I live in a beautiful place, with a wonderful man, and a son who would make any mother proud. I don't have much to complain about. But life wouldn't be life if it didn't give you something to complain about, right? Mine is anxiety since I can remember, mixed with a sadness I've never been able to shake since I first learned about war, racism, and inequality. I was eight.
My mother was an activist and my father a sociologist, and there were always political discussions at the dinner table. Passionate discussions.
They had lots of friends who were also very passionate about these things. Protest marches, fundraisers, newsletters, a radio station, meetings, parties...
I was always hearing about the desperate state of the world.
In my 20's, I started getting active too.
Through art and politics, I got involved with different groups of people who were also very passionate and very critical of the way things are.
And then I had a son.
I passionately tell my son about the state of the world,
as my parents did, just not quite as often maybe.
And he is confused by war and hate, as I was,
because none of it makes any sense
when you can see beauty in the simple things all around you.
I hope that his understanding of the world gives him strength,
And I hope that fear is never an excuse to not follow his dreams.
I hope his generation finds the answers.
And in the meantime,
I'll keep on focusing on those simple things.