All in a Phrase

I don’t know if you have thought about this quite yet, but the new year is just around the corner and not only is it the end of the year – but it is the end of a decade!? I have been feeling very nostalgic and reflective, so this is one of 4 posts that I have planned in honor of the forthcoming 2020. I will be posting every Monday, each with some relation to the new year or the previous 10 years.
I hope you enjoy!


For the past 10 years, I have given myself a phrase at the start of a new year.

Sometimes these are borrowed from someone else, like “who you know is who I am,” borrowed from a camp coworker in 2014, or the entire chorus of “Dancing Queen,” borrowed from ABBA the year I turned 17. Sometimes its simply a sentence, like this one is for the takings, or keep track of your jackets. These phrases are sometimes used more than once, in a row or they bounce around. It’s just a habit I picked up around the time I started (seriously) keeping a journal, and it seems to stick with me throughout the year better then when I make a list of resolutions.

The first couple years of college were cataloged under: Push Through The Fear. Depending on your memory and/or how much of my blog you have read, this might look familiar. It is the title of a blog post all about trying to deal with my major anxiety, and was an alternate title considered for this post that I wrote in honor of my time as an actor. It’s a phrase that was written all over my notebooks, diaries, tucked away in blog posts, doodled on note pages. It is one that has stuck around with me for a while, and for me it acts as a chapter title for that time in my life when my ultimate goal was just to get-through-the-anxiety of whatever I was facing. I just wanted to get better at pushing myself to do what I needed to do, and stop missing out on experiences or relationships. That phrase is what got me through my first day at college; it is what got me to audition for my first college show and later my first performance of said show. Push through the Fear was what ultimately encouraged me to come out and try to build a relationship with my now girlfriend of 4 years. It was with me along every terrifying step of those formative years.

When I got sick and had to essentially quit my life, Fear wasn’t what was holding me back anymore so that mantra quickly got replaced. The goal has no longer been push through the fear, but instead to “practice patience,” because patience takes practice and practice takes patience. It’s been the title of my blog, it’s been doodled on note pages, written and underlined in my journals – I wrote about it too. The goal for the past 2 years has been to focus on slowing myself down, practice bettering my negative traits, and to be patient with – not only the people around me – but also how long it takes to grow. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither is Raelee. So as I waited for every test result, as I learned new jobs, tackled medical bills, dealt with germy airplanes, and navigated scary adult processes like renting my first apartment – Practice Patience was there along the way. Not a push to just do it, but a reminder that it is ok to take my time.

Regardless, setting up a phrase for myself has been a way of setting intentions and gathering up excitement and encouragement for a new year. In times of crisis or depression it is something that helps me focus and continue building resilience.

I can tell that it will be a new phrase for 2020. I can feel the adrenaline of a new year, the lightness of a fresh start, the energy of finishing a book and picking up the next one. But I don’t know what it is yet. I never really seek them out, it has always been something that happens organically. I guess we’ll just have to see.

~Raelee


Image description: The photo is of a pile of Raelee’s diaries, journals, and planners. Some of the books are open to certain pages, one on top has a quote from Ernest Hemingway “I am a writer of fiction and so I am a liar too and invent from that I’ve heard. I’m a liar. My excuse is that I make the truth as I invent it truer than it would be. That is what makes good writers or bad”; one entry says “I kissed a girl and I really liked it and now we’re dating, but she leaves for Australia in September and also keeps hanging out with a girl who likes her and now I’m getting jealous” Dated August 3rd [2015]. The pile also features a bunch of scraps, like a dried rose head, movie ticket stubs, confetti from a Taylor Swift concert, and some Polaroids. 

The Last Post of 2019

I said I was going to post every Monday this month. I lied.

I don’t have a diary entry for this day, 10 years ago. The closest I have is for November 15th, 2009. I was in 9th grade, last year at the junior high. It’s vague, but I can tell that I am fighting with my new friends – my friends from the previous year had moved away. I am lonely, again. I talk about the boy that I was crushing hard on (so hard, omg he had such beautiful blue eyes). I was spending Friday nights chasing him around the high school football stadium, teasing each other in the rain, sharing candy under the bleachers. I was spending lunches in the library, up and down each aisle, often taking five or so books home each weekend to try to make it through until Monday when I could escape my very unhappy home life and come back to school.

I don’t think any year has been has hard as that year was. Winters are still very hard for me (aka, why I didn’t complete my goal for this month), but that winter in particular I had moved further away from the school. I was usually too scared to ask friends if they wanted to come over, and too scared to ask my parents to make the drive. The parents were fighting, often and loudly. I didn’t like my stepdad. I didn’t like my clothes. I didn’t like my classes. I didn’t like my friends. My skin issues are either healing or worse, I don’t really remember.

It breaks my heart to recognize the darkness I was in 10 years ago. To think of how sad and scared and lonely I was. The difference of then and now is night and day.

I am about to start my 2nd quarter at the big university that I always dreamed of. I have a best friend who has changed my life entirely. I have my own space. I have freedom to breathe and move and change and speak my mind. I have so much more to live for than day dreams and fairy tales. I have another disease, but I also have the means of dealing with it. It doesn’t prevent me from working towards my big goals.

I hope that in the next decade, I read through my bookshelf. I hope that I make time for my relationships. I hope that I travel further than I have before. I hope that I get to meet people whose lives are entirely different than my own. I hope my health chills out and gives my a couple years of a break, lol. I hope that I push myself creatively. I hope that I get better at being myself. I hope that take chances that are terrifying.

Thanks for taking the time to support me and this blog. This was a dream that 9th grade Raelee had but never really thought would happen. I am so grateful to have an outlet that reaches further than my diary’s pages.

I hope that the next decade gets even brighter and happier than this one did.

Til next year,
~Raelee

5 Personal Milestones from the 2010’s

We are on the eve of a new year, a new decade!

The 20’s are on their way which is absolutely insane. Who I am today is nowhere close to what I had pictured 10 years ago. Then I was on the eve of remission, and 10 years later I am once again, on the eve of remission, but for an entirely new disease.

This is also my 50th blog post!

When I started this blog, I really just wanted a place to talk about the health problems that I was going through. I had been forced to quit school, to quit my job, and essentially quit my social life until I was physically back in gear.

SO, in honor of the past decade, and in honor of my blog, I thought that I would partake in the Decade challenge, but with a Raelee twist – a blog post! I know, you’re shocked!

Here are 5 milestones that I reached over the decade:

Biggest Change:
I’m studying to be an archaeologist! 10 years ago, the idea was certainly appealing, but I was so focused on acting that I didn’t give academia much thought. Now I (finally) go to my dream school, working and studying to be a professional story teller – except not in front of a camera, and the story subjects are real (and dead).

Proudest Moment:
I came out as bisexual! I never could have predicted that I would fall in love with a woman, let alone be with her for nearly 5 years in my early 20’s. The summer I came out will be one that I will ALWAYS remember, and I am so happy for myself to have reached this point of self awareness. I live a safe and warm life with my ultimate best friend, who is also my partner, and my ride or die. 14 year old Raelee would NOT have predicted that in the least.

Bucket List Moment:
I went to Australia!! TWICE! I so, so, so wish that 14 year old Raelee could know that I do eventually make it out of the U.S. So many nights were spent fantasizing about travelling and meeting exciting people. I wish I could tell her about how awful the flight was, and how bad they are at making Mexican food, maybe that would calm her restlessness. But I also wish that I could tell her that she will spend days on the softest sand she’s ever felt, surrounded by a wonderful family.

Biggest Surprise: 
I got to star in my dream show! I was around 10 when my mom first let my borrow her copy of The Witch of Blackbird Pond, and I couldn’t have predicted how much I would come to love that story. I still don’t know what it is, all I know is that I spent so many hours day dreaming about playing Kit in a movie someday. Little did I know that I would not only star as Kit in a stage production, but I would also win a nomination for it. I am so insanely grateful for the time I spent in theater, and for the opportunity to cross off a dream that I had no expectation to complete.

Biggest Lesson:
I will never have a chance to stop advocating for myself. 10 years ago I was living in a very unhappy household, and always felt on edge. I thought that once I left that environment that I wouldn’t have to fight for myself anymore, but the reality is that I will always have to fight for myself if I want to grow. Whether that is advocating for my own health against doctors who belittle my pain; or removing toxic people from my life because I know the damage they can cause. I will always have to fight for myself.


This decade has been so integral to who I am as a person – I can’t wait to see where I am in another 10 years… still in America? still sick? married? kids? 

