Afghan leaders have trouble convincing people to stay, since their own people have left.
Your beef habit is seriously destroying the rainforests and pretty much, the planet.
Sady Doyle on Hilary-haters and why we should care.
This spoof on the "nice guy" reminds me of a recent interaction on social media. I'd posted something about offering your seat on the Metro to anyone who needs it more--pretty basic principle, right? And some dude replied, "typical feminist."
Which was curious, since I hadn't said that men should offer their seat to women or anything of the sort. My statement was entirely ungendered. I've seen elderly people stand as young people sat, and so on. When I'm offered a seat, which I am from time to time, usually by a guy, I politely decline it (I usually prefer to stand). I don't lecture the offerer on patriarchy or question his motives; I appreciate the offer, and thank him for it, but cede the seat back to him. So the replier's neither-here-nor-there reaction was intriguing and especially silly. But some dudes are very hung up on women who apparently expect men to yield their seats, so I hit a nerve.
My decision not to respond was pretty instant, because what do you even say to such a pathetic lapse in logic, but the split-second in which I thought about crafting a response reminded me of my correspondence with BE two years ago. I never knew how to respond to his musings, because they were often devoid of logic. For a while, I mustered some kind of response out of habit or politeness. I did this until it really drained me and until I understood the extent of his feelings for me--and, thus, the extent to which any response from me, no matter how discouraging, fed his delusions. It was so obvious to me that I would never have those kinds of feelings for him that it took me too long to understand that he thought it was just a matter of winning me over. I felt bad, but I also couldn't hold myself responsible; he'd made his own bed of feelings.
I've made my own beds of feelings, and knowing it doesn't make them any less painful. Nothing makes them any less painful. Feelings--in humans and other animals--are such the design flaw. They lead us astray into sub-optimal decisions and keep us trapped. I say this, oddly enough, as someone who doesn't particularly fear pain. The great thing about pain is that if you manage to get past it, it really does make you stronger. I think about how broken I was in Budapest and Prague and how my brokenness became part of the experience--it's what makes me look back on that trip as an adventure as much as a vacation, as an achievement in moving forward and persevering. I think I've quoted Dar Williams many times in reference to that trip (among other things)--in particularly, "The Easy Way," because I did keep the wine and laughter, and every path did grow up and ever after, and peaks and canyons and many great companions. I recently discovered another Dar song that's equally evocative of the same sentiment: "The Blessings": "the best ones were the ones I got to keep as I grew strong." It's just a question of getting to the other side.
Which was curious, since I hadn't said that men should offer their seat to women or anything of the sort. My statement was entirely ungendered. I've seen elderly people stand as young people sat, and so on. When I'm offered a seat, which I am from time to time, usually by a guy, I politely decline it (I usually prefer to stand). I don't lecture the offerer on patriarchy or question his motives; I appreciate the offer, and thank him for it, but cede the seat back to him. So the replier's neither-here-nor-there reaction was intriguing and especially silly. But some dudes are very hung up on women who apparently expect men to yield their seats, so I hit a nerve.
My decision not to respond was pretty instant, because what do you even say to such a pathetic lapse in logic, but the split-second in which I thought about crafting a response reminded me of my correspondence with BE two years ago. I never knew how to respond to his musings, because they were often devoid of logic. For a while, I mustered some kind of response out of habit or politeness. I did this until it really drained me and until I understood the extent of his feelings for me--and, thus, the extent to which any response from me, no matter how discouraging, fed his delusions. It was so obvious to me that I would never have those kinds of feelings for him that it took me too long to understand that he thought it was just a matter of winning me over. I felt bad, but I also couldn't hold myself responsible; he'd made his own bed of feelings.
I've made my own beds of feelings, and knowing it doesn't make them any less painful. Nothing makes them any less painful. Feelings--in humans and other animals--are such the design flaw. They lead us astray into sub-optimal decisions and keep us trapped. I say this, oddly enough, as someone who doesn't particularly fear pain. The great thing about pain is that if you manage to get past it, it really does make you stronger. I think about how broken I was in Budapest and Prague and how my brokenness became part of the experience--it's what makes me look back on that trip as an adventure as much as a vacation, as an achievement in moving forward and persevering. I think I've quoted Dar Williams many times in reference to that trip (among other things)--in particularly, "The Easy Way," because I did keep the wine and laughter, and every path did grow up and ever after, and peaks and canyons and many great companions. I recently discovered another Dar song that's equally evocative of the same sentiment: "The Blessings": "the best ones were the ones I got to keep as I grew strong." It's just a question of getting to the other side.
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