Apparently on Thurdays it's Let Me Talk to You About Something Personal Day.
For some reason, my heart is thumping as I type this out. Deep breath. Okay.
Read moreThink Before You Sexism.
I woke up this morning to an article on Vox about how there has been a spike in Twitter harassment of Megyn Kelly, one of Fox News' lead anchors and a moderator of the upcoming GOP debate. Editor's note: There is some language in both the Vox piece and in my own below.
It got my wheels turning (again) about the way that we speak about candidates or public figures who are women.
But first, a confession.
When I was younger (like middle school aged), I was very opinionated. Shocking, I know! And one of the opinions that I liked to tout around was that "Women should never be elected president because they're too emotional to lead a country. What if they had to make a big decision and just started crying or something??"
Right.
So, in the spirit of "We're all learning as we go, including me, and here are some things to consider delivered from a place of humility and respect for your opinion," here we go.
1. ACCIDENTAL SEXISM
It is SO easy to have some biases and prejudices that lie dormant until they're triggered. Then, suddenly, you have no idea where this vitriol came from!
Ex. Someone is watching the debates, and hears that Hillary Clinton took a bathroom break. "That is just like a woman," they might say. "Typical. I bet she took a pack of her girlfriends with her, didn't she?"
It turns out that all three candidates used the restroom during the commercial break. But why did that stir up angry feelings? Probably because somewhere deep inside us, we have some prejudices against women in leadership. And they come from years of seeing men in leadership.
I myself am very guilty of unconsciously trusting and putting more stock into the voices of men on NPR than the voices of women. This is something I'm actively working on. It comes from years of seeing mostly men in leadership positions, and being mentally trained to expect that a man's opinion holds more water than a woman's, simply because he's male.
2. SEXISM ON PURPOSE
Of course, there's also the kind of hate that flies out of our mouths and into the world. We all say things we wish we hadn't, but unless we peel back the layers of why we said them, they're going to keep getting said.
Ex: "Megyn Kelly is kind of bitchy, right? She's just not likable. Her face is always all pinched up. Just relax, girl! She's always so shrill and so angry."
OR
"Hillary Clinton can't run a country. She can't even run her marriage! How am I supposed to trust someone with her finger on the button who hasn't been able to keep her own husband in line?"
I sought the opinion of a really smart friend of mine, Katie Glenn, who said:
"My barometer is nearly always: 'Is this terminology you ever hear used or brought up in reference to a man? If you can't think of a time or place that someone would say the same thing about a male candidate, it's probably sexist. Coded bigotry is everywhere. It doesn't have to be straight up saying, 'She's stupid because she's a woman.'"
This is such an easy trap! Don't let it happen to you!
Of course, many of us talk about male candidate's temperaments and qualifications, but few of us discuss what male candidates are wearing, whether we like their haircut, their spouse's past sexual indiscretions, or the timber of their voice.
Katie's thoughts are a solid jumping off point: if you find yourself on the verge of a criticism about a female candidate or public figure, think: "Is this something I would say about a man? Is there a version of this that is already said about men?" If the answer is no, maybe think twice before saying it. And if it's particularly nasty, just skip it altogether. Because:
3. EVERYDAY SEXISM
As I was saying:
Because if you are a living, breathing person (particularly a living, breathing male), you know a woman personally who has experienced sexism. In fact, you may share a home with her!
Any woman - not just political candidates or famous people - who has worked in a professional environment has run up against sexism at one point or another.
We've sat in meetings and been told that we're pretty, but not taken very seriously. We've been passed over for projects in favor of a male colleague when we were the more qualified person for the job. We've been belittled and "head patted" and "Aren't you adorable'd?" We've been overlooked because we're too "plain," or we "don't put enough effort" into our appearance. People have assumed that we'll go along with anything because if we're women, we also must want to avoid the stress that comes with a dissenting opinion. And we've certainly been objectified in the workplace.
It's very frustrating. And it happens when people don't take the time to Stop, Look, and Listen to their own inner monologue.
Now here's the part where I say that I'm a straight, white, upper/middle class woman who is speaking about experiencing sexism from a place of privilege, and that I am aware that there are women of color and across the LGBT spectrum who experience sexism in a very different (and often much more intense and limiting) way.