~Raelee

Here is a link to last week‘s 2020 preparation post. See you next week!

 

Remission Anxiety

I cannot fathom the pursuit of one interest.

My passions and goals are not neatly typed out into steps.
I don’t have one ideal I aspire to.
I won’t be able to reference my childhood fantasies in a future acceptance speech.
I have never focused on one thing long enough to become an expert on it.
I don’t have neat categories. No aesthetic I could be the face of.
There is no single lifestyle I can be the spokes model for.
I don’t have the cutthroat ambition needed to attain some level of greatness.
I don’t have what it takes to reach career or wealth levels that would impress the people around me or the kids I went to school with.
I will not cause any envious chatter in circles of people I don’t know.
But I wanted to.

For a few years I thought acting could be my thing. I felt like it was perfect because each role is different, a new set, a new cast. But I never got far enough into the business to get a taste of that variety. The environment got toxic, and I started making choices that made me dislike myself. My health got in the way of bringing my best work to the stage. Rehearsals went long; the amount of sleep I needed to rejuvenate myself was unattainable. I wasn’t able to create the depths needed in my characters because I wasn’t willing to be any more vulnerable than I already I was. I was never comfortable taking on relationships within a show beyond a G rating – and I didn’t have the drive to find other opportunities that would have let me stay within that comfort zone.

I kept at it while it was easy and felt natural.
Once I was asked to go beyond that, I walked away.
I quit.

I’ve since realized that this happens to me a lot. I quit a lot. And it’s ironic because I consider myself a “Learner.” I love going to school, have you seen my highlighters!? I read so much that I have an instagram dedicated to books. I watch documentaries! But something about “Learner” implies a level of commitment I don’t possess. I tend to present the bare minimum of what I am capable of. I do more than what the average is, but it’s not the best I could do. I am a perfectionist who procrastinates. I let myself down, constantly. But I do not push myself to do better. I don’t know how.

In high school I hardly put effort into my homework. I did some of it the day of or copied things I knew I could do but didn’t want to do. I tested well enough and had enough jive with teachers to get extensions, and those are the only reasons that I managed to graduate with a GPA over 3.0.

I could have done better, I know that.

But I talked myself out of it, almost every time. Home wasn’t a happy place to be, and I was only ever at school or at home. If I had access to it, hadn’t grown up with health issues, or had I not gone to Narcotics Anonymous meetings every Friday for about six years, I am sure I would have gotten into addictive substances. Instead I found that reading a lot and watching movies on Netflix was another way to numb myself and make the days go by faster. For most of middle school my memories look dark and feel heavy. Happier memories are of those moments I remember thinking, “oh good, a second of lightness.”

I think I have inadvertently trained myself to be afraid. I have come to find a sense of comfort in the darkness. I fall into this pattern of working my ass off, only to end up falling off the face of the planet. I rarely feel like I can find a happy medium. I would either be up till midnight for a week straight, working on missing assignments, trying really hard in my classes, eating three meals a day, writing and singing, and keeping my room clean. Then suddenly I would crash. I would stay in bed till noon, eat junk and leave the trash on the floor of my room next to yesterday’s clothes. I would skip class physically and/or mentally.

Senior year I dropped out of my college level science and math classes because I had gotten sick (again), missed two weeks, and was too overwhelmed by all the work waiting for me when I came back. At that point, I didn’t need the classes to graduate, and it was made clear by the attitudes of the people around me that me going to a big university the next year was a non-option.
My confidence was shattered, my motivation was shot. It was November and the cold was creeping in. Instead of letting it take over, I dropped the classes.

I don’t regret that choice, because there was too much happening in all facets of my life in that moment – dropping one of the stressors was imperative and I wasn’t allowed to drop my parents. However, it created a trend I have since been trying to shut down. I have turned my poor health into a crutch. If there was ever anything I couldn’t handle, if I ever get scared or overwhelmed, all I have to do is pull out my platinum health card.

Now, technically, it is a health issue. I have only ever lied about having colds in high school. I do have a weak immune system, and at least two rare diseases. But I think the argument could be made that it is a mental health issue, and not to blame on my physical health.

In lieu of an addiction to drugs or alcohol, I have formed an addiction to being “sick” while also fearing it to the point that I’ve developed an anxiety about it.

The idea of getting severely sick again and having to quit my life again is gut wrenching and terrifying. I did it two years ago. I did it for a lot of my childhood. Having to take a step back from everything I want to accomplish and enter a world where all that is expected of me is to get well and rest – it’s awful. I can’t even feel happy about what I have achieved because once I am sick I fall behind everyone around me. I am no longer considered a player in the game.

It instantly feels like no one expects me to live, only to survive.

But gee…  that is delicious when I am healthy and feel like I am failing.

So the second I do get sick, whether it is a cold or a disease decides to relapse, I am riding that Nope Train. I forget to do anything that makes me feel good, only the things that keep me feeling bad. I forget to brush my hair. I forget to put on clean clothes. I don’t read, or take the dog out so I can get a breath of fresh air. I forget to eat real food.

For several days I am 13 again, wrapped up in cozy blankets and watching beautiful movies, lost in a daydream about what I’ll be someday when I’m older and well.

And then when I don’t need the prescriptions anymore or the sniffles ease, I am faced with the realization that – I am older, I am well. That Nope Train has been coming around for 10 years now. This game is no longer new. I can’t keep hiding.

I like to think that every time I reach this point of realization, I get better at battling it.
I come up with new ideas on fighting myself. I get better at putting limits in place:

“OK, this time, I only get to throw a pity party for one extra day after being sick”
“This time I have to write what I am frustrated about”
“This time I have to finish x amount of chores so that I push myself to move around”
“If I stay home, then this time I have to keep up with emails and I have to respond to the texts that friends send”

I am terrified and skeptical, daily.
I am scared in my own skin; I am scared of pushing myself too far, of trying too hard.
I don’t want to fail at something I want. If I get sick, then it wasn’t my fault. I never had a chance! “My health got in the way and I had no choice but to take care of myself!” If I half-ass it then I can always say, I could have done better if I tried harder. But if I give something my everything; if I go after the things that I want and dream and crave, there runs the massive risk of failing at it.

I am so scared of getting into something, and really loving it… only to have to quit.
I simply don’t trust my own remission. And as much as we say that failure is just a stepping stone, it fucking hurts and it’s severely uncomfortable.

Sure, my health doesn’t have to dictate everything in my life.
But in the past it has.
In the past it has stunted me.

Who is to say it won’t happen again?

~Raelee


The original version of this post was sent to The Mighty around 2am about 6 months ago, when I was in the midst of a panic attack and finishing up my associate’s degree. Recently, The Mighty has changed their publishing rules and format. Before only some entries got posted, but recently they have gotten access to a larger server and now are publishing everything. So they’ve gone back and published every previous entry they passed on as well.
As a writer, this does feel like a step back because now its just a free-for-all-social-media. But as a #spoonie, I think this is utterly fantastic because it will not only widen the scope of who publishes their stories, but also widen the scope of the type of stories.
It turns out that another version was also in my drafts here on WordPress, which is what led me to editing it and posting it today. That version was called “This One Has No Answers For You, But Many Questions For Myself.”
You can read the original version here on The Mighty’s website.

5 Tips to Help You Find Time To Read!

     I can’t count the number of times that someone has said to me “Wow, I wish I had time to read, but I’m too busy” as if somehow I am not also out here grinding through work and school. In my last post, I talked about how I am trying to be intentional. That’s an adjective I have been actively pursuing, in what I eat, how I spend my time, what media I consume, etc. I think that we get so stuck in our habits that we forget that they are habits. They are malleable, and we can change them if we don’t like them. You just have to want to make the change and work at it. I hate to be harsh, but if you really want to read, you have to make time for it. You may have to readjust your routine, and you may have to confront some of your bad habits. You may even have to give up something else to make time for it. Unless your life dramatically shifts, you aren’t going to be any less busy. In this post, I am going to break down how I find time to read, what I have given up to make time, and hopefully give you some ideas if you are struggling to find time or motivation.

