freedom and responsibility

Today I picked up my new (used) bike from the bike shop and took it for a ride by the ocean. I was overcome by a momentary wave of emotion that was difficult to describe...but after a moment of confusion, I realized it was total happiness. A glimpse of pure joy, which I seem to rarely experience because I am usually busy trying to make myself uncomfortable with societal norms and conventions. What's the point in struggling for change, when that change is not coming from a place of joy or health or serenity? I definitely see the value in moving out of our comfort zone, but when is it okay to step back in to it?

The experience today reminded me of a trip I made to Hazelton last year. It was one of the first trips I made alone to a rural community, and I found myself driving along the highway, singing and smiling in to the sunshine. I was struck by the realization that I'd never had that experience before, because I had only recently gone for my driver's test, so had never been able to travel by myself. I had never found myself in the middle of the highway, alone, and an hour from the nearest town. From ages 16 to 30, I held such an intense sense of doubt around my ability to drive that I hadn't bothered even trying to learn. Even though I had my learners license about six times, I had only half-heartedly considered driving because I thought I would fail. Today I realized that I've had a similar fear and doubt around riding a bike, which made me see a theme to all this fear. A fear of mobility, agency and individual freedom.

It's interesting that I've always held a fairly intense feeling of responsibility to others, and yet when it comes to taking charge of my own mobility, I let someone else do the work. I think that much of the hesitation has come out of a lack of ability to see the usefulness in something as individualistic as my own freedom. It didn't occur to me until a few years ago that without a drivers license or a bicycle, I am not able to just pick up and go somewhere on my own.

So the larger question for me becomes: how do we balance our responsibility to a community, with our responsibility to our own personal happiness and sense of agency? Or on the other hand, what happens to us when we lose sight of our own need for happiness because we are so tightly bound to a greater struggle?

balancing things out

This weekend, I spent most of my time editing a report that I've been trying to finish for about the past four months. The focus is on youth sexual exploitation--something I've been working on for about ten years. I think I'm so used to expecting myself to just focus on the issue, that I forget the impact these kinds of heavy topics might have on me. Lately I've noticed that most of my friends are also working on creating changes on a larger level--tackling sexual violence, trying to undo the damage of colonialism and re-build the sustainability of Indigenous communities, saving the planet--and alot of us seem pretty stressed out.

It's really easy to get wrapped up in all this mentally taxing work and become detached from the reasons we're working so hard. I am personally driven by a desire to see a better future--I don't have children (yet) but do believe in the "seven generations" philosophy of making decisions based on the impact they will have for the coming generations. Do I envision the next generations of children sitting around seriously thinking about things, letting their muscles atrophy, eating nothing but toast and a variety of toppings (as I have been doing)? No, probably not. So I'm faced once again with a disconnect between my principles and the way I'm living my life. I don't believe that spending every day frowing at a computer screen is the way to create a good quality of life for oneself.

And so I'm inspired to take stock of what I'm doing to balance out this mental work (which is meaningful and necessary, at least for the time being). Since I have a secret love of lists, here's a list of what I've done in the past week to take care of myself in a more holistic way:
1. I started taking a multi-vitamin. (I decided to start by taking one every other day. I wouldn't want to shock my system with too much goodness.)
2. Yesterday I went to a yoga class. My body is sore today but, boy, did it feel good at the time. (I still haven't worked out the politics of westernizing yoga for consumption outside of the context of India...but that conversation is for another day.)
3. I made myself a delicious dinner last night (chicken and roasted veggies), and felt thoroughly replenished by the whole process.
4. I started taking melatonin so that I can sleep better.
5. I ate fruit (including the local kiwi in this photo). I can hardly wait until the local fruit is in season. I miss it.