The bottom line is, we have to check ourselves before we wreck ourselves. If nothing else, these three rules are key to not saying anything offensive while we're working on excavating our latent prejudice:
- Is it kind?
- Is it true?
- Is it necessary?
Because you can fall anywhere on the political spectrum and still be a person of integrity on this issue. Because being a feminist doesn't have anything to do with being angry or hateful. Because the smartest people are the ones whose opinions are well-researched and kindly spoken. Because being nice is a perfect starting point, but digging deep into our hearts to find the dusty corners of uncomfortable bias that we didn't even know we were carrying?
THAT is where change happens.
27 Lessons.
Right before I got married, my Father's Day present to my dad was a list: "25 Things I've Learned in 25 Years of Being a McAnnally." It was my last Father's Day as "MCM" rather than "MCMS," and I thought it would be neat to try and list that chapter of life in the form of lessons I'd learned from my dad.
Here at 27, fresh off an absolutely delightful birthday, I thought I might catalog some new lessons from a year living in a different house.
Also, here's a picture of a little rat trying to sneak some of my Veuve while I was attempting to get a pretty picture of all my birthday trappings:
This same little rat also jumped on my head to wake me up this morning. He basically runs our household.
So here are the lessons I've learned up to this point. The "you" here is directed at me, not...YOU...you know what I mean. So "Call your grandparents" is "call MY grandparents." I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do with your grandparents.
(But you should call them if you can.)
- Take the blame, share the credit. This is, admittedly, a "Sid" (my dad) lesson. The best leaders I know are those who fall on their sword when something goes wrong, and laud their team when something goes right.
- Make a list of clothing items you need, buy them, tailor them, and wear them for years. This also applies to pajamas. Get great, cute pajamas. They help you feel adorable when you accidentally sleep in your eyeliner and look like a troll from under the bridge when you wake up.
- When you're 75% sure about a decision, go ahead and pull the trigger. The other 35% will work itself out. Also, math is not as important as reading.
- Don't do that "typical girl thing" and deflect compliments. Be gracious and say how much you appreciate the compliment and how kind it was of that person to offer it. That's what adults do.
- Meal plan. It saves money, causes me to shop more intentionally, eat healthier foods, and incorporate variety.
- Eat ALL the things. On a totally different note from number 6, when it's time to go for it, GO FOR IT. Don't hold back on eating and loving food. Which is why I spent a considerable portion of my birthday (AKA "cheat day") eating exclusively truffles and drinking champagne.
- Call your friends. I have been dealt an incredibly rich hand of smart, kind, steadfast people. It's not hard to stay in touch, but it is so easy to lose touch.
- Close the computer and put down your phone.
- Don't stare at people who are doing something illegal. Jordan actually made me put this one in here, because I have a habit of staring people down who are
- In a fist fight
- Men yelling at women in a parking lot
- ...pretty much anything of which I disapprove. He jokingly calls me "Justice Mary," because I think I can solve the world's problems by shaming people into doing a better job. Doesn't work like that, apparently. But I can't help it. Sorry, Jord.
- Marry someone who is awesome, because marriage is forever, and marriage is work. Life is so, so good when you're married to your best friend. #cheesy #canthelpit
- Stop talking about your weight. It doesn't matter unless you feel truly unhealthy. Also, it encourages everyone else to think about their own weight, which no one wants to do. No one cares to hear about it. Harsh, but true.
- Continue to journal your dreams because they are weird and occasionally prophetic. And when they're not prophetic, they are SO. FREAKING. WEIRD. I once dreamed I was going to visit a friend on an island using a meat tenderizer as a jet pack.
- Read as much as you can. I used to be a voracious reader and have fallen off the wagon a bit here in Generation Netflix. I'm back on the wagon now, because all the smartest people I know always have their nose in a book.
- The quality TV you watch should outweigh the garbage TV 4:1. I'm guilty of indulging in the Real Housewives franchise and The Bachelor, but it has to be balanced with Mad Men and 30 Rock and Breaking Bad.
- Stop being surprised by people's habits or by circumstances that regularly occur. Being surprised by something that's regular means you're a dummy. Find a way to love those things instead.