    I don’t magically have more time to read than you do. I just decided one day that I missed reading and I wanted it to be present in my daily life. I was a big reader in elementary and middle school, but had lost the drive and focus sometime in the midst of high school drama. In January 2017, while stuck at home because of a compromised immune system and lack of strength, I realized that the time I was spending staring at Netflix could be better used. At that time, I DID magically have more time than you. I wasn’t working. I didn’t have much energy to clean. I wasn’t in school. I literally sat at home all day every day that I wasn’t with a doctor. But deciding to stop binge-watching Gilmore Girls again and start reading wasn’t enough work to actually make it happen. When I tried to read I found myself unfocused even through the most interesting book. I would end up on my phone, or going off to do who-knows-what. It TURNS OUT that when you don’t practice something for a while, you may not be fantastic at it when you come back. It’s almost like reading… is a skill? It’s almost like if you want something to become habit you have to… work at it?

     So, I had to teach myself how to read all over again and how to use my time efficiently. Once I did, suddenly I had plenty of time to read. I read 56 books that year, and 57 books in 2018. And I still managed to work full-time and go to school. I still had social interaction, traveled, ate full meals, and slept a full 8 hours a night. So how did I do it? Let’s explore.

Tip #1: Set a traceable GOAL:

When I first started trying to increase my reading time, I made quantity goals. For me, quantity was a way to motivate myself. Having a numerical goal meant it was easy to track how I was doing. Maybe your goal is a list of titles you want to tackle. Maybe there is an author you love you want to read all of their books. Maybe you set aside a certain amount of time every week that you have to read during. Whatever works, just set a goal. Once I had to goal, it became easier to focus because I was working towards something. Just make sure you can easily track it.

If you pick a quantity goal, there are two factors that will determine how many
books you go through:

  1. How fast you read.
  2. What you read.

I have always been a fast reader. You may read slower or faster, so it is important not to compete with someone else’s book numbers. Instead, consider what books really enjoyed in the past, and how long it took you to finish them. Then estimate how many you could get through within a year. I spent those two years rereading favorites from my childhood, or finishing teen series that I never got to finish. Youth fiction can be really well written, but they are written to be easier to comprehend (This does not mean the book is any lesser!). I also knew that I would go through them faster if they were a series with cliffhangers.

Tip #2: Find your wasted time:

I know you may not want to admit this, but you are wasting time in your day. It’s a waste when it doesn’t help you in any capacity. It doesn’t make you happy, it doesn’t further your career, it doesn’t feed you, it doesn’t heal you. For me, a lot of this time was on my phone. Growing up my phones couldn’t access the internet and none of my friends were major texters. I had SO MUCH time to read!! Now, my phone is a mini computer full of fun and distracting ways to waste my time. I could scroll for hours, and I HAVE. Those hours are better spent, don’t you think?

     I starting tracking my time spent on the phone, which is an app most smartphones have. Suddenly I was faced with exact numbers of time I spent on my phone. Even days when I was in school and at work, I somehow managed to spend an hour or two on my phone. Every time I am in line I was on my phone. Every time I was on a break at work or in class I was on my phone. Waiting for the bus? I was on my phone. Waiting around at the airport? I was on my phone. Waiting for the water to boil when cooking dinner? I was on my phone.

    Now I have been actively trying to use that time to read. I read on the bus, while waiting for the bus. I try to read during my breaks at work, and especially try to read at lunch. If I’m not too tired at night I try to read for an hour before bed. I’ve recently been waking up earlier than I need to so I can sit by my windows or on my patio and take my time with coffee and a book.

“But Raelee, I don’t use public transit!!? Of course you can
read all the time, you’re on a bus.”

OK, well you should if you can because it’s better for traffic and the environment. Not to mention I spend maybe up to an 1 hour on a bus everyday, but anyway.

Tip #3: Find your format:

Audiobooks, friend. They exist, and reading snobs might say they don’t count, but that is bullsh!t. One of my friend pairs her audiobooks with physical books. She can listen to a book on the way to school, and then read the physical book later at home. Personally, I do prefer to hold the book myself, that’s why I don’t use ebooks. But if you are not audibly challenged like me, there are plenty of audiobook subscriptions. Often times they can be cheaper than buying an actual book. Go to used bookstores and get used audio books. Libraries let you borrow audiobooks. My Bioanthropology teacher, Tony, said that he listens to audiobooks so he can adjust the speed. Even speeding up the recording slightly can dramatically cut down the time it takes to listen to a whole book. Play them while you clean your house. Listen while you cook dinner. Listen while you’re in traffic.

Tip #4: Make your routine more efficient:

I wear the same makeup everyday. I have been wearing the same general makeup for several years now. I’ve gotten pretty fast at doing it now, sometimes I even have extra time to try something new. But when I first started doing my makeup, it was messy and took forever. So what changed? Practice. Repetition. Doing it over and over. I cut out the things that I didn’t care for (mascara on my bottom lashes always messes with my glasses anyway; leave lipstick for special occasions, etc). I invested in products that helped me achieve the look I wanted. Hair oil to help with frizz, copper brushes to help with dandruff. Setting spray to keep my makeup on my face all day. Now do that with everything in your life.

    Pretty much all of my sock are grey or black. Most of my clothes are similar enough colors that I can try on six outfits in the morning and it’s still faster than it was in high school. I boil water for my oatmeal at the same time that I boil water for coffee. My travel mug is sitting next to my grounds, my lunch is leftovers from yesterday’s dinner. I always have a book in my purse and next to my bed. This means that to get ready in the morning, or for bed in the evening, I need about 30 minutes to have everything ready. If I took the time to meal prep, the rest of my week would be even faster. If B and I got a french press, making coffee would be even faster. I could shorten up my shower routine, I could shorten the time it takes me to do laundry. I want to be faster at getting the kitchen cleaned up. Speeding all those daily tasks will leave you with more time, as will cutting out the things you don’t need. Which brings me to my last tip.

Tip #5: Sacrifice something:

I am obsessive, and anxious, and I like to do everything. But often, we have to cut something out to make time for something else. I could be playing the sims right now, but I want to invest more time into my writing and my bookstagram so instead I am working on this. I could even be reading right now, but I know that I have some time later that I can read that I wouldn’t be able to use for writing. I’ve also lessened the amount of money I spend on Starbucks so I can use that extra money to buy more books. I used to spend about $10 a week on coffee, and now I can buy a book with that (sometimes even two if I find deals!). I can’t afford to spend that money on both, I had to give one of them up. I don’t have Spotify premium anymore, that extra $5-10 a month goes to reading. I don’t have photoshop anymore ($10-25 a month), I use pixlr or phone apps. I don’t go shopping much for a variety of reasons, but one fun side-effect of that is I have that time and money for books (or rent, lol). Time and money are probably the hardest things to sacrifice and compromise on when it comes to forming new habits, but I have found that they make the biggest impacts.


I hope that this gave you some inspiration to bring books into your life. I really think that there is nothing better than falling into a book. Start small, start by doubling the number of books you read last year. Read one book a month. Just make some time to read. Read the paper, read comic books, listen to audiobooks, read magazines.

Reading is said to:

  • Expand your vocabulary;
  • Stimulate the mind, slowing down the progress of Alzheimer’s or dementia;
  • Increase your capacity for empathy;
  • Reduce stress;
  • Be hella fun!

Any of these tips can be used to help you develop any habit, not just reading. I have been using similar techniques to improve my eating habits. Let me know if there are any tips that you use that I didn’t list. I’d love to try other ways!

~Raelee


This is written from the perspective of a lower middle class white female. What I have access to may differ to what you have access to. What I can physically do in a day may greatly differ from someone who is less able-bodied. Keep your abilities in mind, and don’t push yourself too far just because strangers on the internet have different circumstances. Find what works for you.

 

To Whom It May Concern,

I write to you wrapped up in the blanket my grandmother knit me, on my patio which I have furnished with my rug that Bree hates, a crate someone left behind at work, and a $10 camping chair I bought at the grocery store. I also have coffee.

This winter was terribly hard for me, as most winters are. I long for the day when I can move my family to a warmer climate, where my bones ache less often, and my mood is predictable. For a month or two I have been trying to get a new job, for as much as I love the bookstore I would like to have money for things besides rent and food. I would also like a job where there is room to grow. I want these things desperately. And that unfulfilled lust for more has not helped my mood in the least. I have also been very preoccupied with a couple other things which you will read about in a moment.

