And She's Off!

Way more off than expected

Der Mensch Tracht, Un Gott Lacht

[Man plans and God laughs]

— Yiddish proverb

Or in this case, woman plans. That woman would be me.

As of 4:30 PM Friday, Eastern Time, I am on vacation. Perhaps just as you are reading this I am collapsing across the finish line with a sense of weary triumph. Or maybe it is Saturday and I am waking in my bed knowing that I have nothing to do that is time dependent for the next 10 days and breathing deeply for the first time in weeks. Or maybe it is Sunday and I have donned my muumuu, which will only be supplanted by my swimsuit, and am sitting by the lake in easy proximity to some of my dearest loves just staring off into space.

Seneca Lake

Rest! An essential aspect of healthy human-ing, and a thing I’m not terribly good at. I am terribly good at being still, in a frozen-in-the-face-of-stress-or-trauma kind of way. But actually resting— laying down cares and responsibilities and just allowing myself to be? I’m bad at that. I can’t get past the guilty feeling that I don’t deserve such simple grace. That I didn’t actually work hard enough for it. That, in fact, my desire for it is just a touch dramatic (What are you, some kind of Victorian lady? Next thing you know you’ll be ordering a fainting couch. Get back to work!).

To whit, (Who doesn’t love a good chance to use that archaic phrase? Not this aspiring Victorian lady.) I planned to take a couple of weeks away from this newsletter, to rest and reclaim my brain while vacationing with my family, but, I reasoned, I couldn’t just take that time and offer you all nothing. That would be irresponsible, presumptuous, and excessive, betraying the transactional nature of this relationship: you give me your attention, and in some cases, your money, and in return, I give you my words.

In the absence of my words, then, I’d hoped to give you each other’s words. This is a community of like-minded folk, isn’t it? I’d just pass the mike for a couple of weeks. This, I told myself, was a responsible plan, a mitigation of the potentially negative consequences of my overly-dramatic need for rest. But, here’s what happened when I invited subscribers to submit writing or other creative work for publication…

I got two submissions. The first was from Judith, a recently joined member of our crew. Thank you, Judith! Your prayer was heartfelt and lovely, but not long enough for a stand-alone newsletter. I am going to save it for another time, the right time, which I know will appear. I hope that’s okay. Feel free to let me know if it isn’t.

The other submission was a naked selfie of some dude named Roland. The email’s subject line was “photo to possibly get published”. Since I’d stated that photographs were a reasonable thing to submit, I opened it with some curiosity and anticipation and, I will confess, was momentarily just… befuddled. Like, is he serious? I try to always presume positive intent. I’d rather move through the world that way, so I will first say this: Roland, if you were serious, you’ve got some work to do on lighting and composition. I suggest you take a class and work on your craft. Study Mapplethorpe. But more importantly, you could use some basic lessons on consent.

Now, more likely, Roland is one of the many men in this world who gets off on making women look in a non-consensual way. It’s a power-play, a tactic of domination with which I am, sadly, intimately familiar. I was three or four years old the first time a boy made me look. On the walk to the school bus when I was in junior high, a flasher called to me as I passed him on the sidewalk, lost in my own thoughts. Hey, you! Hey, girl! And I turned around to see his coat splayed wide, his limp penis waggling in the early morning light.

Despite the time I’ve spent internet dating, which seems to be an online space where women often receive unsolicited dick pics, I’ve never been subject to that common fuckery. My next guess of when such things would occur certainly wouldn’t have been in response to my newsletter, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Lucky me.

I hesitated to tell you all this, honestly. To even name this random dude who chose to respond to my sincere request for participation with his invasive bullshit because the whole thing feels a little humiliating, as it is intended to. Humiliation, like shame, is an effective tactic for controlling people’s behavior.

I found myself thinking, You shouldn’t have put out a general call. You should have just asked specific people. Or simply queued up some older posts to republish. You brought this on yourself.

I even thought, This is what you get for presuming you get to take a break.

Why are you always so DRAMATIC?!?

But after sitting with the whole thing for a few days the takeaway for me has become clear:

Yes, the whole premise of a subscription newsletter is transactional, perhaps even more so than with many other types of writing. When you buy a book you get to own the book. When you pay for a magazine or newspaper subscription you get all the other content contained therein, not just a piece written by a specific author. When you come here, you’re coming here for me— for what I think and write and offer— and nothing else. So, yes, it should feel like a balanced, reciprocal relationship, but it’s healthier for me (and for you, I hope) to approach it as a conversation rather than a retail-type tit-for-tat. Conversations ramble. They ebb and flow. The best conversations lull and then later pick back up, but with new enthusiasm created by all the things that were thought and felt by the people involved since the last time they conversed.

It’s okay for me (and for you!) to take a break in order to store up new thoughts and experiences to bring back to our conversation at a later point. I don’t have to fear you won’t be here when I return. The necessity of self-promotion for all writers these days— in particular for those of us in the “emerging” category— can especially discourage taking this kind of a breather. You’re building a following! You can never stop hustling for more followers! Do you want to toil in obscurity forever?

No, I don’t, honestly. But I can’t function as a human, or a creative, in any kind of healthy way if I allow myself to be consumed by the sense of scarcity that underlines that frenzied striving.

I’m also embarking on some bigger projects, some hopefully higher-profile projects, and the reality is that the pervasive misogyny that allows for guys like Roland to feel okay doing what they do means that most women who put themselves out there— publicly, creatively, assertively— are drowning in sexist pushback. The unsolicited dick pics, the mansplaining, the harassment posing as romantic or sexual interest, and even threats of rape or other violence are nearly inevitable.

I have spent my entire life feeling like if I put myself out there, some guy is going to knock me back into my place, because that’s what has actually happened to me (and so many other women) over and over again. Right now it feels as if the Universe sees me standing on the threshold of putting myself out there even further still and is throwing Roland in my way, cackling in Trickster-fashion, asking slyly, “You sure you’re ready? How about you rest up and make extra sure.”

So, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to take the whole two weeks and make extra sure. I’m not going to publish anything. And I’m not going to worry you won’t be here when I return. I’m simply going to trust in the enduring nature of our conversation, and that we’ll all have more, different, and perhaps unexpected things to share with each other when we come back together again.

I’ll be back in September. Much love to each and every one of you. Except Roland. You’ve gotten enough of my time and attention, and more than you deserve, Mister. Bugger off.