- Wear hats, wear sunglasses, wear sunscreen, wear a damn handkerchief over your face if you have to. That skin won't be young forever and this body wasn't built for a tan, bless its heart.
- Empathy, always, forever. There is no limit to what an open, willing heart can understand, and how much of someone else's burden we can shoulder if we practice (because it is hard and it takes practice) the magical power of EMPATHY.
- Remember birthdays, send thank you notes, and return phone calls.
- Make sure you've gotten all the groceries out of the car before going inside. This would've helped me avoid the great Rotten Pizza Debacle of 2015.
- Play board games. It's a screen-free way to create memories with the people you love. Jordan and I play at least a game of cards almost every night.
- Be unrelentingly positive as often as you can. Embracing sadness is really important, but dwelling on a problem gets dangerous. I read a quote once - "If the words you spoke showed up on your skin, how pretty would you be?" This goes for complaining, antagonizing, or putting others down.
- Call your grandparents. Blessings upon blessings that ALL of my grandparents are living and healthy. Calling them is the best. I need to do it even more.
- You can't be rational with people who are being irrational. So either wait it out or move on.
- You either get to be a control freak about chores, or you can have help with chores. You do not get both. Otherwise known as the "Stop Being such a Pain in the Ass" rule.
- Carve out some time every day for prayer or meditation. Even if it's just a walk around the block. Do it.
- Don't break promises or flake. If you commit to something, do it. And it's probably best not to even talk about things that are on the horizon until you're positively sure about them.
- Be humble and open enough to learn something from everyone around you. Because these are only 27 lessons. And there are about a million more to learn.
Why it's okay to cry about Alan Rickman.
Before I'd opened my eyes this morning, there was a text waiting in my phone that Alan Rickman had died. I, like most people, had no idea he was sick.
So I spent some time Googling him, reading about his life, his wife who he'd been with since 1965, his roles on stage and on film. And then came the tributes from actors and actresses who'd worked with him, from J.K. Rowling, from BBC News and other media outlets.
And then came the tributes from the fans - it seemed like every post on my Facebook newsfeed this morning was about Alan Rickman's work.
And then I started crying a little bit, because the posts were so sweet and so tender; because it's always sad when someone dies. And I couldn't help but feel a little silly that I was crying over someone I'd never met, who I'd never known personally, but only as characters in movies.
Obviously this is not about me, gosh, no. But I wonder what the kind of tiny grieving we all do in moments like this says about the way our lives get touched by others. It's a special kind of sadness when people we don't know, but feel like we know, are gone.
As I thought more about it, I don't think it's silly to cry. No, not one bit.
We didn't know him, but we know the kind of work he produced. In the same way fans of David Bowie's work are mourning their memories this week, I have memories of watching Sense and Sensibility (over and over) with my mom, of Galaxy Quest being projected on a giant screen at my friend's farm, of Harry Potter midnight premieres, of Die Hard this last Christmas Eve in Tulsa.
And all those memories were brought to me in part by this person who found his gift early, and used it to play rich parts, to give joy and belly laughs and heart-panging sincerity to millions of people.
So I didn't know him, of course. But I know what he gave. And it's the loss of that kind of gift that I think we all mourn, somehow. And I think that's okay.
Because without acknowledging the sad parts of life - the parts that stick us right between the ribs, the parts that make us tear up before we even realize we felt something - how do the joyful parts of life have any meaning at all? I think, if you're brave enough to carve out the place in your heart where deep feelings live, then you're vulnerable to these waves of sadness and mind-boggling thrill. It's scary to be subject to your feelings, but oh man...
What a beautiful way to live.
Wouldn't you imagine that these artists - Bowie, Rickman, and their contemporaries - wouldn't you imagine they probably cried a little sometimes, too? Without that open heart, how can you really experience your life? How can you create work that's meaningful? That rings true across generations of people and lifestyles? I don't think you can.
I think to live that way means you've connected with something transcendent - something that whispers that life isn't really about you. A freedom to let go of all your insecurities and anxiety and concern, and instead to give your gifts as freely as you can.
So for all the torch bearers like these two wonderful men, who poured out their lives largely for public consumption, who helped to create some of our most precious and special memories about which they'll never know, we shed a few tears this week.