I am writing this letter to you because I have consciously realized some things about myself recently, that I felt necessary to share for a variety of reasons:

  1. Growing up I felt like I was behind everyone else because rarely are we brutally honest about our experiences with each other. (I have a lot of thoughts on this point. I do not have all the time to write about them now, but if I do I will link it here). I felt like I never knew what anyone else was thinking or experiencing. This phenomenon has made me very self-conscious. 
  2. While I consider myself a pretty open person it is very hard to admit when I am wrong, or when I am bad at something, especially if I really wanted to be right. This is not a trait unique to me, but I feel like if we talked about it, it would be easier for everyone to cope and grow. (See reason 1). So I am pushing myself to do it because of reason 3; 
  3. The best times of my life all have happened during the Summer. Not just because Summer is the best (which, it is), but because it comes around my birthday. I get very introspective around my birthday, and that combined with the warm air and bumble bees creates a sense of urgency to push myself. I am happiest when I am pushing myself. I know this and yet, for 75% of the year, I do not push myself. I hibernate. I don’t like the feeling of hibernating. The pleasure of sinking into your bed looses its magic if you’ve been in bed all day. So this is me pushing myself.

Technically these could be argued to be one big reason, but it’s my letter so I get to do whatever I want.


Here is what I have learned this winter, in no particular order.

  1. I am not a good friend. Now, this is a little more complex than that one sentence, but ultimately what I have learned is that I take so much of my own energy making sure that I am energized and healthy and safe that I have little left to give to anyone else. I use to excuse this behavior, because I have diseases and a partner and a dog. But we have the power to cultivate the lives we want. If we want to have time for our friends, we make time for our friends.
    And this is not to say that I don’t love and cherish my friendships, but rather I have realized they are no longer a top priority for me. As soon as I made this realization, I suddenly started to feel much better. We are human, we need and crave connection. But much of the connection I need I get from a select few, and I no longer feel the pressure to collect names to prove I am worth loving. Those in similar life stages, I assume, are going through similar realizations. They have partners, children, careers, dreams. They have things they want to invest time and resources into, and sometimes the friendships they have accumulated no longer are compatible.

    • I don’t think this is bad. I think this is natural. But geez, it is UNCOMFORTABLE. We put so much pressure into getting everything right, into always being good. And then add our “cancel culture” into the mix and suddenly you aren’t allowed to change your mind anymore. ITS TOO MUCH PRESSURE. Letting go of good people is just as okay as letting go of toxic people. We all are learning and growing and changing, and forcing friendships is just as awful as forcing romantic relationships. I have so many more thoughts to put into this. I don’t have the right words right now. But ultimately, people value commitment, and if you cannot commit to something just say so. Feelings will be hurt but in time they will find people who can commit to them. And this applies to both romantic and platonic relationships. The world will not end because you decided to walk away. 
  2. I don’t digest information as much as I thought I did. I think that this comes from my both my impatient nature and my thirst for more. I read a lot, and I listen to podcasts, and I watch documentaries – but until recently I never noticed that I don’t digest what that information really means.
    • A great example of this is my realization that salad can taste amazing. People always said that it can taste good, and I certainly never assumed they were lying. I just felt like I didn’t get it. But recently, I have been eating salad. Like full on CRAVING salad, because I learned how to make it taste good. I learned how to make it a meal. The other day I was itching to get home so I could have salad. Let me share with you my favorite salad right now; I mix two different salads together (of the soft leaf variety; I’m not into bitters or the pokey kind), I added some cooked breaded chicken strips, some avocado, lil baby tomatoes, some chopped almonds, ginger salad dressing, and finished it off – get this: with salt and pepper. WHAT? That’s right friends. Salt and pepper on salad. It’s crazy, turns out that making a salad is literally like making anything else. Did you know you can put salt and pepper on sandwiches? My life has changed. 
  3. I am learning to slow down. I have written before about how my anxiety is a racehorse. Generally it feels like everything I do is too fast. I don’t know if I am trying to beat the clock, or if it is because when I was younger I didn’t think I would last long – but god everything is too fast.
    • In particular, I have applied this to reading. My relationship with reading is complex. Growing up it was a survival tactic – I would read to escape my trauma and my depression. It was literally the number one reason I kept waking up in the morning. For a while reading was like eating and sleeping – without it I would start to crumble. It was addictive, and a dependency. I was staying up all night to finish a book because putting the book away meant acknowledging life outside the story. Not because the book was any good, but simply because it was better than living.
      Now that I can read for the sake of reading, I have had to teach myself all over again. It becomes all too tempting to fall into another world and forget the one I am in. Especially during these dark winter days. I have been learning how to take my time through books, to really digest what I am reading, and how it applies to my life, or what wisdom it can serve me. I am learning how to read what I need at the time, not just to speed through one book so I can get to the next. If I am happy and I want to stay happy, I read a happy book. If I am struggling and I want to break free of that I read a book that forces me to confront what I am struggling with. If I am sad and I want an excuse to cry I read a sad book. This means that I am currently working through 6 books at once which would previously have upset me. But I am learning to enjoy it. 
  4. My surroundings impact my perception. This can be as specific or broad as you like. For me it means that when my kitchen is messy, I treat life messy. I don’t care about how I interact with the world, I don’t smile at strangers, I don’t always think before speaking. When my clothes are clean, I am productive and happier. When my hair was last washed god knows when, I lose motivation to cook dinner for my family. When I have a thought-provoking conversation with a cherished friend, I am energized and optimistic. I have been trying to cultivate the life I want in all facets of my life, but specifically in how I surround myself. Sipping freshly brewed coffee in a clean room with the window wide open and a jar of fresh flowers on the sill instantly becomes the best part of my day. Today is my day off but I still brushed my hair and put on a pair of jeans. True, sweatpants are comfier. But jeans are fairly comfy, and they have that slight itch that keeps me from sitting still in one spot for too long.

I know that I have not been available to you, but as you can see I have been quite busy. My mental health takes up more of my time and that feels shameful, but I am working on it everyday. I will continue working on it forever I think. I am trying to accept that. I am sorry that I have been away. I am trying to come back. As the temperature rises I am shedding my layers and rediscovering who I am and what I want in life (I mean this literally and figuratively. The other day I discovered a freckle that I didn’t know I had).

If you are reading this, you clearly are someone who cares for me and my livelihood and for that I love you. I love you for many other reasons, but especially for being someone who takes time in their day to care for me. That is such a little and magnificent gift.

If you are struggling to find balance and would like some peaceful moments in life, this is your permission slip to take time for yourself. You will never be perfect, neither will I. There simply is no such thing. It is far more important to go about your life with intention and awareness. If you overextend yourself trying to fulfill everyone else in your life, this is your challenge to pause and decide if it’s worth it. This is your opportunity to decide on what you want your priorities to be and not what you think your priorities should be. This is your chance to be selfish, and to not feel ashamed of it.

Someday I will embody my own advice.

Much love to you,
~Raelee


Things that are helping me right now:

  • Stacey Flowers: She is a Youtuber who talks a lot about mental health, money management, and happiness. I really love her honesty a lot. Her Instagram is great too; every morning she goes live with her “morning show” and talks about being intentional and her journey to living debt free. In the evenings she posts from her gratitude walk, and lists the things she is grateful for. She also taught me how to make yummy spaghetti squash. 
  • I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn’t) by Brene Brown. I only have worked my way through the first two chapters because oof, this one is not a comfy read. But I have been thinking about what she talks about and trying to apply the concepts into my own life. 
  • Fresh flowers. Whether you steal them from the cherry blossoms, or grab some cheap carnations from the grocery store, something about fresh flowers just feels so luxurious and they always make me smile. I got a $10 bouquet a couple of weeks ago and I keep carrying them with me as I go around the house. Just make sure you change out the water so they last you a long time.

  • I am trying to spend less time on social media. My issues with self-image and jealousy don’t get any better if I am spamming myself with “influencers”. However, when I am on I try to look at images that inspire me, like the feed of Kate Nelson of PlasticFreeMermaid. She is an activist and posts really great tutorials and information about the damage of plastic and visits communities all around the world to learn about how plastic impacts their lives. She is firm but never condescending, and her positivity is contagious.

Art Is An Instrument for Change: A Look Into Three Coastal Salish Artists

The United States is a fast-paced society with easy access to information from around the world; we are only limited by the speed at which we can navigate the Internet. Basic education is now available to more people than ever in history (Roser & Ortiz-Ospina). There has never been an easier time to reevaluate how people are represented, specifically those groups that have been abused throughout colonial history. The Internet is a great platform that artists, who use their creations as a promotion of social awareness, can use to reach a broader audience. Art can provide insight for the outside world about the inequalities the Native artists and their communities are currently facing. Art can be an instrument for social change.

