When the highways sleep

(View from the passenger seat in Mike's car)

Foggy days are often described as eerie or gloomy, but to me they have always felt safe.

A misty landscape has a quality that makes you want to whisper. It’s partly because of the stillness that inspires reverence, and partly because the world seems asleep and you don’t want to disturb it. It’s also because your surroundings are playing hide and seek, and you don’t want them to hear you approaching. Fog is what happens when nature decides to become a puzzle or perform a vaporous striptease. It’s a game in the same way that changing leaves are dress-up.

Photos of the fog never seem to do it justice, because it irons it out onto a flat surface. This cloudiness is anything but flat. It was never meant to be confined to a two-dimensional space.

Like snow, fog is compared to a blanket, but it’s different than the blanket that snow provides. Snow is static, while mist is in constant motion. It lets you enter and shows you things if it trusts you. The view becomes crisper as you move close. You earn it, like getting to know someone who is usually guarded.

Any light in the haze looks ethereal, even if it’s from cars on the highway. They’re like alien fireflies. This kind of fog makes the highways seem so stark; a near-abandoned alternate world. Every trip out is an adventure in discovering old things in a new light.

Lights become guides, and the sky turns into a milky ocean with a moon eye. It’s unseeing and draws you closer with the tides. Indiscriminately, it draws everything home.

Driving through mist can make you feel embryonic. It’s safe in the way confined spaces are. Of course, mist doesn’t really confine a space by veiling most of it. It just creates that sense while opening more possibilities.
                Many times I feel like I’m walking through a fog in a world of my own. When there’s a tangible fog embracing the landscape, I’m not alone. Everyone is in that same space with me, exploring together. We're in an all-enveloping cocoon, waiting while our surroundings evolve and then finally resurface.

I'm a resident of Tot Town

When you're working with small children, there's a very distinctive kind of dread caused by handling plastic food in the play kitchen and discovering that it's soggy. There's also a particular relief in bending down to pick up toys, catching a whiff of an anonymous diaper, and knowing you're not the one who has to change it.

You're asked questions you never thought you would be, like "Why do deaf people have ears?", and you explain to someone that old black and white pictures didn't mean the world actually used to be in grayscale.

You see preschoolers in T-shirts that say "Single and Loving It!" and wonder why there are clothes for little kids featuring statements about dating. You wonder if it's fair to dress a child in a proclamation they don't understand, then wonder if that's comparable to putting a band T-shirt on a baby, and eventually conclude that band shirts lack the presumptions of heteronormative and sometimes blatantly sexualized toddlers' clothes, so you don't have to feel ambivalent about dressing your hypothetical future baby in a Sonic Youth onesie. (Or maybe that's just me.)

And you're continually amused by the things that young children get so emphatic about. The other day a four-year-old girl in the arts and crafts area was vehemently resistant to the suggestion of putting glitter on her cardboard unicorn ("Unicorns DON'T SPARKLE!!"), but insisted that they do have tails made out of confetti.

Most of these things could also apply to being a parent, but I don't know anything about that yet. I'm just loving working with them for the time being.

             At present, my life includes a lot of glue sticks and hand sanitizer, and I come home glad to have spent time with the kids but relieved that I can give them back at the end of the day.

Crossroads and crosswords

I've decided that my life is essentially a crossword puzzle. Those of you who saw my essay about living with NLD know that I have a lot of trouble navigating space and make my way around with no sense of direction, so words are used to compensate for the void. And that's exactly how a crossword puzzle is filled out; finding the right words to fill in blanks and trying to make them fit together. That's where words and space converge; crosswords and crossroads. It's the interim where my life stands on tiptoe, trying to find a harmony between the two.

Cycles of abandonment

An all too common relationship pattern I notice: One person is afraid the other is going to leave them, and this fear may not be grounded in reality. So instead of trying to talk to their partner about what's going on or try to reconnect and be closer, they lash out at them and become vindictive because they're anticipating abandonment. And then, in a self-fulfilling prophecy, the other person does leave them—but only because of the way they started behaving. This seems to happen a lot.

The horror of diagnosis

A lot of horror movies feature themes of psychiatric hospitals and patients. I can enjoy some of those films as long as they're well-made and don't generally vilify people with mental health issues, but I notice that the theme seems to be prevalent because mental illness frightens the public. It can be scary to see someone behaving erratically, but a lot of the fear is based on lack of information or on misinformation—much of which is spread via this type of media. It becomes a cycle. And while there should be a difference between fearing a mental health issue and fearing the actual people who have it, these fears tend to become intertwined. Although a person with a psychiatric disorder can be violent or predatory, it's almost always because they had an inclination to be that way in the first place, not because of the disorder. Sometimes the fear isn't entirely projected onto others, though. Sometimes people are afraid of developing a similar condition themselves.

