being two people is so shocking or even interesting. I write this because I like the Worst Me best, but live more like the Better Me most of the time. I’m not sure why. Because I really want to be a better person? Maybe I am just insecure and would rather be liked. Maybe I like the Worst Me best because I am super lazy. I hope that is not it.

List #3: Why I love the bus

This isn’t even about the greenhouse emissions reduced by mass transit, or the amount of wild land preserved by not paving over every inch of our planet for cars. Or even about avoiding traffic. It’s not.

I love the bus, not because it saves me time (it doesn’t), but because it takes my time. It takes away time I would spend stupidly rushing from one seemingly crucial but not actually important thing to another. The busier I get, the more I need the bus. See here:

1. A delayed bus is a subtle but effective tutor of patience. There is nothing I can do to make a late bus arrive faster. If I was the president of the bus union, or the president of the United States, I would still have no power over the bus. The bus is the boss.

2. Waiting for the bus requires commitment. The longer you wait, the more commitment you’ve made to taking the bus, the more you must not give up on the bus so you can benefit from the time you’ve already invested. And unlike money investments, where I could be throwing good money after bad, this process is actually throwing good time after good time.

3. The bus requires me to be humble. And I am ashamed to say that I need reminders, lots of them. When you are on a bad bus trip, like a bad drug trip, things can get icky. On cold rainy days, the bus turns into a steam box with condensation dripping down all of the filthy surfaces and you could end up sitting next to someone who has recently peed themselves. But I remember that I am not so special as to be spared from icky things.

4. The bus forces space into the day where busy* people wouldn’t normally allow it. If it weren’t for the bus, I would flit around this city, with nary a second between engagements. And if I did find myself with 30 free minutes, I would certainly try to fill it with something useful and purposeful and productive. I can’t just stare at walls after all.

But I can just stare out a window of a bus or at the people on the bus.

5. Nothing looks the same from a bus. Until I took a bus, I thought I had seen The Mountain, the lake, the bay, and our city. But turns out, I hadn’t really seen them. The bus is like a tour of your own town, where you don’t have to worry about red lights or other cars, or worry about running into anything or any person. You see things from a weird height and see details that you can’t see when you are in charge. And remember, the bus is the boss, so you aren’t in charge.

6. And of course, I find the bus endlessly educational and entertaining. The conversations that I overhear (and occasionally join) on the bus teach me about methadone clinic rules, high school homework habits, the occasional work drama, and sometimes where to score. If I am really up for hearing some interesting conversations, I sit at the front of the bus, where all of the people without headphones sit.

7. On the bus, nobody is too important to ride the bus. The only thing I can be sure of the people on the bus is that they have somewhere to go. We are all going at the same speed. Some people have fancier clothing and some people smell bad, but we are all still on the same bus and have somewhere to go. Sound familier? Cathartic.

Don’t think for a minute that this list is definitive or exhaustive. I haven’t event talked about getting drunk on the bus or hopping on a bus without knowing where it is going – two activities I highly recommend.

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*Everyone is busy. If you think you are busier than someone else because people tell you “wow, you are so busy,” it probably means that you are annoyingly booked-up or always talking about what you are doing. That is what I think people are trying to tell me anyhow.

Undercover at Club Crazy

If you’ve had the (eh, hem) pleasure of working in the same office as me in the past five years, then you’ve possibly noticed the card stuck to my monitor with George Eliot’s enduring quote, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”

Her simple sentiment, and other mini bites of brilliance like it, appeal to me because I never feel like I am done. In fact, I fully expect to feel half baked my entire life. I really won’t mind if I never “make it” (what ever the fuck that means). But here is the thing, the desire to be what I might have been is calling to me more than ever; persistently, annoyingly but sweetly, the audible whine of a 2-year old grabbing at my pants wanting “up.” My desire to be something else wants up.

