Next time I am accused of being angry, I will savour the moment, for anger is an indicator of injustice— an internal barometer informing me that my personal ethics have been violated. Instead of fighting anger or denying it, I will relish in its glory exploring its bitter sweet taste in my mouth. I will Investigate where it resides within my body—do I feel it on my scalp? In my stomach? Does it make my fingers tingle? I will pay attention to how it affects my thinking, whether my mind sharpens or slows down. In the afterglow of anger do I sleep soundly, or am I disturbed by powerful dreams?
*** This piece was originally written for and published by SFU Public Square on March 17, 2021. Like most mothers, it’s difficult for me to solidly land on one emotion as I reflect upon the pandemic-induced blur of the last 12 months. I feel tired. Content. Proud. Fucking angry. Grateful. Shame. Most scholarly meanderings that I…
To my Canadian eyes, watching a German man traverse the streets of Europe was like being granted admission to a magical performance. I saw the beauty in the way he belonged. I had never seen anything like it. I had never experienced anything like it. Those streets were literally built for HIM.
This September, it has been 7 years since my marriage ended. If the 7-year-body-regeneration-theory holds any truth, the body that left my marriage exists no more. I am fresh and new.
I have caught you watching me.
Melding what you know of me with your consciousness and lived experience.
As Mary Oliver would say, what have I done with my one wild and precious life?
I find it tragic, offensive, ignorant, and quite frankly, fucking racist that the LDS Church makes no specific reference to the criminal murders of black folk at the hands of law enforcement, but specifically calls attention to looting and destruction of property. […] I call your bluff President Russell M. Nelson. In my sphere of influence, I challenge faithful Mormons, secular intellectuals, and those who read my blog just for shits and giggles to think long and hard about a supposed prophet moved by looting, but unmoved by structural racism that has marked black and brown bodies as disposable.
Everywhere Smith went, trouble followed, and at the heart of these troubles, was his provocative challenge to the normative. Whether it be sexuality, commerce, politics – Smith’s ideas challenged the newly emergent republic of the United States. In fact, many historians have argued that it was his challenge to normativities that actually reinforced monogamy and capitalism as being quintessential to the American consciousness.
Life can difficult and stability is the panacea to all that can throw us off our game. To have people in our lives, be it family & friends, and/or spouses, who we can rely on when the shit-hits-the-fan is probably one of the greatest balms to disappointment, loss, shame, grief, physical impairment and frustration. Likewise, to have “our people” in times of joy, celebration, achievement and companionship is arguably freakin’ awesome.
Land theft and Indigenous genocide created in perpetuity a legacy which I, as a descendent of white settlers, benefit from. The sentiment expressed by McConnell that I cannot be held liable for something from the past is alive and well in Canada. As our country grapples with questions of so-called reconciliation, I have observed the tendency of those who espouse the Canadian version of McConnell’s widely held sentiment to position racial injustice, particularly the violence directed at Indigenous women, firmly in the historic past.
“In every society, on every continent, and in every era, regardless of the penalties and the deterrents, men and women have slipped the confines of matrimony. Almost everywhere people marry, monogamy is the official norm and infidelity the clandestine one.” Building upon her New York Times Bestseller, Mating in Captivity, renowned couples therapist, Esther…
It was a beautiful November morning in Southern Alberta. The radiant blue sky flirted with the winter wheat, magically framing the splendor of the Rocky Mountains on the drive from Lethbridge to the Mormon Temple in Cardston. In a few short hours I would marry my best friend— committing myself to him not just…