is the largest international resource of assistance for women, some in the poorest parts of the world.
Read how their funding has been withheld for the past six years and what is going on with global health and women’s rights.
And what you can do about it.
This is the new way and tag that I will be blogging about my mood – offering it to the world in the form of a classified ad. The need is real, so respond if you fit.
FOCW seeks Mentor.
This feminist of color writer seeks passionate mentor.
A passionate person who is willing to dish it out with me. A person who will challenge me, push me, understand me, offer me, inspire me with their experiences of the world. Must be able to redirect, rephrase, interrpt my long winded explanations. Communication channels between brain and mouth must be devoted to issues of oppression and difference. Issues will be devoted to commitment, writing schedule, gender/ace battleships, and resistance. Must love the grey issues, Brown, and all things related to true radical, inclusive, progressive feminism.
Please email with interest.
As much as I slam Big Media for its endless tyranny of pop culture force-feeding, it has further developed a mastery within my repertoire of emotional survival: learning to learn from everything.
Even as a cautious consumer, I am still a consumer. As much as I hate pop culture, it is still part of my culture. I love movies, and equipped with an embarrassingly sharp memory of all things unimportant, I quote like 14 year old boys in the locker room. “These are the ABCs of me, baby!” (‘Rod Tidwell,’ aka Cuba Gooding, Jr. in Jerry Maguire)
I learn from everything. It’s a great skill to acquire. It assures you that nothing is wasted. Nothing is wasted – from the stalkarrazi covering Paris and Lindsey to ‘the Hoff’ on America’s Got Talent.
I (used to) love Jordan Knight, the ex, ex, ex, ex, ex, ex, ex, ex, ex, ex, ex (times 76) billboard chart champion singer from the New Kids on the Block. And though I am fully equipped – right now at 7:30 am on a Saturday morning – to argue why the New Kids were a necessary part of the late 80s, it is more about one action of Jordan Knight that I want to think about this morning.
Whether or not you crooned I’ll Be Loving You Forever or Valentine Girl doesn’t matter, any person born prior to 1983 will remember the undeniable success and the multi-million dollar run of five young men from Dorchester, Massachusetts. The New Kids reached unprecedented stardom and wealth back then, making their mark at the Grammy’s and in the 80s history books.
As all great rollercoasters undoubtedly roll slow and eventually halt, so the New Kids. Washed Up, Has Been, Where Are They Now terms slide down their professional resumes with less credibility than Drew Carry. But Jordan Knight wasn’t done.
He tried to make it on his own and, to be honest, even I wasn’t really captivated by any of his efforts. But what stood out to me is his re-entry process. In trying to get back into his love of music, he faced some serious internal fears about public acceptance. He had stage fright, for crying out loud. But not just ANY fright, big fright. Intense fright. What weighed it so heavily was the previous astounding success he experienced and the yielding dip in self-confidence with trying to emerge on his own.
Jordan Knight began performing with a hat, in disguise. In small unknown places of the world, he tried to sing again and eventually overcame his personalized fears of the public and regained a sense of self.
Now, it’s not like I paid the $15 dollars at the Massillon Lincoln Theater to see this guy perform last year. I remember reading about his journey back to do what he most loved: music. And conquering a private fear that most would not understand is a more awesome feat than My Favorite Girl reaching the Top Ten.
Climbing back into the ring (Rocky series term), or getting YOURSELF in position to pursue your dream somersaults you to front and center your fears of failure. Or as Nelson Mandela has taught, People are more afraid of the brightness of their lights than the fear of failure. Meaning, the actuality of ourselves is more daunting than any project. The brilliance that lays inside of us is trapped by the cloaks we keep them under. We will never be fully human, fully feminist, fully happy, or simply full without confronting our Fear. Most people willfully choose not to pursue this.
How tragic yet understandable.
Blogging anonymously is my with-hat performance. This is my corner of the world where I get to experiement and battle my fears of Saying. There is a line somewhere in Les Miserables that says something to the extent of All I have is this corner of a bench. It’s a corner of a bench, but it’s mine.
I own my bench and I share it with no one.
No stage lights, no background singers, no flashy dollars, just me, a dream, and ‘Sudy’ as my hat.
I find myself, at 1am, writing with bleary eyes.
My contacts have dried out but I still won’t take them out to soak for the night.
Adonis sleeps in our new home on the couch, falling into a quiet dream during the Colbert report. It’s the first time we’ve had cable and he’s drinking it in, late night.
I’ve betrayed my writing, keeping it and not letting it out. And now that I am trying to get it moving again, I feel rusty. Cranky. Like a door on a 70s Buick with no WD 40 in sight.
My office is in boxes. My home barely unfolding. The toilet seat cover broken.
It’s 1am and my feet are dirty from wearing flip flops around the city. Urban living, I must get used to it.