I was interested in how Native American artists might use their art and platform to share the modern truths of their people, and I wanted to focus on artists who are from the land I live on, land that was stolen by European settlers. As of the 2010 census, there are 5.2 million American Indians and Alaskan Natives living in America. In the Washington State Puget Sound area, sometimes referred to as the Salish Sea, that would be the Salish people. Salish is the broad term for the Native groups that occupy land reaching into Canada and down all the way into Oregon covering 645,000 acres (Coast Salish Gathering). Salish refers to the language group of the people who live/d there (Wright). Photographer Matika Wilbur is Swinomish and Tulalip, Qwalsius Shaun Peterson is a Puyallup multimedia artist, and Roger Fernandes is a storyteller from the Lower Elwha Klallam tribe. They are all Coastal Salish artists who seek to educate their communities about the realities of modern Native Americans and combat their negative and primitive portrayals in mass media.

Historically the Salish were known for living in large Longhouses, containing immediate and extended family. The ancestral people fished salmon freely; they hunted deer, elk, moose, birds; they gathered roots, herbs, and berries. For most of the year they lived in temporary camps and migrated to their permanent winter villages where many of their traditional ceremonies took place. The Coastal Salish created Story Poles and celebrated at Potlatch events, called Sqwigwi, where they gathered and shared their wealth with each other (Northwest Heritage Project). Much of their culture was lost in the aftermath of American western expansion and through the forced assimilation in the 1800-1900’s, some of which has been slowly recovered. Today, the Coastal Salish groups continue to honor their past with many of their historical traditions and can include anywhere from 500 to 2,000 members (Jack).

Matika Wilbur is a social documentarian who is travelling across the United States for her current photography piece, Project 562. The project is intended to provide a better representation of contemporary Native Americans than what is seen in media and history books. The number “562” is for the number of federally recognized American Indian tribes at the time she started. For Wilbur, “giving power to a number was important… even though finding an accurate number is difficult, given the ever-changing political climate” (Stretten). Since starting the project, that number has grown to 573, which she believes “is indicative of the progress Native Americans are making today” (Moya-Smith), progress towards national cultural recognition.

Around 2012, she left her life in Seattle to go work and live out of her car in efforts to complete this project. Living off funds raised by two Kickstarter campaigns and the generosity of her subjects, Wilbur has photographed over 300 tribes and traveled to 40 different states. What is important to her, is how the subjects see themselves, and so they lead the sessions. “I am not shocked by poverty…. I don’t think it’s the only thing worth photographing. [Those] are the pictures that come out about our people. It’s always the same thing,” (Graves). Instead she asks the subjects to choose where they would like to be photographed, asking only that it is on their tribal land. They dress however they like, pick a spot, and she waits until “she can feel what she calls ‘the connection’,” (Graves), and then she takes the photos. In this sense, she differs greatly from the photographer that she is most commonly compared to, Edward Curtis. Curtis was a very famous Non-Native photographer, known for a producing similar work as Wilbur, except he was not as welcome in the native communities. He intended to catalog all the groups because at the time it was thought that Native groups were going extinct. He was known for bringing his own props and dressing his subjects, “[he] wanted to show Indians in their pristine state” (Kidwell & Velie 125), which often meant stripping them of their modern artifacts. This simply contributed to the ongoing stereotype of a cultural group “stuck” in the past, instead of recognizing them as modern people. Wilbur allows her subjects to present themselves as they wish to be seen – in a sense delivering self portraits of a greatly unknown, unrecognized, and variant culture. She explores a variety of topics in her interviews with her subjects; on how they feel they are misperceived; on what they dream of accomplishing; of their favorite memories. When asked how she personally navigates being Native American in the modern world, she responded “We walk in two worlds…. We learn to navigate with a moccasin on one foot and a tennis shoe on the other” (Stretten).

Not all contemporary American Indians agree with this dual-world narrative however. “We are a contemporary people and I don’t agree with the idea of ‘walking in two worlds’, as if my Native identity was incompatible with modern life. I attend ceremony, participate in my culture, and can feel no guilt about interacting with the world of today” said multimedia artist, Qwalsius Shaun Peterson in an interview for with Asia Tail for the Tacoma Art Museum. Peterson, a member of the Puyallup tribe, has been a professional artist for nearly 21 years, and while he has commissioned work across the globe, his work has been primarily installed locally in the Salish Sea area.

Previously, it was mentioned that the Salish people were known for their Story Poles. This information was lost until recently, and the fight to recognize the true history has been led in part by Peterson. One of the first pieces of public art that Peterson would create was for the newly built Chief Leschi Schools in Puyallup around 1996. The board initially commissioned a Totem Pole from First Nation carver Bruce Cook III. However, Cook was uncomfortable with the task because he wasn’t from the local Coastal Salish groups, and because Totems are not a part of Coastal Salish culture (Farr). This misconception was established itself in the Pacific Northwest in 1899, when “the city of Seattle erected a Tlingit Totem Pole of the Raven Clan, stolen from a village in Alaska” (Farr). After the loss of cultural knowledge that was in part due to the forced assimilation of native children, many Salish people do not even realize that it is historically not their iconography. Instead, traditionally the Salish people carved Story Poles, which were stationed outside of their longhouses. The important distinction, according to Peterson, is that “A Totem Pole takes from family crest iconography, and because we are not organized by clans in our culture, here we create Story Poles where the stories essentially belong to the community, not one singular family” (Farr). Peterson took over the Chief Leschi project and the scope changed from designing a Totem Pole, to a designing a Coastal Salish Story Pole. It was the first large carving project that Peterson was a part of, and while he had mentors and a community to help him carve, there was little guidance as to the proper design he should follow. He spent much time researching and collecting information on true Coastal Salish art traditions and iconography. After it was erected, not everyone was happy with the change that had taken place. “Some tribal members weren’t happy about it” said Peterson in an interview with Sheila Farr, “They wanted a Totem Pole, the familiar iconography; they were like ‘what is this type of work you are doing?’ It was unfamiliar to our own people.”

Since then, Peterson has been a key figure in reviving the Coastal Salish art traditions. The Coastal Salish aesthetic is distinct from the other groups is many ways. The most obvious way is its fluidity, varying greatly from the art style more commonly found in northern groups called Formline. Coastal Salish art can also be distinguished by the shapes it uses. The Coastal Salish basic design utilizes three shapes: the circle/oval, the crescent and extended crescent (similar to the Formline U-form), and the trigon (Peterson). It is believed that the design originates from low relief carvings (Wright; Peterson). This is evident through design development; Coastal Salish work relies on carving out the negative space to create the design – Formline designs are created by building up shapes using the positive space (Wright; Peterson).

Peterson is also very outspoken about how he feels his people have been treated. “Our people are part of this land and its history, but most importantly we are part of the present. The art I create will aim to communicate that and, in the process, create space for dialogue” (Tail). But the space he has created goes beyond his artwork. He also has a blog that features several op-ed pieces that could be a discussion on about how Native American’s are portrayed in the media, or a behind the scene look at his most recent public work commission (Qwalsius). He uses the aesthetics and design traditions that are not well known in hopes of bringing the knowledge back, that artwork itself largely inspired by his people’s stories and characters. “I believe that the art itself has been most responsible for preserving our stories…. Though I work in a variety of media I keep in mind that it’s not the media that drives the works themselves but the story or feeling it is supposed to carry to the observer” (Stonington Gallery). His public works installed around the Salish Sea area have opened up a cultural and historical education to, not only non-Native Americans living locally, but also the high number of tourists who travel from all over the world to see the great city of Seattle and it’s surrounding areas.

Unlike Wilbur and Peterson, who utilize social media and pop culture to educate their audience on Native issues, Roger Fernandes as hardly any internet presence. Fernandes, a member of the Lower Elwha Band of the S’Klallam Indian band in Washington state, is a well-respected artist and educator. He is the Executive Director at the grassroots non-profit South Wind Native Arts and Education Foundation; he is also on the arts advisory committee for the Potlatch Fund, a Native-led nonprofit that provides grants and leadership development to local tribal members. But primarily, Fernandes spreads awareness about Native American issues in a more traditional form, arguably the most traditional form. Roger Fernandes is a Storyteller.