I want to set an intention to do more of this and to have a longer list next time I take stock. So what are you doing to balance out the challenges you take on in life?

knowledge, truth, and mapping

Today I took some time to look online at historical information about the First Nation I'm from. As I was reading over the creation stories and accounts of how our communities came to be, it struck me that there were a number of differing perspectives being shared. In fact, in one story there was a disagreement among our chiefs about the original Kwakiutl people, but there is no attempt to say who was right or wrong. Instead, the origin story becomes that of diverse perspectives and recollections, which seems a much more realistic account of human experiences.

It is rare that concepts of history allow for this type of diversity. I started thinking about how mainstream culture in general has a huge focus on "truth" rather than situated knowledge. This is very closely linked to the power given to written and documented history, as well as institutions of knowledge creation and dissemination (universities, publishing houses, etc). Diverse worldviews have been renamed, claimed and reshaped to suit the needs of mainstream society, and through this process, many people today forget that indigenous perspectives still exist alongside what we have learned as "truth". Everyone who lives in "the Americas" resides on the traditional territories of indigenous people, but how many of us know the stories of the land on which we live? Obviously indigenous people have always had names for the lakes, rivers, settlements, mountains and other aspects of our territories, but these have been written out of the dominant worldview. Taken from the website:

Since contact, some of those names have remained but for the most part, the European settlers have taken the liberty, without consultation with the First Nations to rename all of the significant geographical landmarks for themselves as self-proclaimed explorers and discoverers of this land. (edited for spelling)

This makes me think about how little I know about the land on which I'm currently living, and the diverse perspectives on Coast Salish history. How many of us bother to look beyond the truths we're told about the cities in which we live? How can we make room for the diverse histories of these cities, beyond just the official "truths" we are fed? How might we account for differing perspectives in recollecting both indigenous and colonial pasts? If we were to map out the differing histories of the lands on which cities have been built, how might it impact our use of public space?

setting intentions

I've intended to start a blog for some time now, but procrastinated out of both a fear of the public venue of blogs and being overwhelmed by trying to decide what exactly to write about. After several years of this, I have come to realize that I can blog without my writing being perfectly formed or put together. In fact, some of the blogs that I most enjoy reading ask more questions than they answer (case in point: The Pearl of Civilization). I'm also not very web-savy so fear that my version of a blog will be quite plain and outdated. But despite these internal grumblings, I'm taking a leap of faith in writing my first post in this new space.

I hope that this blog can be a venue for me to write about some of the issues I'm grappling with in my day to day existence, both big and small. Quite often, I find myself reading about issues without an opportunity to talk about them with anyone. Maybe I miss being in grad school with other critically engaged people who have looming deadlines forcing them to process several books a week, for better or worse. Or maybe I miss having a group of close friends that I get together with regularly, now that many of my friends live in different cities or are busy with their own lives and families. Regardless, I feel like I need a way to digest some of the things I've been learning lately so that my brain doesn't get completely lazy. I anticipate some common topics will be: colonialism; death, dying and grieving; Indigenous community revitalization and renewal; making stuff instead of buying it; creating "community" in spite of being a loner at heart; and hopefully something a little lighter like my love of coffee, tea and other warm beverages.

I have a nagging feeling that I lost many of my convictions in my mid-20s, and am now wandering willy-nilly through life without grounding. In my teen years, I felt passionate about creating change in the world. There was a direct correlation between my beliefs and my actions--I chose to be vegetarian because I learned about the horrors of slaughterhouses, I raised my voice at rallies in an effort to stop the coastal rain forests from being turned in to profit for multinational corporations, and I spoke out against injustice without fear of the arguments that would result, however aggressive they might become. I'm thankful that my work has kept my mind sharp in some ways, but still feel like I've lost the link between my vision for the world and the way I move through it.

In the spirit of nurturing these connections, I begin this blog with a photo from a Take Back the Night rally from the early 90s. Although I no longer feel moved to participate in rallies, I hope to revive the passion and fearlessness with which I marched close to 15 years ago, in order to turn it in to a different kind of action. Thanks for reading, friends.