White Culture - Shrek and Breaking Bad

Podcasting during quarantine just feels like the Weasley Twins in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows with their little radio show. Friendly reminder that you can follow me on instagram if you haven’t realized their new terms of service specifically outlines how they can track for text messages, access your contacts, watch you through your front facing camera even if it’s not open, which, mind you, they were already doing, they just weren’t explicitly telling you. Anyways, I’ve been absent for a few weeks. I like to make a point of not always being predictable or accountable. I think it’s best for all of us, just so we all know what to expect. I’m kidding…Kinda. No, honestly, quarantine has been hard. Obviously, I was working as an epidemiologist in Florida on it for a few months and was teaching remotely. I thought Biden winning the election would alleviate some of the stress, but it turns out it’s “surprisingly” not comforting to realize there was only a 4% difference in who wanted fascism in this country. Crazy, right. On top of that, I had 2 people in my life commit suicide within 3 weeks of each other, then my grandfather died, then my childhood pony died, and then I had to experience the stress of holidays when I don’t speak to the majority of my biological family. I was, however, the only family member invited to my GAY side of the family’s Thanksgiving. The dinner was wonderful and it may be one of the last times I will get to see my Godmother, as she has had terminal cancer for a few years. Her children are risking the chance of flying over to DC for Christmas, and they didn’t agree for Thanksgiving, so I take that as a sign she’s not doing too well in spite of what she says.  We were laughing about art, as my godmother is responsible for introducing me to artists like Monet, and my FAVORITE FAVORITE painting to date (even with how much I love studying Van Gogh and Salvador Dali’s work) is “The Fingerprint Granny”, by Chuck Close, that was hanging in the National Gallery of Art in DC. It’s this huge black and white portrait of a grandma that is made with thumbprints. It’s incredible, I love it. I actually got to meet him on a field trip my senior year of high school. He drives a cool x-men type wheelchair. Well, turns out, like all our favorite white men, he was responsible for abusing his position of power as a superior and title as an “artiste” to sexually abuse the women, even minors, who would work for him. I’m now rethinking why his assistant eagerly asked ME what I thought about it instead of the 10 other classmates that were also looking at the painting around me. #HotGirlPrivilege  So, these past few weeks have been pretty heavy for me. Fittingly so. I pretty much just shut down as a person for a few weeks. Went into a depression induced hibernation for a while. Am I out of it? Probably not. I don’t ever think people move on from pain rooted in sadness or loss, especially permanent events. The idea of just shoving it aside doesn’t make any sense to me. I think healthy people find different perspectives on it, channel it into a positive even when it’s the most complicated, heartbreaking backstory you’ve ever heard. Some people choose to dismiss it, because they’re either so sociopathic they don’t care or they’re too scared to admit they don’t like themselves or what pain they’ve caused. Some people are embarrassed to need others, so they refuse to admit they do. I think it’s most natural to myself to embrace it. To learn from my experiences. The pain I’ve caused myself and others. To study it, like I study everything in life, and to understand I cannot change the past but every day I choose the future. To love it, because it makes me who I am. It shapes my path. What started to pull me out of the abyss, though, was a few things. My turkey, Thanksgiving, started flying up to my window and waking me up every morning to make sure I w