The state of things at the end of May

It is nearly Memorial Weekend, which means I feel all of the things. Every year.

Today is the day, seventeen years ago, when a very tall boy kissed me in St. Malo. We kissed again at the top of the Eiffel Tower a few days later. Two years later he asked me to marry him, and I've been wearing that ring for fifteen years.

Eleven years ago this weekend, I gave birth to our girl, our Suzannah Grace. Our girl. Words aren't enough. That girl goes to middle school in a few months. I still tip-toe into her room at night to make sure she's breathing, to kiss her softly before I slip into my own bed.

Seven years ago this weekend, our infant son was baptized. I cried and laughed that day, too.

Every year of my children's life, they've had at least one set of grandparents here for Memorial Weekend, and usually both. We celebrate. Matt and I try to slip off for a little dinner date to quietly celebrate us, too. Sometimes I stress out about making sure everyone is happy during their stay, about making sure everyone eats what they like and no one is bored or restless. It makes me anxious sometimes. I cherish the togetherness--I truly do, and it is not at all lost on me how lucky our family is to have this weekend together each year--but sometimes it overwhelms me.

Last night as I waited to present awards for the English department at Senior Awards night, a group of teachers fell into a conversation about introverts and extroverts. One teacher looked at me with real surprise when I said I'm totally an introvert.

"How can you be an introvert?" he said. "You're a teacher!"

But the thing is that I can perform. I can take the stage, so to speak, and I have fun with it. I played the trumpet through college, an instrument that requires a girl to find her voice. I can stand in front of a class, and I love the microphone. Public speaking doesn't terrify me. What I'm not good at is, say, accepting invitations to parties or events. I'm not good at being with groups of people and socializing. It's not that I don't want you to invite me to your gatherings; I do. And often I will talk myself into going, especially if I'm going with someone I feel comfortable with. And I usually have a good time. But I also feel depleted afterwards, and in real need of a recharge in the form of solitude. That's what truly fills my cup. It's why I've learned at this ripe old age that I don't want to throw myself a huge birthday party when I turn any significant age, why I've taken the day off for the past few years and indulged in my absolutely perfect day: spending the morning at a coffee shop reading and writing, taking myself out to lunch alone, going for a jog. If it's possible, I will choose that every year of my life.

I'm not sure where I was going with this anymore.

Mostly just this, I suppose: I'm lucky and I know it and sometimes I still feel a lot of messy feelings.

There's this: My life is pretty wonderful. I've been married for nearly fifteen years to a man I love and trust and am happy to kiss at the end of every single day. He leaves his socks on the floor but he mows the lawn and cooks wonderful dinners and cleans the kitchen and loves me even when I'm crazy and haven't washed my hair. He sends me out of the house to write when he knows I need it. We produced two children who also happen to be humans we love to live with, and we just like them so much. We can walk to the shore of Puget Sound in minutes, and we can hop on the light rail and have lunch at Pike Place Market without much fuss on a Saturday. We live in a blue state, near the water, and near the mountains. Matt has a job he is good at and seems to enjoy (nevermind the fact that I cannot tell you what he actually does because it is too complicated for me). I have a job that both exhausts and energizes me, and I love it deeply. It challenges everything I believe in. It demands that I examine the person I want to be in this world. And I am so honored to do this work, even when it's hard, even when I don't get my way in every little thing. In the big picture, I am senselessly privileged in so many ways.

Memorial Weekend is always a time when I recognize and appreciate my family: my husband, my children, and our support network. Even if I'm overwhelmed, and scrabbling towards the finish line of the school year. It really is all awfully sweet.

But there is also this: the bigger picture often terrifies and sickens me.

Betsy DeVos confirmed that she she has no problem awarding federal money to schools who discriminate against whomever they please. Not surprising, but sickening. This is deeply personal to me. I have more words for this than I can share tonight. What a horrible human being.

And tonight my home state, a place I love so much it physically aches, was tasked with choosing who will take Montana's lone Congressional seat. The Republican candidate physically assaulted a reporter last night. I listened to the audio, I read the FOX news report. And then I kept reading. And oh, how desperately I wanted to believe that Montanans are better than this. Montanans believe in human decency. Right? We want to believe that about our homelands. But I admit I never expected Quist to win. Because we've already shown that, as a country, we are uninterested in human dignity or decency, and there's nothing we won't excuse to get what we want. Trump is an unapologetic bully and sexual predator and that wasn't a deal breaker. Gianforte can assault a reporter and be celebrated and defended because he was "baited" by the "liberal media." All day I hoped, wildly and desperately, that Montana would do better, but I was not optimistic. What I am is heartbroken. Because my home state voted for a man who donated to campaigns of white nationalists. Because my home state voted to elect a man who can assault another human being and receive absolutely no consequences. In fact, his actions only strengthened his status with his base. We saw this happen in November; there's no reason we should be surprised now.

(At what point is my home state no longer my home? For a long time I thought Montana would welcome me back. I no longer believe that's true.)

Nothing about this is okay. It has never been okay, and I will not participate in normalizing it. Just do me a favor, anyone who voted for him (though honestly, if you did, why in the world are you reading my blog?): Please never, ever talk to me of "values" or "personal responsibility" ever, ever again.

I don't know, this is just the state of things these days. Things aren't okay, even as I am senselessly privileged. Even as the ordinary, everyday circumstances of my own life make me as happy as any human being probably has a right to be. I don't really know what to do with that tonight, other than write about it here in my tiny little corner of the internet.