I don’t know if I’m an activist, but this is how activism makes me feel. I haven’t taken any subversive actions. I haven’t had some sort of life-changing, awe-inspiring realization about the evil inherent in the system. I never meant to care about patriarchy and capitalism. I never wanted to care. It seemed easier not to.
But I have steadily gathered more knowledge, and cooler friends. The people and circumstances in my life have forced me to become aware. It’s kind of hard to live under a rock when someone lifts it off of you.
So maybe I’m becoming informed, and establishing my politics and opinions, but am I an activist??
Activism means organizing, creating change, making differences. To me, that’s terrifying.
How do I attend a rally when I’m too nervous to leave my house? How do I participate in a protest when I’m petrified of police brutality?
How can I organize and agitate when thinking about it makes me sweaty and nauseous?
I suppose that activism has to start from within all of us. And maybe my activism is pushing my boundaries ever-outward to meet new people, and experience the world that terrifies me. Maybe my activism is reaching out to other people who are just as nervous and sweaty as I am.
I guess I’m an activist…..now let me see that barf bag…