Storytelling goes beyond the literal reciting of a story, it is an entire performance that includes music and dance. The power lies in repetition. Learning the stories begins as a child, hearing the stories over and over until the point they “[know] the story well enough to tell it, as the story [is] now a part of them and their memory” (Fernandes). The stories evolve as the listener hears them again and again. Initially, they serve as literal lessons to teach children what is expected of them, and real-life dangers. As they get older, they can explore those metaphors to help guide them through adult issues. At a cultural level, “These stories explained the world and how it worked and demonstrated how human beings were to live in the world in balance with each other and all living things” (Fernandes). Fernandes is an active educator in his community and surrounding communities at events, such as the “Native Oral, Visual, and Digital Storytelling for Social Justice” hosted by Antioch University, or Native Storytelling sessions with local libraries. He helped create a lesson plan for grades k-5 with Washington State Leadership and Assistance for Science Education Reform (LASER) project, so that teachers have a Native American story component while teaching science lessons. “Books and television and the Internet have replaced storytelling. We believe they are the new and improved way of communicating and teaching” he says, “[But] the true power of storytelling comes when the moisture of the teller’s breath gives life and power to the story” (Fernandes).

These stories are fundamental for one’s health, “Stories lead to a spiritual and emotional understanding on how to live in the world….  Spiritual health that people need is told in stories that convey how a human being is to live in balance with family, community, and nature” (Wisdom of The Elders). Fernandes’ storytelling is for all people, “sharing these types of stories Native people can teach non-Natives about the aspects of their culture that go beyond food, shelter, and clothing. These stories actually define the culture of the tellers” (Wisdom of The Elders). While the stories can be shared with people outside the tribe, to tell these stories as an outside citizen is to directly insult the practice itself. “To truly know the meanings of the beings represented in Coast Salish art, the owner or artist would need to tell us, or the story would have to have been passed down” (Wright). It takes more than pure memorization to tell the stories, it takes cultural knowledge and years of fundamental analysis of one’s self and their environment. Fernandes’ willingness to perform these stories for outer communities allows Non-Natives to not only learn from tribal wisdom, but better understand the modern voice of a marginalized group which they may have previously misunderstood due to stereotypes that still persist.

While it is important that we work collaboratively to revive cultures, and to help limit the destruction to cultures, it is also important to ensure that the people leading those projects are from the culture itself. Such as was seen with Peterson and his work with the Chief Leschi schools. The knowledge necessary cannot be taught in a class or a book. There are techniques and resources that cannot be mimicked. Art is something that is enjoyed across cultures, and interacted with on a regular basis, even if we are unaware of it. From huge sculptural pieces, to photographs, to Storytelling – art is all around us in its variant forms. Art is accessible across languages and perspectives. By using art as a tool to talk about their present culture, while using the methods of the past, these artists have found a beautiful way to take back the narrative and create representation that is raw, honest, and cultural. We need to open a dialog for change, and art is the perfect instrument to do so. Fernandes said it best, “Art raises questions” (SAM).


Bibliography:


I wrote this VERY LONG paper as my final project at Bellevue College in my Native American Studies class. I spent many hours on it, had many friends look and edit and reedit, and I am very proud of how it came out despite the challenges that I was dealing with while writing.

I was drawn to write about these artists because they were local to where I live. When I first started that quarter, I realized that I didn’t know very much about the indigenous people of my own backyard. It felt very hypocritical to pursue my goal of archaeology without knowing about the living people that have been in my own city for thousands of years. Because we live in an age of social media I wanted to include a bit of that, but that really isn’t the main focus. The main focus was the people themselves and the culture they are fighting to keep alive.

If anything, I hope that you come away with VERY BRIEF insight to the Salish people, and that you investigate the culture of the people in your area that were forcibly removed so that you could live there. 🙂

~Raelee

I’m Bisexual.

When I first started writing this blog, it was a place for me to vent about what I was going through. I had recently been forced to drop out of school, I had to quit my job, I was in the midst of a deadly disease that was doing its best to kill me. And I wanted a place to talk about that and to have the blog as a middle man to talk to my friends, family, and community. And for the most part I had that, and writing helped me recover pieces of my self that had been buried under “I’m stuck in bed all day because i have no energy to move” depression. Once I was back on my feet and in school and then a new full time job, I didn’t need this middle man to explain my situation anymore. I was confident enough to have the difficult conversations in person.
This blog has become more of a thing I do when I want to have fun or for when I need to really talk something out with myself.

But today I need the comfort of the screen between us, because I have to talk about something difficult. And this isn’t like my long-lost coat story, or when I came clean about being a morning person – where at the end it’s been a silly dramatic post. This time it’s serious, and if you’re reading this, I really hope that you can hear me and fully digest what I have to say.

I am a bisexual. I have loved two boys, and one girl. I don’t know if I will deeply love another, or whether they will be a boy or a girl, but I do know that I loved those boys very much, and I love this girl more than I’ve loved anyone.

The summer I came out as not-heterosexual, I came out because I started dating this girl. I don’t know when I would have come out if I hadn’t met her, but I met her and I knew I needed to know her. Apparently she needed to know me too and so I came out.

And it was really scary.

But it wasn’t fear of how my family might react. I grew up in a home with a mother who was daring and brave and preached openness and exploration. I knew that she wouldn’t mind in the least. And so she was the first person I told, and we cried together on the phone out of love and respect and relief and it was beautiful.

No, I wasn’t worried about mom, I was worried about how my friends would react.

I live in the Pacific Northwest. We are known for being liberal coffee snobs, running around with too much hair, too many opinions, a lot of Gay, and poor interpersonal skills.  At the time I was contemplating my sexuality, I was working at a camp where we had (privately, on our breaks, semi-jokingly) calculated that at least 40% of staff were out and openly queer and at least 15% were closeted or oblivious. That proportion was pretty typical over the past three years of working for camp, and I had made many gay/queer friends. But in that time they had addressed me and treated me like I was straight.
I was an ally in their eyes.
And that was fine, but I also had absorbed the jokes they made about straight girls who experiment, or the torment of falling for a straight girl, or what a lesbian should look like, and what is gay and what isn’t. At the time, it was intimidating. At the time I didn’t know what they genuinely believed,  what was a joke, or what was a remark masking their insecurities.
They were my only IN to an entire community, and so far it looked like they didn’t want someone who looked like me.

A week before I told B. I liked her, and thus a week before I came out, I was sitting on my bunk chatting with coworkers and somehow the conversation got steered to who we thought was gay at camp. This is INCREDIBLY common. It is one of the few environments that is so saturated with Gay, that everyone gets way too excited. I asked why in the past three years no one had asked me if I was gay, and my cabin-mate laughed and said,  “Raelee, we know you aren’t gay because – ”

Lets just pause for a second – I think it would be important for me to tell you that up until this point I had only started dating in the past year. The two boys from before had happened that year when I was 19-20, and there was no dating in high school (there was a date or two, but they were as innocent as can be). There had been crushes, there had been flirting, but ultimately there had been nothing until the year before that summer. I knew myself, I knew I wasn’t ready or willing to give anything a go until I was ready. But I had known my camp friends for three years, before any dating and they had never once asked me if I was straight or not. Straight people are not unique in their heternormative thinking. Gay people do it too. Its how most of us were raised, it is a part of Western culture. Not assuming someone is straight takes a lot of time and homework that I am only now getting better at and I’ve been working on it for four years. But back then, I assumed that my friends, so deeply involved in the queer community, would be naturals at it. I hadn’t yet learned the reality that everything takes time and practice. I assumed that they could read it in my eyes that I had been questioning myself since I was 16, I thought they could smell the gay on me.
I thought gaydar was a real thing, dammit! I didn’t realize that it is developed by depending on stereotypes.

Ok let’s resume:

She told me I couldn’t be gay because I wore too much pink and liked Taylor Swift, and that, “no self-respecting lesbian would listen to Taylor Swift.”
That is the direct quote.
I know for a fact that was what she said because it echoed for days and I wrote about in a diary, and I cried about it on the phone. Those two things supposedly took away my queerness. And looking back now, I know that’s not what she intended. And I still know her and she has learned and grown so much, and by the end of the summer she apologized. But in that moment, it was a punch to the gut.

But the bigger reason that it hurt was not because I felt left out or misunderstood, it was because her instinctual response was to assume that a girl who was gay couldn’t like boys, and couldn’t be feminine.

And that was what I had been telling myself for years.