The older I get, the more I realize life’s power – it’s whims and its intents. Never would I have guessed I’d be back in Boston, neotiating jobs and salaries, and driving down Beacon Street again. But here I am, drunk with nocturnal fatigue, wondering and wandering in mental etceteras and run-ons.
How did I get here?
I came here to pursue my writing. I came here to build.
It’s much harder to believe in yourself when there are no voices distracting you and the only obstacle is the stability of your commitment.
A few months ago I thought it was hard to admit that I was afraid to be a writer, and what that would entail. Now, it is much harder to stop admitting it. I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid. Paralysis.
Over the past few years, my ceiling and I have had hundreds of stare-downs at night, unable to rest. No blinking, no answers, just silence.
Today someone told me a quote that slightly helped me move past my paralysis, “Tell me what you will do your one, wild, precious life.” I think the poet’s name was Mary Oliver.
One, wild, precious life.
You, I, we…we only get one. One life.
Paralysis is wastefulness.
If I could recommend one book to read by the end of 2007, it would be The Alchemist. A simple, few hours duration of reading, powerful book. A graceful story about a boy, destiny, and fear.
If you are a searcher, read this book. If you are wanting to give up everything for a dream, read this book. If you don’t know what you want, read this book. If you believe, read this book.
I re-entered the world, after finishing it, believing again in myself, my ability to control my fear, signs, the Universe, power, and the gift of Choice.
If you are anything like me, trying to win a battle against fear, hold fast this book.
As you can tell, I am going through what most would call a transition.
I would call it a neck breaking rollercoaster of deep seeded life changes. Everything hurts.
I am leaving for more travels for the next 12 days and my blogging likely will reflect that.
Foolishly, I have underestimated the fatigue associated with travel and newness.
Moving, healing, and resting. That is my current cycle. The last one is difficult to find time.
I’m doing my best.
A special edition that covers the Allied Media Conference is being hosting at No Snow Here. Lots of terrific links and, is it possible for MORE inspiration to flowing from one weekend in Detroit? Absofreakinglutely.
This only confirms what we all know in the deepest of our human hearts:
change
is
possible.
Go. Read. Now.
An apology came later with and the infamous, “I’m not a racist,” disclaimer.
RIGHT.
Technology + Highschool + Racism + the likes Imus/Isaiah Washington behavior = Irresponsible and irrevocable damage to young Asian-Americans
For links to the lame apology and more, go to and give a h/t to The Anti-Essentialist Conundrum
A Womyn’s Ecdysis is one year old.
That one year has changed my life. Oh, how trite that sounds!
Let me provide evidence.
Before
Wavering in writer’s confidence
Alone
Visions without beams
Strong, but without conviction
Intimidated
Docile
After
Certain I have something to contribute to this world and I indeed will contribute
Met and keep in touch with fabulous WOC bloggers around the globe
Visions with supportive beams
Strong, able, convinced I am purposeful and of use
Learning without assuming I’m the most naive and unrealized person in the room
The internet can be a place of cyber crap, highlighting the most unforgiveable and nastiest tidbits of the human race. On any given minute, you can find oppression in pictures, words, power dynamics, and exploitation.
Or it can be a place of establishing community, exchange of ideas, organization and mobility. The lost turn to it’s last hope and my experience has generated a long list of other women writers who did not find their haven in the offline world, in their real names. They were turned away, dismissed, ignored, and overseen. For whatever reason, they turned to express it and I am now one of them.
Sudy is a womyn I have dreamed of for a long time. She is me, sometimes the best part of me who has waited her whole life to carve a small place to have her say with the world. This one year of revelation has not only shown the world who I am, I have shown myself who I want to become.
Happy Birthday, A Womyn’s Ecdysis.
Traveling around so much is draining all my energy, forgive the lack of insight and sporadic postings that is to come this week.
48 hours after the AMC conference in Detroit, I loaded up a University car and took off for St. Charles, Illinois for the NWSA conference. Saturday, I flew to Norfolk, VA to meet family for a Virginia Beach vacation and then I will be flying to Boston for two job interviews then I will fly home.
There is so much that I need to write about, reflect further on the AMC and NWSA conferences, but time is getting away from me and the more time passes, the more I fear I won’t be able to hold onto my reactions.
So, I am recording as much as I can: my thoughts on WOC feminism, where I believe it is headed, meeting and talking deeply with both Jessica Valenti and Daisy Hernandez at the NWSA conference and the pearls that have surfaced from those interactions. Ah, there’s so much. I will do my best to get things posted as soon as possible, but just know there will be some heavy journaling posts coming up in the next few weeks with moving, transition, and, once again, saying good-bye to another chapter of my life as I move onto a new location, job, and environment.
Bittersweet days ahead.
