Over and Out

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I’m removing myself from the crazy shit that’s going on in the world by going totally offline: no email, no website, no social media, no Netflix, you know, the whole shebang. I’ll get back on once there’s a little more normality and sense, so for the time being, this is goodbye.

I’ve always been really passionate about the environment and the only way I could cope with the environmental destruction that was underway the world over, was to disengage from it. I knew the ins and outs of the ills of the world in terms of environmental catastrophe and became down-trodden with the burden of knowing everything I did, but having the power to change it nil. This virus is the same. I’m not passionate about viruses, but I am passionate about my own freedom and autonomy, so I have to get going while the getting is good before I basically get royally fucked. The capacity to disengage is something I have complete control over in this ridiculous bullshit situation, so that’s what I’m doing.

I’ve written this on the wall of my house next to the front door:

I’m excited about disengaging. It’s already given me back the ability to sleep through the night. The extra brain space is going to give me the capacity to be more creative and complete some projects that have been taking a backseat for too long, like my new hiking memoir (One Foot After the Other), my children’s book (Warrigal), and my yet unfinished novel (Don’t Turn Your Back on the Ocean), not to mention playing my banjo, gardening and various handicraft projects that I’ve been making excuses about for too long.

This song is by Green Day, who I’ve got a ticket to see in November. Hopefully the gig will be able to go ahead. I’ve already missed out on Violent Femmes and Hoodoo Gurus due to the clusterfuck we are now living in. Anyway, I’ve changed the words  a bit to reflect my exit from the situation. The original song is called Wake me up When September ends.

Wake me up when this bullshit ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when this bullshit ends
Like our values come to pass
All of it wiped away so fast
Wake me up when this bullshit ends
Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my isolation again
Becoming who we are
As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when this bullshit ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when this bullshit ends
Play the music live again
Like we did when spring began
Wake me up when this bullshit ends
Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my loneliness again
Becoming who we are
As my memory rests
But never forgets…
A wild toilet paper. I caught it in my special trap constructed of dental floss, clothes pegs and an old kettle. Surprisingly, they are easily tamed. I think there must be a nest of them around here somewhere. I’ll keep looking. Hopefully I can trap a few more, but I’ll never take more than I need.
Own your own autonomy
You are still in charge of your own life

Own your own worry

Last night I had a conversation with some people about the way I live my life. The general consensus from the male perspective is that I’m doing dangerous stuff and shouldn’t be doing it. One man said, “if you were my daughter I wouldn’t let you do that.” Um, but, hello, me and the daughter are both women in our forties who have autonomy over our own lives and decisions, so it’s not up to third parties to decide for us what we can and can’t do. I wonder then, how did he think he would enforce this control or police it? I also have men ask me, “does your husband let you do that?” To which I respond, “It’s not up to him. He’s not in charge of me. I am.”

I do some hardcore stuff. Stuff that I accept is not considered “normal”, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong or dangerous, it just means that it’s not mainstream and when people hear about it, they don’t know what to make of it and it makes them uncomfortable, especially men. I’ve noticed that women respond much differently and are for the most part very interested in what I do. I’ve yet to come across a woman who says, “If you were my daughter I wouldn’t let you do that.”

The main issue that comes up is the idea that “someone” is going to “get” me. And that causes worry, which causes discomfort, which is then somehow my fault.  Ok, so there’s two problems with this. One is the totally illogical idea that someone is going to get me. It’s dumb for several reasons:

  • old mate isn’t just going to hide out in the national park for months on end in the hope that me specifically is going to wander along at some random point in the day or night
  • the world isn’t as dangerous as everyone thinks it is, even though the media and Facebook newsfeeds have brain washed us into believing that everyone is out to bomb,rob, kill and rape us
  • the most dangerous place for a woman is in her own home with a man she knows, not hiking alone at night or doing anything at anytime of day or night on her own
  • women can look after themselves and don’t need the constant presence of a man or permission of a man to do whatever the hell they want to do
  • I am not stupid
  • Would they think the same thing if I was male

The other problem is about the discomfort of worry. I get that people are concerned about different things. That’s fine. I get concerned too, but I rarely worry in the sense that thinking about something a certain way elicits an emotional state. That’s because it’s a pointless waste of time. Worrying never changed anything, it just made you feel like crap.

Three men, who are all my friends said, “Don’t do that because I will worry about you.” I said, “Ok, thanks, but that’s not actually my problem.” See, it isn’t. It’s really not. Not at all. If you worry about someone, then that’s your monkey, not the person’s you’re worrying about. Worrying about someone makes you feel uncomfortable, which you then try to transfer onto said person, attempting to arrest their desire to do whatever it is that is causing you to worry, so they won’t do it and thus alleviating your worry and discomfort. Take this little story for example:

Jane: I’m going to hike the Fraser Island Great Walk by myself next weekend.

Dick: Really? I don’t think you should. Not by yourself.

Jane: Why not?

Dick: The dingos and stuff, it could be dangerous. I’ll worry about you.

Then, Jane is who is a really nice chic, but has yet to fully embrace autonomy over her own life concedes that maybe Dick is right. After all, she really cares about him and doesn’t want to upset him. It was silly of her to think that she could do these things alone.

Jane: Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I don’t want to worry you.

Dick: Ahh, that’s good.

And back they go to watching TV and swiping on their phones. Problem seemingly solved, well, for Dick anyway.

Women don’t need to have the permission of men to live the life they want. If you want to do something and a man says that it will cause him to worry, let him own his own worry. You don’t have to be as blunt as me by saying that it’s not your problem, but just remember that it’s really not, not at all, never was.

Embrace autonomy. It’s yours for the taking.