A recent trip to Chicago afforded me the chance to catch up with my friend James, who, turns out, happens to be in the same boat as I. He said that he is looking for a profession less noble and more glamorous than a high school history and ethics teacher. While he is seeking something less noble, and I perhaps am seeking something more noble than my current endeavors,  we landed on the same “next profession”: espionage.

While James might use his formidable intelligence to make waves in international scenes of mystery, I think that I am going to try to infiltrate the Evangelical South. This is how I see it: America’s vast populations of idiocy, bigotry, and greed impact the entire world. Our fellow citizens who are extreme, anti-science, and anti-education, not only make America stupider, but their ideology permeates politics, policy, and our military theory in a way that changes the course of global history.

What if I could get in to Club Crazy, plant ideas that encourage questioning church authority, about using reason instead of fundamentalism to analyze new information? What if I could provide a sympathetic ear to women who aren’t into their own subjugation and men who ponder that conservative fanaticism might not be in line with their values? I especially consider the children of this fundamentalism to be innocent victims of humanity’s delicate psyche. This fragile psyche that is so plagued with fear and insecurity that it allows something like the conservative evangelical church to flourish. It seems selfish and short-sighted to not try to help the youngins.
The next question is, would anyone fund this effort? Could I get a team of people willing to go deep undercover to spread the word of reason, social progress, and secular humanism to a portion of our population currently being brainwashed? Could I get 100 friends to part with $41/mo. to pay an annual salary for someone focused on improving humankind? I am excited about planning this coup from the inside,  from how we’ll stay funded and organized, to how we’ll inspire and encourage critical thinking skills in a world dominated by belief in biblical inerrancy. Sounds like a not-totally-impossible and worthwhile project. Right?

Well, OK, so maybe I don’t have the courage to do something like this. Maybe I am too comfortable with my vegan blog and my condo balconies? Maybe I am all talk and no walk.  Maybe I ought to make a bet with James, whichever of us who makes a change in 18 months wins something big. Maybe.

List #2: Periodicals

Writing you should read regularly:

Miller-McCune: my favorite magazine ever published. They take the thousands of academic social, cultural, business, and science studies that are published each year, translate them into layperson English, and make sense of them in practical application to our real world problems. What? Yes. They take our collective smarts and use them for good. Go to their website and type in something like “prison” to read dozens of fascinating, well written, and useful articles. Bi-monthly for only $25/year. http://www.miller-mccune.com

BITCH: Smart, self-deprecating, politically aware, up on culture, inquisitive, demanding, well-read, analytical, wry, and silly – basically just like your best friend but in a magazine. This magazine replaced BUST in my heart when BUST totally sold out and started pushing commercial bullshit for “alternative” women in 2001. Fuckers. Not interested in a feminist response to pop culture? Get over it. Only $25 biggies for a year long subscription. http://bitchmagazine.org

The Nation: if you aren’t familiar with this weekly rag, think of it as the most complex, analytical, and well-researched NPR story on crack. It is almost always over my head. Written by the most brilliant progressive minds in our country, it will give you hope, make you angry, and if you are like me, often make you realize how little we know. The column, Diary of a Mad Law Professor by Patricia  Williams is so painfully brilliant, every time. Every time! $35 will get you 50 issues.  http://www.thenation.com

Soy Fucker: this may seem a tad niche — a vegan-related and vegan-created art and comics zine–but that is what makes it special. Produced quarterly and at $3 a pop, it may be the most expensive read on my list, but it is the funniest. I recommend “Why Omni Boys are Lame” by Kelly McClellan from issue 1, and Erika Larson’s “You’re Not Cool” in her misc. bunnies series in issue 2. I’m still waiting for issues 3. You have a sense of humor, don’t you? http://www.soyfucker.com

So I imagine that my list doesn’t match any of yours. So tell me friendies, which magazines, papers, and zines do you actually subscribe to (not pick up at Elliott Bay)? What rags are worth our time and money?