And then we go back to our lives, and hope that trying to live with an open heart can help to create even more moments of purity for us and for those around us.
May we not dam up our hearts and protect ourselves from our feelings. May we follow suit with the people who inspire us most - the transcendent ones - and seek to live outside that constant worry or regret. There is no limit to the amount of good we can do, maybe in just a few lives, if we decide to embrace a life like that.
Even when it's scary. Even when it doesn't feel great. For as long as we can.
After all this time.
Always.
Tom Hanks
"Where did his name come from?"
Oh no. We must start at the beginning.
Any of you who know my family well know that we didn't grow up with dogs. Sure, we tried it a couple of times, only to have our fears confirmed that everyone in the house was too allergic. The pet that I grew up with for the longest amount of time was a Betta fish named Tyler Perry (RIP) who lived a spectacular 2 1/2 years and died while I was at summer camp.
It wasn't that I didn't like animals, necessarily - more that I was indifferent toward them. All dogs were to me as a child were slobbery beasts that shed all over me and made my eyeballs puff up like golf balls. Or, worse, yappy tiny animals that just wouldn't be quiet. I never felt deprived without a family dog to grow up with.
Then I met Jordan.
The very first time I went to visit his family in Lillian, Alabama, I got to meet Abby. Abby, a precious Labradoodle with big giant (very human) eyes, totally stole my heart and converted me into a dog person. I was hooked. I had to have one. And, thanks to the miracle of Flonase, I was now out of the allergy woods for the first time in my life.
This is us upon our first meeting. Love at first sight.
From that point on, it was just a question of when and what kind of dog rather than if I would get one.
On the phone one afternoon, while Jordan was still in dental school at UAB and I was teaching in Huntsville, we were ping-ponging names for my future dog.
Editor's note - Jordan will tell you a different version of this story.
Jordan: How about Brinkley?
MC: I feel like that is familiar to me already...whose dog is named Brinkley? OH! I know! It's Tom Hanks' dog's name in "You've Got Mail."
Jordan: ...oh. Well, can't use that. Actually, why don't you just name him Tom Hanks?
He then proceeded to send me a picture of a Goldendoodle (my dog of choice at the time) mashed up with Tom Hanks. It's terrifying, so scroll with caution:
Told you. The stuff of nightmares.
That picture made me laugh so hard that the name just stuck.
In the spring of 2014, Abby and a black labrador...um...fell deeply in love....and she got pregnant with nine puppies. After weeks of impatiently waiting, they arrived. We got a text that the second one out, and the first male, was "chubby and had big paws," so we had a feeling that might be TH. Jordan and I happened to be at the beach 2 weeks after they were born, and it sounds cheesy, but the minute I held him, I knew. I also cried. Because as Kristen Bell says, "if I'm not between a 3 and a 7 on the emotional scale, I'm crying."
Since that first day of snuggling this sweet puppy, I feel like my heart has broken wide open and I have an even deeper capacity to love. This dog is as much a part of our family as Jordan or me, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I loved his puppy breath. I loved how his puppy belly nearly dragged the ground after he finished eating because he's such a glutton (just like me). I love how, in a hilarious turn of events, Tom Hanks has allergies (just like me). I love his big deep sigh when he lays down for a nap (okay, again, just like me). I love how friendly he is toward new people and other dogs. I love his obedient, patient stillness even as drops of drool are falling from his mouth when he's told to wait before he attacks his food or a treat. I love that we can balance a strip of bacon on his nose and he waits until he's told to eat it.
I love how I'm at my happiest when we take a nap together on the couch. I love his curiosity about Christmas lights and how he's a little scared of inflatable Christmas decorations in people's yards. I love how he's also, inexplicably, scared of pretzels.
I love his just-out-of-the-bath run around the house. I love how he consistently burps on Jordan, but never on me. I love confusing passers-by as we yell, "Tom Hanks! Get back over here!" through a crowded park.
I love the steady sound of his sleeping breathing. I love how his paws twitch as they run through the open fields of his dreams when he's deep in a puppy sleep. I love how he always ends up with the last bite of food from our plates by gently resting his head on our laps at the table and gazing at us. I love how my parents have his sister, and two of our close friends have his siblings, too. I love how he doesn't care about squirrels or other moving targets, and will retrieve a ball, but then run it straight past you. I love how he knows when I'm sad and sits on my feet. I love his beard. I love the peanut butter that always ends up in his beard.