I used to think mental health-centered horror films were purely told from an outsider perspective; from the narrative of someone encountering others with psychiatric conditions. That's undeniably a huge part of it. However, there's also a common theme of the main character finding themselves in a similar state. So many horror tropes seem to mirror the experience of entering psychosis or having an episode. Demonic possession may represent being taken over by a force (in this case, a psychological one) which is completely unfamiliar and terrifying to them, but coming from within. In that way it might seem like even more of an imposition than an external force would, because it can feel like self-betrayal. The same is true for plot lines involving alien abductions or ghost hauntings. It symbolizes a problem that intrudes upon your life and your mind, refusing to leave. This problem could be trauma, or it could be an innate condition. Paranoia of the main character can look very much like the paranoia suffered by a person in the midst of psychosis. The story trope of nobody believing the protagonist, and either mocking or persecuting them for talking about what's going on, is very true to life for those who manage day to day with mental health issues. So is the sense of isolation and dread which manifests physically in the scenery of horror films. The sudden, startling movements which are frequent in these films can be similar to hallucinations. And in horror movies, magical thinking is always real. It feels just as real to many who struggle with it.

Of course, there are numerous other mental health conditions other than psychosis-based ones. But horror movies tend to most strongly evoke themes of psychosis-based disorders. I have a lot of friends who have experienced these things and describe them in similar ways. I myself have depression, anxiety, and OCD. I've never been in a psychosis, but even the problems I have remind me of some of those themes.

The 3 least honest pro-life arguments

Everyone has heard a virulent pro-lifer refer to those who disagree with them as “babykillers”, because believing that abortion should be legal is the same as “killing a baby,” and because pro-choice people must obviously see a fertilized egg as a sentient being and gleefully celebrate the death of it. Not all pro-life individuals believe this, but the most vocal and aggressive ones do. In addition, many of the loudest tend to rely on a host of bad faith arguments to make their points. To argue in bad faith is to make an argument you don’t genuinely believe to be true.

So far, these three talking points seem to be the most commonly used—and misused—by those opposed to choice.

-Religious fundamentalists who believe abortion should be illegal but support the death penalty will argue that those two views are not in opposition because they care about protecting “innocent” life, and they don’t see death row inmates as innocent. But the truth is that many of them don’t believe innocent life exists at all. This is the view of many anti-choicers—and I say anti-choice instead of pro-life because it’s possible to be personally opposed to abortion but still want to keep it legal. However, these people want to eliminate the choice altogether. The fundamentalist Catholics who are anti-choice believe in original sin. They think everyone is born with an inherently “sinful” nature, including infants. Many conservative Protestants believe this, too. I have actually seen a really outlandish, disturbing blog post by an extremist who claimed that crying babies are sinning by expressing “selfishness”! (And no, this wasn’t satire.) So if these particular anti-choicers say it’s consistent for them to support the death penalty while calling for an end to legal abortion because they care about innocent life, they either lack the self-awareness to recognize their cognitive dissonance or they are arguing in bad faith.

On a related note, many of these same folks will claim to believe in an “age of accountability” in which a child automatically goes to heaven if they die before a certain age, usually before twelve years old or so. Following that line of thinking, it seems counterintuitive that they don’t extol abortion, considering their belief that all fetuses are “saved” from hell. If they really believe this, then wouldn’t they do anything possible to salvage its soul? Horrifically, some fundamentalists have even ended the lives of their fully sentient, non-fetal children in the belief that they were securing them a place in heaven. But for some reason, they still wouldn’t support abortion. (For a more detailed argument from an ex-fundamentalist, I’d recommend reading this: http://tinyurl.com/n3adqzp ).

-Anti-choicers claim to regard a child as a “gift,” but their punitive attitude toward women who have any kind of sex they disapprove of is very telling. I’ve had countless discussions with such people who call pregnancy a gift and say that all women should be grateful for it, and then go on to say, “If you have [premarital/unprotected/“promiscuous”] sex, then this is your punishment.”

-And finally, there is a third bad faith argument which pretends to be disinterested in the ethics of abortion and instead focuses on demonizing the poor. This is what happens when somebody says they think abortion should be legal, but only for those who can afford to cover it themselves. The reasoning usually goes, “I don’t care what you do with your body, but don’t ask me to pay for it.” Whatever the speaker may say, they do care what others do with their bodies if they decide there are certain expenses they don’t want to help with via insurance or taxes because of their own disapproval. It’s possible for someone to object to paying into any medical care of any kind, but that is rarely the reason. Usually the one making this argument will say, “Well, I’m fine with helping to cover something like cancer treatment, but I don’t want to pay for anyone’s birth control coverage or abortion.” Picking and choosing based on personal tastes is a moral judgment, and they want to be in the position of limiting options for those living in poverty. It gives them both a feeling of moral superiority and a paternalistic sense of control, under the guise of “I’m the one who knows what’s best for you.” This patronizing attitude is also seen in the way people want to regulate what kinds of groceries others are allowed to buy with food stamps.