Bigger smaller

So last night I had the honor (detect no sarcasm) of listening to friends Josh Harper and Greg Bennick talk about overcoming adversity and moving forward towards bigger better things. The real kicker to the whole night was that even though both of these men faced true adversity (we’ll discuss that later), each found that the biggest barrier to action wasn’t outside influences, but internal insecurities and defense mechanisms. I’m am not even sure if they planned that, or if when you get right down to it, we all come to the same conclusion.

If you don’t know Josh Harper, know this, he was convicted of conspiracy to commit terrorism and sentenced to prison. He tragically spent three years behind bars for allegedly operating a website that expressed support for protest activity against a corporation that tests pharmaceutical drugs, cleaners, industrial chemicals, pesticides, cosmetics, and more on ~75,000 rats, rabbits, pigs, dogs, and primates every year. But instead of talking about the terrifying ordeal of prison, he talked about how we should avoid cutting ourselves off from the reality of the world – even the horrors of the world that we’d like to forget and ignore (in my case,  so that I can go about my day working, commuting, and watching Law and Order).  He told the story of the Dear Mouse that inspired him on his path to caring more. What I took away from his talk was that perhaps the largest barrier to thinking bigger and taking action was our natural defense mechanism of turning a blind eye to things that seem too horrible to consider – so we aren’t paralyzed by the overwhelming sadness of it all. We all do this daily, of course.

Greg relayed a story about how after the earth quake that rocked all of Haiti and devastated Port Au Prince, he had the opportunity to sail there directly to bring the much-needed medical supplies to what was left of the clinics and the new make-shift hospitals. Once there he met Dr. Jacques Denis who was delivering medical care for free and he decided to make a promise to this doctor that he would make sure that he had the medical supplies that he needed to carry on his life-saving work. Greg talked about overcoming his own insecurities and self-defeating stories of inadequacy to try and tackle this promise. See 100 for Haiti and 100 Shows for Haiti to see the results of his efforts and to join in.

100FH from Greg Bennick on Vimeo.

As if the stories of these two men were not enough, let me tell that you this morning KC and I watched a large portion of “Iron Maiden: Flight 666.” If you don’t know much about Iron Maiden, I am sorry, but don’t worry, this movie is the ideal introduction. But it wasn’t the 300,000 people in Sao Paolo singing along to “Run to the Hills” that got me thinking: it was the fact that Bruce Dickinson, the lead singer of Iron Maiden was also the pilot that flew their Boeing 757 to 23 concerts in 24 days over 5 continents. What? Yes, the lead singer of one of the world’s most renowned metal bands is also a commercial airline pilot.

So here I am this morning, trying to balance the inspiration of these three men that I should and can be doing more (and will be doing more), with the visible realization that my life is a bit complicated and could benefit from some simplification.

I wonder, how can I turn my company into the best anyone’s ever heard of, blog more frequently on Vegan Score, help people in Seattle meet each other through Water Proof Match, take care of our house in Rainier Valley, take care of my mother as the executor of her special needs trust, run our little vegan t-shirt business, plan 1-2 photo shoots each week for Vegan of the Week (the book and web site), deal with a financial catastrophe caused by my father’s illness, volunteer each week at Sidecar, volunteer each month with Projectline, be a good friend, do my laundry, and play dominoes? Oh right, I’d also like to open a vegan store on Capitol Hill and go to graduate school for economics, film, and art history.

All of a sudden I feel pretty small and incapable of accomplishing even half of what I set out to do. The more things I lay out in front of me, the more I increase my chances of failure. I mean, there really are only so many hours in a day, so many days in a week. I do believe that challenging the physics of time will be a losing battle for me.

So I am torn between my heart that says I should do more, think bigger, be fearless, take risks and my brain that says slow down, simplify, meditate, live smaller, and move to the country. I guess this sentence that I just wrote conveniently contains the answer: I always tell people to follow their heart.