Fan Friday—Identity


Let’s talk about identity, only because I want to and am feeling contrary today. Yes, I know I it’s Saturday. Again, contrary.

A person can “identify” however he or she chooses, but that doesn’t change facts. Just because you “feel” something, doesn’t make it true. Feelings are subjective. Refer to the first paragraph if you must.

I may not feel contrary tomorrow, or later today, or in five minutes. Some would say I must “always” feel contrary. In the spirit of contrariness, allow me to disagree with that.

Over the course of my life, I’ve “felt” many things, at many times, in many ways. None of those things change who I am, by virtue of DNA or ancestry or chromosomes or any other scientific measure. This is a fact.

Regarding Caitlyn and Rachel, both in the news right now, they can change whatever they want, they can claim whatever identities they want, either or both are fine by me—but until science can strip away existing DNA and replace it by a person’s choice, they are both still whatever or whoever or however they were born.

This is a fact.

I understand feeling “different,” like you’re in the wrong place or time, or even, I suppose, we can extrapolate that to one feeling he or she is “in the wrong body.” But “feeling” doesn’t make it a fact.

For decades, I’ve felt anxious, dealt with what many would call imaginary fears. Hell, sometimes *I* have called them imaginary. But other times, those fear were damn real. To me. Not to anyone else. Those fears were not facts.

Here’s an example: if you “feel” like you’re suddenly going to stop breathing, and wonder what will happen if you do, if you get yourself all worked up over this, you have fear; real fear. But that fear doesn’t turn off your breathing; that fear is a feeling.

Don’t you act different ways around different people? Say, drinking buddies or church folks? Or children and adults? No? Maybe it’s just me.

Let’s say you’re at a kid’s birthday party—you might act a little silly. You might feel nostalgic. Neither of those things makes you a kid again. Later, you might remember those feelings—you might remember them often—but you STILL are not changed into a kid. Adults who act like children all the time, we’ve seen them in the news too, are NOT children.

I used to tell my kids, “I understand why you’re feeling ____, and you can feel that all you want, but that doesn’t mean you can act on it.” And yes, that was in the context of temper tantrums or hitting a sibling or whatever the issue was at that point.

Let’s say someone cuts you off in traffic; you’re angry. Your feeling of anger doesn’t mean you’re allowed to stalk the other driver and ram his bumper. But you’ll probably at least mutter, “Jerk!”

Maybe he is a jerk. Maybe he’s rushing to someone’s deathbed.

There’s simply a big difference between feeling something and it being labeled as fact.

 

 

 

Work Wednesday–Down on the Farm


Down on the Farm

I’ve decided it’s too hot to day anything but sit on the porch, fan running, and drink beer. Seriously.

And it’s only 84 degrees. I must be old.

Remember the summer of 1980? One hundred twenty degrees in the shade in the corral at camp. And I survived, even wearing jeans and boots all day. In fact, when I came home on weekends, I kept turning the thermostat up on the AC and Mom would complain.

Fast forward, er, 36 years, and here I sit. Sweating. A lot. I mean, when I was putting up the new clothesline, I could SMELL myself. Ugh.

Okay, enough complaining—I just hope I get used to this quick, because, unlike tonight when the temps should drop into the 60s, the rest of the summer won’t be like that!

We’re down at the Farm on a weekend this time, because this morning we went to an equipment auction at the MDC. Boats and motors and trailers and parts and implements and tractors and UTVs and ATVs. And trucks. And more.

Everyone said bidding was high this time, and all we came away with were two gas-powered backpack blowers. And boy, are they heavy!

It was hot, but again, not too bad. A little cloud cover, a slight breeze. A LOT of people.

Then, of course, the obligatory shopping, and back home. Mostly, I’m piddling around here, trying to stay cool. I did put up the aforementioned clothesline, and put away the supplies. And tried to light a bonfire.

Smokey the Bear’s got nothing on me. I swear, the stuff is being deliberately . . . I don’t know what! But other than a couple flares, thanks to a judicious application of lighter fluid, that was it. I gave up. Guess I’ll just look at brush piles for a while yet.

I’m inside, and it’s not too bad—at least 10 degrees cooler. And looking at those brush piles. . .

My husband is up at the barn, fixing things. Most particularly, my garden rake that he broke last week, killing a snake. He sure hates snakes. I explained that one does NOT need to raise said rake over one’s head in order to bash said snake and deliver a fatal blow. . .

And now, as we speak, the new AC unit is going in. Call me a wimp, I don’t care! I ditched the jeans and boots about 2:00 p.m., about two hours later than I should have.

In other news, the garden is growing and expanding, the barn is cleaned and traps are laid down for those pesky mice. Plus, I rigged up a cooling system for the deck and picked up a ton of trash in the pasture and garden areas. And all the trimming and cutting is done, too. For now.