They accuse the poor of being irresponsible and dependent, but they really seem to relish treating them like helpless children who can’t make their own decisions. Then, when poor women have children they can’t financially support, the same people will grumble about it and say “I don’t want to pay for your child” or even “You should have kept your legs shut.” They want to enforce celibacy on those who are living below the poverty line, like parents who tell their fifteen-year-old daughter to keep her bedroom door open when her boyfriend is over. And then they go on about how the poor need to act more like adults.

            There are other bad faith arguments to mention, and you are welcome to contribute any you have heard. Once recognized, you can call them out for what they are: dishonest attempts to look righteous or discourage dissent.

Seeds

I work at a children's museum and I love the conversations with toddlers. They can be hilarious or incredibly fascinating. But once in a while I hear something jarring and know I shouldn't be surprised, but it's still alarming to hear such ideas from someone who's barely more than a baby.

The other week I was in the arts and crafts area, cutting out shapes for kids to draw on, when a talkative girl sat beside me and began asking questions. She couldn't have been older than three. She was wearing glasses, and I'm a complete sucker for bespectacled toddlers. When I see oversized glasses on a tiny face, I pretty much overdose on cuteness. She was very precocious for her age.

"Excuse me," she prompted, "What do you do when everybody leaves? You and the other people who work here? Do you go home?"

"We close up the place, and then we go home," I told her.

"What do you do to close it?" she asked.

"We clean up, and then we leave, and then somebody turns off the lights and locks the doors before everyone leaves."

She wrinkled her tiny nose and looked puzzled. "But if somebody locks the doors, don't they get stuck inside?"

Amused, I explained that locks work two ways; they can be used to keep others out. She picked up a brochure for the museum and studied it with intense fascination.

"Who are the people in these pictures?" she asked.

"They're people who have visited the museum," I told her. "Pictures of people doing fun things here."

Her eyes widened. "Real people? Ones who are still alive?"

I laughed. "Of course they're still alive! And yeah, they're real people. Kids just like you. You could even be in one of those pictures!"

She seemed really excited about that idea and pored over the photos, seeing if she could spot herself anywhere. Then she returned to her art project, which she was carefully wrapping in tin foil and taping together. It was open on one side like a pocket.

"Are you making a purse?" I asked.

"No, I'm wrapping this up for my mommy. But I don't think I can take it home, because it needs more tape." She paused. "What do you do with the things that we leave here? Do you keep it for us or do you throw it away?"

"I can keep that safe for you until you come back, if you want to leave it here," I said.

She seemed pacified by that. "I'm going to give it to my mommy," she said. "She'll have to lock it up with all her special things. She locks up all her important stuff so our maid can't find it, because the maid only speaks a little bit of English, so mommy says she can't trust her. She says Spanish people steal things."

It shouldn't have come as a shock, but it did. I struggled for the right response. I couldn't just let that one go, but couldn't exactly say, "Well, your mommy's full of crap and she sounds racist."

"A lot of Spanish people don't steal things," I said to her. "And a lot of people who speak English do." Like whole cultures. "Anybody who speaks any language can steal things. That's why they have a word for 'steal' in every language."

"Oh. Yeah, they do." She shrugged and kept taping the tin foil. When it was time for her to go, she asked me my name and I told her. Then she told me hers and said, "Thank you for talking to me." I smiled and shook her hand.

I haven't been able to shake that exchange. She is such a strikingly smart little girl, probably not even out of diapers but asking about the structure of our program. I couldn't believe how articulate she is for her age. But her mother is sowing the seeds of bigotry in that brand new mind, and her daughter doesn't even know what it means. She probably has no idea that "Spanish" has ethnic connotations, or a concept of what race even is. But she's a white child with a maid, and her mother is training her to distrust that woman. It's so strange to see where it starts, and how many people never question it. How people grow up only parroting what they're told and taking it for granted because someone older than them said it was true.

I don't know if I responded the right way. She could take the wrong conclusion from what I said. I wonder if she'll continue to believe that all "Spanish" people steal, but decide that everyone else does, too. Maybe I could have said more, or less. I don't know. My hope lies in the possibility that she'll come to a more open way of thinking--regardless of where she learns it. Maybe her mother will serve as an example of what not to do.

She's so cute, so inquisitive, so smart. So impressionable. Advanced in many ways, but severely held back in another--and, at two or three years old, that's no fault of her own. But it becomes somebody's responsibility once they're old enough to know better and choose not to know. Once they're echoing those sentiments to their own children.

I hope she'll break the cycle. She can, as long as she keeps asking questions.