“Well, I don’t like girls that way because I like make up.”
“I’ve had all these crushes on boys for years, maybe I just think she’s pretty and smells nice because I look up to her/I’m being supportive/I’m being compassionate.”
“I can’t be gay because I don’t like covering everything in rainbow, isn’t that what they all do?”
“I can’t be gay because I like having nice painted nails/I like pink/ I have long hair/ I don’t like queer movies/”
“I can’t be gay because I don’t do this/I don’t look like that/”

It would be a while before I was able to get over those things. It took a year or so into my relationship with B. to really start feeling comfortable with my frilly and pink self. And I still battle with silly inner arguments about if I am presenting too feminine or not feminine enough. And its easy to throw those insecurities away when they aren’t yours, but for me they are much harder to conquer.

Everyone’s sexuality and romantic history is their own to share.
It is not owed to anyone, and it should not be assumed by anyone.

I don’t care what age, what gender, how they dress, who they have dated before. It is never your place to tell someone who they are. We have created an environment that makes people afraid to be themselves, one where they think they can’t change their mind about their opinions or lifestyle without getting judged for it. And what do we gain from that? What do we gain by continuing this tradition? Aren’t we just holding each other and ourselves back from our full potential?

I am a bisexual. I have loved two boys, and one girl. I don’t know if I will deeply love another person or whether they will be a boy or a girl; but I do know that it is none of your business until I say otherwise, and that my sexuality is only a small part of who I am as a person.

~Raelee

Logged Out October

We need to take a break, social media, I’m not sorry about it.

     I don’t know if you have picked up on it yet, but I have a lot of interests. I’ve done theater, interior design, I read a lot, I like pop culture and fashion, I have a million writing ideas that I am scared of forgetting, I have two jobs, I am in school, I was trying to learn how to play the ukulele, and I am also trying to start relearning french. I also try to maintain strong relationships with friends and family. I’ve been trying to learn to meal prep, I’m learning about financials and boosting ones credit report. I’m trying to move and find my first apartment, I have more than a casual interest in the Sims. I love tv and movies and podcasts. And I have reached the point where I want too many things and I want to know too many things. I have been broken by my own curiosity.

     In theory, I claim to balance all of these things as well as my delicate health. But the reality is that I get so overwhelmed by all that I want to do, I end up doing nothing but wallowing in misery because I can only multitask so much and so often. I have found myself getting bored with books because I am distracted by ten others I want to read. I’ve been getting bored in classes because I have such restless energy I can’t even focus. And then there is the anxiety that I get from realizing ALL of this, that I get even more overwhelmed – I have to find a way to chill out, essentially.

     Growing up, my mother restricted my computer and tv time. And even then, when I was on the computer I was playing math and grammar games. I felt like I had the most brilliant imagination, playing with my barbies until I was 16. I spent hours reading anything I could get my hands on, even really big hard books, even if I didn’t actually understand what I was reading. Now days I get bored so fast that I have to force myself to keep dense books on my radar. It’s something I feel ashamed about. I want to go to school forever! I want to spend my days talking and learning surrounded by other academics. I want to tackle difficult literature and learn about the great academics before me. But I can’t do that if I can’t even get through biographies about people I admire. What good is it to read stacks of books, if I wasn’t once challenged?

     For the past week I have allowed my phone to track how often I am on it. Even though I carry a book with me everywhere, I have noticed that if I am in line anywhere, or waiting for a bus – or even waiting for someone while they run to the bathroom – I pull out my phone immediately. I didn’t even have a phone with internet access until 4 years ago, so this habit where I spend all spare time scrolling is a new one. I am hoping that because it is so new that I can easily break it. In the past week I have spent an average of 2.5 hours every day on my phone. I will say that a lot of that was while multitasking, because I watch shows when I put laundry away or cooking, and I watch shows on my phone while I play games on my computer. With that in mind, I am honestly surprised that the average time wasn’t higher. But that is still two and a half hours I could have been doing something else. 

     Don’t get me wrong, I love the ease of social media. I love that I can hear an interview with my favorite Egyptologist a mere hour after she gives it, and that I can hear interesting people write or talk about their lives and perspectives. Those stories are really important to me. They help me relate to the people around me and help me form my own opinions on things. But I also know that I am not spending 2.5 hours everyday partaking in that. A lot of that time is being spammed with ads for foods and lifestyle trends that I don’t need or have interest in. A lot of that time is spent reading comments written by people I don’t know who aren’t doing anything proactive but are very angry. A chunk of that 2.5 hours is spent locked in my echo chamber.

     For the month of October I am removing Facebook, Instagram, tumblr, and all the games from my phone. I am logging out of them on my computer. I am going to train myself to stop reaching for my phone for those few minutes I am waiting somewhere and learn to stand there waiting doing nothing or reading the book in my purse. My phone will be to stay in contact with people and to take photos. I am allowed to post to my blog page on FB if I write something – but otherwise you won’t see me until November.

      As much as I love being a part of the community that I have created here, I want to be able to look back and recognize accomplishments that I made, not just articles I shared on Facebook. I’m excited to get lost in my books and my classes. I’m excited to let myself be flooded with writing ideas. I’m excited to daydream again, and to get bored and not have a safety net waiting in my pocket. I’m excited to meet my imagination again. I’m just really excited.

~Raelee

That Damned Fence

“Loyalty we know, and patriotism we feel,
To sacrifice our utmost was our ideal,
To fight for our country, and die, perhaps;
But we’re here because we happen to be Japs.”

“That Damned Fence” Author unknown, Poston Camp 1942

Nation of “Immigrants”

For simplicity’s sake, let’s say that America started around the 1500’s as the English and Spanish monarchies were exploring more and more of the mysterious land that is now the North, Central, and South Americas. The English’s first colony on the new continent was Jamestown, in what is now Virginia. By 1611 we begin to see the first African slaves in North America. They were previously found in the southern Spanish colonies, and white Europeans were beginning to find that the cheap labor could lead to faster and less expensive processes. Prior to the colonization of the America’s, slavery meant something completely different than what we associate with it today. Previously, slavery was between feuding religious groups or large cities where the defeated were placed into indentured servitude. Indentured servants were often allowed the opportunity to work out of their servitude through repayment, religious conversion, or sometimes they worked off their debt in hopes that their children could be free. In the building stages of early America, indentured “white and black servants worked side by side” (Goodman 18). These are the days before “white” and “black” were used in legal terminology. Race did not exist yet. It was much later, in the 1700’s, that we see deepening racial categories. Slowly, more and more propaganda that was released helped to create deep social divides between the lower class. Racial scientists sought out “evidence” as to what made each race so different. Carolus Linnaeus described the six distinct people; he even determined what each race was “governed by” and their “universally shared” attributes (Goodman 20). Benjamin Franklin wrote false articles about the danger and violence that the Native Americans were causing for the settlers, “leaking” them to the French newspapers and other European circles in hopes of gaining sympathy – money and resources – from them (Parkinson). These same fake articles made their way back to the colonies, stirring up concern from the white populace, and encouraged the racial distinctions between the immigrants and the indigenous peoples.

Build A Wall:

Since 9/11, white America has been most concerned about middle-eastern and Mexican immigrants. The government has increased its budget from 7.5 billion to 417 billion on border protection and immigration enforcement (Pringle). There are articles every day about children that are being separated from their parents when caught crossing the border. Recently there has been controversy over whether the children are being treated properly after reports of a child that died just days after release (Sacchetti). Families are risking their lives just for the chance to make it across America’s borders. Restrictions and increased security have only changed the routes that the illegal border crossers are taking, and there is inconclusive evidence that the heightened security is actually decreasing the number of people who try (Pringle). Jason De Leon, an anthropologist studying the routes and lives of the migrants, says that “the more recent the migrant site is, the smaller and more remote it tends to be” (Pringle), people are now rock climbing, risking coyotes, dehydration, etc. In terms of racial strife, our Mexican border is the tip of the iceberg. There have been Muslims targeted, refugees are being denied entrance to the country, there have been mass shootings, and public arenas have been bombed; all in the name of Making America Great Again. And while it would be easy to blame the violence on our current political leaders, given that was their slogan, reports show that while there was a spike in hate crimes following the beginning of our 45th president’s term, the number of incidents is on a decline in most major cities (Farivar). America’s racist history is far from being healed over. In a time full of hatred and turmoil, it is absolutely shocking that we are not looking back at what damage our racial division has caused previously, especially past events that haven’t even reached their centennial.

