Passport

My new passport came in the mail yesterday. The picture that I decided to submit was not the first photo that was taken. It was the second from a second retailer. I wasn’t happy with the photo that Staples took so I went to CVS. When I got home and compared the two pictures, I actually liked the way I looked in the Staples photo, but it was too dark. So, I went with the brighter light of the CVS photo, even though my mouth has a smile that belongs on a Muppet.

I hate this passport.

Despite the challenges of my photo submission, the picture is not the reason for my dissatisfaction with my United States passport.

I am horribly offended.

Other than me, there are no women depicted on any of the twenty-six pages, nor on the inside front or back cover. The images that have humans all display men – white men. The drawings and representations are probably supposed to characterize our history and our origin, our beginning. There is a prominent bald eagle, mountain ranges, steamboats and steam ships, and a glimpse of the top of the page of the Declaration of Independence. There are a colonial ship, buffalo and cattle, and men working the land.

When does anything “new” ever make it onto a government document? How about anything from the last 100 years? Mount Rushmore was completed in 1941, less than 100 years ago, but:  MORE MEN. This country honestly was built upon – and sustained – by more than that. We have a total of twenty-eight pages of old American images showcasing a pathetic and insulting reality:  the United States government still does not want to reflect upon, nor give credence nor validation to the other people that have helped build this country.

History has its place in the manuscript of our certificates, buildings and monuments. We gain insight into where we need to go by remembering where we came from. The past was not just a step towards the current time, it was the blueprint for moving forward, and more importantly, it was the lesson of what not to do again. Our story has come a long way. The pages of a book that afford us the freedom to enter a new land rich with its own history, and then return home to our present roots, should represent more than just the beginnings of our growth.

The story this passport tells excludes women. It negates all people of color, whether they were forced to come here or decided to arrive of their own volition. The current passport story blatantly and disgustingly ignores the native people of this country from whom the land was stolen, stripped, and marginally reallocated, before dismissing them once again as unworthy humans. Most of the people that toiled and taught, created and invented, or envisioned and prophesied are not represented in these pages. The book is not a document that reflects all or some. Instead, it focuses on the most of our culture and heritage and those that are clearly still in power.

From the plains to the mountains, the United States is also home to beautiful cities ripe with culture. From saguaro to palm tree the land bears greenery, flora, and fruit. Our National Parks preserve and showcase caverns, canyons, rivers, lakes, and wildlife, far more than just the bison. Over three and half million square miles of earth is claimed as the United States of America. Within that expanse is the equal number of images, milestones, constructions, progressions, and peoples, from which to choose defining symbols of our life as Americans. The Statue of Liberty can stay. The Liberty Bell can stay. The Declaration of Independence can remain. The saguaros, the palm trees, one mountain range, and the last image from space can stay. Everything else needs to go.

Men brought their families here and women worked hard alongside them. People of all colors have poured their souls, as well as their literal blood, sweat and tears, into the folds of the American batter. A mixture of old and new, the past blended into the present, should grace the pages of a legal document designed to take you home again. That home should be adequately represented for the person entitled to bear it.

What Do I Know? Part II

When I started my blog over 12 and half years ago, I didn’t even understand what a blog was. My friend Erin kept telling me I needed a blog. Like Glennon Doyle’s response when her sister Amanda told her the same thing, I was forced to Google the word blog…multiple times. It finally started to sink in…but not really. I took a huge leap of technology faith and prayed that I was doing it right. I put all my x’s and o’s into Google’s BlogSpot platform and hit publish.

It was exhilarating! I was literally sweating, nervous about having my words out there on the web. At the time I did not have any social media. I was not, and still am not, on Facebook. I hadn’t even signed up for Instagram yet. And today I have only added Twitter to that forum of interaction. (I almost never check it, so it kind of doesn’t count.) For me, that day was a jump into the shallow end of the pool of reality. Only, picture me carefully stepping onto the first step, s-l-o-w-l-y. It was one small step for mankind and one giant leap for Heather.

What I knew then and what I know now are drastically different or exactly the same, depending upon the subject matter. I first shared some of those thoughts almost exactly twelve years ago, on September 16, 2011. I still show up to share what is on my mind and what makes me grab my journal and pen. This is where I tell you what I know.

I know that the world changed three years ago when the 2019 Novel Coronavirus began sweeping across the world. How to treat it, stay protected from it, and whether to fear it, is all largely dependent upon what political party you align yourself with. The treatment of the virus was handled publicly as a political issue and remains to be viewed as such.

I know that my marriage is not a stable, secure environment for love and trust. It is a foundation in our lives that has been shaken with a severe magnitude of pain, dishonesty, blame and denial.

I know that I have tried everything possible to save my marriage. Whether Ed ever wants to admit it or not, I will always know that we have lasted this long because I refused to give up, because I asked for another chance every single time Ed brought up divorce, and because I kept looking for ways to bring faith in each other back to our marriage.

I know that even though I have already had to do one of the hardest things in my life - say goodbye to Jakob when he went off to college at St. John’s - I will not know how to deal with the pain of saying goodbye to Miranda when she moves into the New England Institute of Technology on September 29, 2023.

I didn’t know that I could enjoy a 7:05AM goodbye hug from Kendra as she leaves for her senior year of high school on her own. I knew that the autonomy she would have after getting her driver’s license would also afford me some independence, but I never imagined it would give me a feeling of relaxation and freedom as I start my day. I never realized how anxious I was in the morning to have to get up and get dressed and drive her to school.

I didn’t know that I could go five months without therapy and not feel like I was losing my mind. I didn’t know that I could be 100% willing and ready to say “goodbye” to Cynthia. For now.

I know that I have acquiesced to my husband’s desire – and need – to give his children the best of everything that he could provide. I know that it is time for me to gently remind him that just because he can, does not mean that he always should. (Thank you, Michele.)

I know that I am discovering a part of me that is an introvert. The me that used to hate being home alone, now looks forward to it and embraces it. I know I am still largely an extrovert, gaining my energy and reboots from time spent with people, my people. I also know that I now find joy in being alone and doing things for me.

What I know now will remain the same and evolve from this day forward. What I know will be able to be stamped in stone and what I know will need to be reevaluated, erased, and washed away. What I know fills a shot glass and what I know overflows the riverbanks of my life. What I know is I am changing, still growing up a little every day, and becoming the person I was meant to be. I am afraid, I am resilient, I am willing.

This much, I know.