My friends, it has been ages since last we spoke! Or it’s only been two days and that sentiment is excessive. Whatever. Who made you the sentiment police anyways?
Today’s topic has me spinning my wheels somewhat, maybe even grinding my gears. It shouldn’t, but I am not in my teens or early twenties anymore and my social consciousness likes to scream every now and again.
What era and/or time period would you rather live in?
Y’all know how I am about word choices, or you should as I have mentioned it often enough. It’s the rather that is sticking in my craw.
But, A.K., you often change the questions to suit your purposes, why not this time?
Because I’m a woman, that’s why. Any time period or era I choose to live in may grant me silent joy to see what it was like, but my equality would be even more in question than it is today.
I get angry enough as it is when I’m treated shabbily due to my gender, I can’t imagine how I would feel in the Roaring 1920s, the 40-50s and even 60s when beat poets were roaming this great country.
The idea of saying I would rather be in the 20s where I couldn’t vote and my husband could beat or rape me whenever he feels like it and I would have no recourse does not appeal to me.
The idea of inhabiting the late 50’s and 60’s when my hippie soul brethren were roaming the California countryside appeals to me immensely. Until, again, I could be date raped and that would be considered me being a slut or dirty girl, and not the fault of the man who rammed his penis in me without consent. My husband could beat me and the children, leave us destitute and, again, there’s no recourse.
I’m not even going to touch the Victorian era with a ten foot pole.
All of those time periods are supposed to appeal to us, from what I understand, the nostalgia is supposed to trigger happy thoughts.
That’s the problem with nostalgia; we forget that things weren’t really as great as we thought. (I’m going to make a quick reference to the Member Berries in South Park. Trey and Matt get it)
I wouldn’t want to watch people trying to gain their civil rights get hit with fire hoses, lynched, or beaten.
I wouldn’t want to watch my best friends die from back alley abortions.
I wouldn’t want to watch my best friends die because their husband, or any man really, can beat and stalk and kill them with only a slap on the wrist as punishment.
I don’t want to be 40 years old and called “girl” all the time and to have my ideas dismissed.
I don’t want to live in an era where the books that I write have to be published under a male name in order to have a career.
The sad thing is that we’re in a time when women are treated more equally than ever before, yet I still am publishing under initials so my gender can’t be determined by the cover of a book.
We’re still worried about our right to abortion being over-turned.
We’re scared our LGBT friends are going to lose their civil rights.
We’re angry at the “others” and, though we’re not using fire hoses, we are constantly hearing about deportation squads and other things that may not happen, but the fact that we’re hearing about it is enough to scare many people.
I don’t want to go back to those times.
I fear what I would find in the future should I choose that, though I have hope in humanity, I have faith that the extremism on all sides will smooth out and we’ll remember we’re all humans with much in common and perhaps it’s time to reach a hand out instead of slapping one back.
I have faith. Don’t let me down, future generations. We’ve fought – and are still fighting – hard for you, please don’t throw that away.