I could go on for about ten more paragraphs. You dog people will know what I mean. Loving this precious pup has softened and changed my world in so many ways: snuggling him has made me more gentle; training him has made me more patient; just getting to sit back and watch him has made me more joyful. He's made me consider vegetarianism because I now deeply love animals and care about how they're treated. He's made me incapable of casually scrolling through Facebook, lest I find an article about a lost or abused dog.
None of my friends from Decatur can believe that I've gone from totally ambivalent about dogs to "crazy-lady-who-treats-her-dog-like-a-human-child." I can't either, really. But it was meant to be. This dog and I were always meant for each other. In a weird way, he's taught me more about what unconditional love is like - the "grow a brand new heart to accommodate all the new love you have to give" thing. I can't even imagine what having a baby will be like. I'll probably explode.
So here's to the dog who changed everything. TH, the canine love of my life.
"Be the person your dog thinks you are."
Run your race, tell the truth.
Jordan and I took a trip to Clearwater, Florida tonight. We're here through Saturday - more on that later.
On the plane, though, I got to finally sink my teeth into Jen Hatmaker's "For The Love," which I got for Christmas but haven't yet been able to read. (It also served to distract me from the completely out-of-nowhere anxiety about flying I've developed. ...what? Where did that come from?)
I used to say that God lived in the "Shuffle" setting on my iPod (#throwback), because somehow the right song would always play, time after time, song after song. But now I think God lives in moments like cracking open this book on a day when I tried something major.
When I posted this blog to Facebook this morning, I can't tell you how fast my heart was beating. Not because I thought that anything big would happen - I'm not self-important enough to believe that. But because, as my friend Erin White put it, blogs can often appear to be "an exercise in vanity." I was so worried that people would think, "WE-heh-helllll, someone thinks a lot of themselves, don't they??"
And then I started to get the nicest text messages. And comments on the Facebook post. And people shared the link. (Okay, I made my mom share it, but there were others who did it unprompted, I swear.)
This is not because I am a big deal. This is not because I am an accomplished writer. I am neither of those things.
This is because, when you have cultivated a circle of people who love you even when you are undeserving, they cheer you on when they know you are on the right track.
Jen says it better than I could in "Run Your Race:"
"Maybe you need to invest in your gifts. Take a class. Go to a conference. Sign up for a seminar. ... Say yes to that thing. Stop minimizing what you are good at and throw yourself into it with no apologies. Do you know who will do this for you? No one. You are it. Don't bury that talent, because the only thing that fear yields is one dormant gift in a shallow grave. ...You are good at something for a reason. This isn't fake or a fluke or small."
Um, whoa.
My initial reaction to writing that into this blog post is, "Yikes, if I include that paragraph, will people think, 'Wow, she sure is tooting her own horn. 'Don't bury that talent?' Okay, diva. Psh. She has a blog. Big deal. Everyone has a blog."
And then, heavyweight Brené Brown brings the "two" in this one-two punch of REALNESS:
"Daring greatly is not about winning or losing. It's about courage. In a world where scarcity and shame dominate and feeling afraid has become second nature, vulnerability is subversive. Uncomfortable. It's even a little dangerous at times. ...But nothing is as uncomfortable, dangerous, or hurtful as believing that I'm standing on the outside of my life looking in and wondering what it would be like if I had the courage to show up and let myself be seen."
More than anything, this blog is an exercise in not in vanity, but in vulnerability. In saying, "I don't think I'm the best, but this is something I have to offer." I think I'm pretty good at writing and I think I'm a pretty good encourager, and those two things combined could provide a moment of not-aloneness for someone else. A moment of community, maybe.
I don't know if that counts as "the world's deep hunger." Maybe only one person's. Maybe only my mom's. But this is my deep gladness, and because of all the people in my corner, I finally had the gumption to share it. I'm not curing cancer - I certainly don't mean this to be overblown - but today, for me, this was a step toward something that scares me and thrills me, all at the same time.
Your turn.