“Our misfortune to be here in the west / To keep us penned behind that DAMNED FENCE:”

It is a common misconception that tensions between whites and Japanese Americans were due to World War II. In actuality there were many events leading up to the war where the Japanese Americans faced blatant hatred and racism. Down in Arizona, during the depression in the early 1930’s, there was a “cantaloupe blight” (Walz), which led the white farmers to band together in protest of the Japanese farmers who were only guilty of turning a profit from a fruit the white farmers had stopped growing. A protest of white farmers descended to the streets of Glendale, Arizona, with signs demanding that the Japanese residents “LEAVE BY NOON AUGUST 25th OR BE MOVED” (Walz).  The protest was followed by a series of hate crimes; bombing the Japanese farms, firing shots at the Japanese farmers, or vandalizing their farming tools. By 1940, the numbers of Japanese farmers in Arizona went from an estimated 121 to 52 (Walz), over half of the original Japanese population.
In Washington, there is evidence that “US government had been monitoring the activities of Japanese Americans on Bainbridge Island” as early as 1922 (UW), with no evidence then and no evidence now to show that they were guilty of espionage. Japanese Washingtonians were first evacuated from Bainbridge Island. They were given six days to pack up their belongings, sell their homes, and be ready to board the ferry. There weren’t too many events of Japanese rebellion. It was a shared belief that by following what the American government asked, they would be protected. In the book Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, author Jamie Ford tells the story of a young Chinese Seattleite, Henry Lee, who falls for Keiko Okabe, a Japanese American girl whose family is taken in 1941 to an internment camp. While visiting the Okabe family in Camp Minidoka, Keiko’s father explains to Henry why they do not fight being relocated. By following the restrictions, they are proving their loyalty to America, “We don’t agree, but we will show our loyalty by our obedience” (Ford 229). He goes on to talk about if they issue a draft for the Japanese men that he would go in a heartbeat, that “the only way we can prove we are American is to bleed for America’s cause…. In the face of what’s being done [to us]” (Ford 230).
Henry’s father expressed similar feelings of making a sacrifice of himself, for the sake of being considered American. He accepts the fate of limited conversation with his twelve-year-old son so that he will be proficient in English. He sends his son to an All-American white school, to further assimilate Henry to American culture, instead of local Chinese schools where Henry would be more welcome. But his sacrifices for Americanization have a limit, and once he has the money saved he sends Henry to China to finish up school instead of staying in the United States. This was also a practice that Japanese Americans followed; raising their children in America, but sending them back home to finish up their educations. In fact, many American born Japanese were stranded in Japan during the war, only to speak very little English upon their return (Walz).
It was not only white people who expressed distrust towards the Japanese; Chinese Americans also expressed hatred and prejudice to their Japanese neighbors. During WWII, the Japanese were not just fighting with Americans, they were also fighting with China. I think that the hateful attitude Chinese Americans expressed was not just because of the war happening on China’s soil, but also because most Americans, and including some Asian Americans, couldn’t tell the difference between the two ethnicities, and so the fear of being mistaken as “the enemy” led to Chinese Americans doing all that they could to distance themselves from the Japanese. In the book, Henry is worried about getting trapped in the Idaho camp because “Caucasian people” wouldn’t know the difference between him and the Japanese prisoners (Ford 226). He couldn’t even tell that Keiko was of Japanese descent when they first met. Recognition came from cues like traditional dress, language, and names.

“find the sweet among the bitter:”

While the Japanese Americans had difficulty bringing their religious beliefs with them to the very Christian America, they were able to bring over some of their other traditions and cultural knowledge. Walz notes that Japanese farmers utilized traditional farming methods they had learned from family back in Japan. Growing lettuce and green onions involved similar irrigation processes that are used to grow rice. In Henry’s family, we see that they maintain the use of traditional Chinese dining habits; using chopsticks, the lazy-Susan they use for serving, the proper etiquette followed when serving tea. Throughout the book Henry describes the Chinese meals that he eats at home, such as preserved duck egg, or jook – “thick rice soup, mixed with diced preserved cabbage” (Ford 45); meals that would not usually be served for breakfast by “traditional Americans.”

Never Again:

The United States has this nasty issue of major problems that are built on a history of false perceptions and irrational fears. From selective housing reforms, to the Trail of Tears, to literally rounding all the Japanese residents and shipping them off to camps; America and its values are so intertwined in race and racism that it will take centuries to have an established system that isn’t still benefiting from prior injustice. Distributing funds to the families that were mistreated is not a solution, it is a band-aid. We as a country need to work to create opportunities for each other. We need to acknowledge the damage that our ancestors have caused. We need to learn from our history and the personal accounts of people who have been wronged. We need to develop a better system of letting people come into our country and take a holistic approach to the issues that surround immigration. Until we take these steps, we are doomed to keep making the same mistakes.


THAT DAMNED FENCE
(anonymous poem circulated at the Poston Camp)

They’ve sunk the posts deep into the ground
They’ve strung out wires all the way around.
With machine gun nests just over there,
And sentries and soldiers everywhere.
We’re trapped like rats in a wired cage,
To fret and fume with impotent rage;
Yonder whispers the lure of the night,
But that DAMNED FENCE assails our sight.
We seek the softness of the midnight air,
But that DAMNED FENCE in the floodlight glare
Awakens unrest in our nocturnal quest,
And mockingly laughs with vicious jest.
With nowhere to go and nothing to do,
We feel terrible, lonesome, and blue:
That DAMNED FENCE is driving us crazy,
Destroying our youth and making us lazy.
Imprisoned in here for a long, long time,
We know we’re punished–though we’ve committed no crime,
Our thoughts are gloomy and enthusiasm damp,
To be locked up in a concentration camp.
Loyalty we know, and patriotism we feel,
To sacrifice our utmost was our ideal,
To fight for our country, and die, perhaps;
But we’re here because we happen to be Japs.
We all love life, and our country best,
Our misfortune to be here in the west,
To keep us penned behind that DAMNED FENCE,
Is someone’s notion of NATIONAL DEFENCE!

Poston was one of the largest camps run by the War Relocation Authority and was built on the local Native American reservation. I found the poem on: http://parentseyes.arizona.edu/wracamps/thatdamnedfence.html

This essay was one that I wrote for my American Life and Culture class this past summer. We were instructed to read the book House on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford and then talk about racism within the book and American culture. One of the most surprising things I learned in this class came from Ford’s book, and that was learning that the Puyallup Fairgrounds in Puyallup Washington was used as a temporary relocation camp during the Japanese Relocation. I grew up in the area but had never know previously that it had a darker history. That solidified this idea to me, that we have to talk about our history, even the bits we aren’t proud of so that we can respect what people were forced through and to honor them by not repeating those mistakes. We’ll never get any kinder as a species if we don’t pay attention to our past. The world is as kind or cruel as we make it.

~ Raelee


Sources:

• Farivar, M. (2018, August 10). Are Hate Crimes in US Peaking? Retrieved from https://www.voanews.com/a/are-hate-crimes-in-us-peaking-/4522049.html
• Ford, J. (2009). Hotel on the corner of Bitter and Sweet a novel. New York: Ballantine Books.
• Goodman, A. H., Moses, Y. T., & Jones, J. L. (2012). Race: Are We So Different. Hoboken: Wiley.
• Parkinson, R. G. (2016, November 25). Fake news? That’s a very old story. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/fake-news-thats-a-very-old-story/2016/11/25/c8b1f3d4-b330-11e6-8616-52b15787add0_story.html?utm_term=.1ad8b331f5d1
• Pringle, H. (2011, January/February). Archaeology Magazine – The Journey to El Norte – Archaeology Magazine Archive. Retrieved from https://archive.archaeology.org/1101/features/border.html
• Sacchetti, M. (2018, August 01). Migrant child died after release from detention, attorneys group alleges. Retrieved from http://cc.bingj.com/cache.aspx?q=immigration center child died&d=5051093762706675&mkt=en-US&setlang=en-US&w=IEsYmSEpmmT4-P15wMAAOkzoAKz-fdke
• San Pedro Daily News, Volume 8, Number 227, 12 October 1910. https://cdnc.ucr.edu/cgi-bin/cdnc?a=d&d=SPDN19101012.2.8&e=——-en–20–1–txt-txIN——–1
• University of Washington Libraries. (1997). Japanese American Exhibit and Access Project. Retrieved August 14th, 2018 from, http://www.lib.washington.edu/specialcollections/collections/exhibits/harmony
• Walz, E. (1997). THE ISSEI COMMUNITY IN MARICOPA COUNTY: Development and Persistence in the Valley of the Sun. The Journal of Arizona History, 38(Spring), 1-22. Retrieved August 14, 2018, from http://parentseyes.arizona.edu/research_etext_walz.php