White Culture: LOTR The Fellowship of the Ring

Survival Mode
White Culture: LOTR The Fellowship of the Ring
Loading
/

I write this with the pessimistic swaddling of Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” enshrouding me in its sorrow while I watch the sunset across the farm and wonder if life is just going to be wondering if this is all there is and whether it’ll ever feel like “enough” to just be “happy”, when I’m aware of what goes on in the world.

I got to visit the bat houses in Gainesville and soak in the shared love of an epidemiology friend’s presence recently, who just separated herself from a long term relationship-turned-friendship, and I wanted to share a few sentiments we covered:

  • Those of us who have blocked out years of childhood abuse, or familial memories, have been able to access therapy or have spent hours of free time running in contemplation, good for you.
    I’m glad I’m not the only fierce science gal who was accused of “emotional manipulation” from the very source they learned it from.
  • Men are arguably another species. Whether they will ever make their intentions clear, unmistakeable, nonsecretive, who knows. Just remind yourself that solo cat ladies tend to live wonderfully great qualities of life and queer and homosexual traits potentially arise to offer care from (typically) nonreproductive members of a species when the reproductive members are providing the babies/offspring/future generations with less than quality care.
    Happy pride month.
  • Humanity is the only primate known to abuse its offspring to the point of less viable reproductive futures. The study of everything revolves around our concept for “normalcy” or “standard” behavior. Some “reference”.

    How dare we condemn other country’s and culture’s behavior, because of the “more” atrociously grotesque human rights violations, while simultaneously dismissing those within our own borders.

Without further adieu, I’ll go into my reconstruction of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Pretty sure I watched the extended cut on HBO Max. For the record, one of my absolute favorite movie and book series of all time, though I was a bit young for the language of the books when the movies with Elijah Woods first came out. (AKA: I watched the movies first and only read the books later.) As a horse gal, there weren’t many movies that utilize horses, and LOTR obviously included a ton, so I naturally loved it. Sue me. 

Galadriel opens up the narrative with the backstory on the one ring to rule them all and forewarning us that “the race of men…who above all else…desire power.”

Ya no fucking shit. Look at literally any guy in a fraternity getting cut off, kicked out of a bar, questioned at the door, turned down by a girl. They take everything like a personal attack and those of us who never doubted our places as peasants just get annoyed because all you’re doing is making everyone else’s lives shittier. 

Anyways, a last alliance of men and elves “fought for the freedom of middle earth”. Isildor, the son of a king, took up his fallen daddy’s sword at the very moment hope was seemingly lost and like the good buzzer beater moment that I’ve been on both the giving and receiving end of as a Tar Heel fan, Sauron’s wedding ring got cut off and he was defeated.

All I’m saying is if my next boyfriend doesn’t dress up as all of the villains in these movies and try to “defeat” me, we’re not fucking.

In a move that doesn’t surprise any woman ever, the “hearts of men are easily corrupted” and “history became legend. Legend became myth.” and the National Treasure style plot of medieval witchy conspiracy theories on power and quests and the history of mankind began.

Bilbo is the first hobbit we’re introduced to–noted as “the most unlikely creature of all” (which you would ONLY use to describe what will turn out to be the most notable creature of all), human “esque”, a “little weird”–so basically he is the black sheep of every southern family who wants to live peacefully away from everybody but knows far too much. Hobbits, in general, are described as “of little importance” except for their love of food, ale, and pipeweed and thus, the natural disposition for US citizens everywhere to see themselves represented amongst the mole people of the Shire. 

Gandalf, the wizard, is naturally a “disturber of peace”.

It’s almost like being “interesting” and “mythically wacky” is a universal negative. “Difficult”. Thank goodness we’re in the age of Wicked. Maleficent. Cruella. Harley Quinn. Backstories do a gal some good.

Shout out to my best friend, who was not allowed to watch Harry Potter until her 18th birthday (because of witchcraft) but was allowed to hang out with me. 

Frodo is the orphaned hobbit who deserves everything Bilbo can possibly give him. The farm people, true to form, explain how “it is never our concern what goes on beyond our borders” which is rural people to a Tee. Everyone’s a bit rough around the edges. An alcoholic. Got a temper. 

The ring, which I’ve alluded to in episodes past, specifically to reference the act of giving head, performing “fellatio”, sucking dick, whatever you wanna call it, “always yearns to return to its master” and I’ve also read 50 Shades of Grey… they’re NOT wrong.

That analogy holds even for my allusion.

And as we see Margot Robbie pout in Birds of Prey,
a harlequin is nothing without her master.”

This rhetoric is followed by Gollum being tortured in bondage gear which really frames the BDSM context.

Frodo gets that distorted hyperfocus of ominous foreshadowing, clamors to “get off the road”, and we get the dementor sensation of the black riders, symbolizing death through how the worms emerged from the soil, awakened in its presence. 

After Sam, Frodo, Pippin, and Merry successfully make it to The Prancing Pony, Pippin of course is running his little mouth, despite KNOWING what is after him, and Aragorn enters the realm. 

Aragorn, arguably the prime example of non-toxic masculinity in 2021, asks Frodo “are you frightened?” UGH. SO HOT. Legalize sexwork so I can have a fellowship of Aragorn and Legolas take me in the forest of Lothlorien. Then Viggo Mortensen follows it up with “not nearly frightened enough?” DADDY. Fucking amazing. 

Aragorn explains about the black riders, or Nazgûl, in depth–how they were men dominated by greed and now live a life of limbo in darkness. The 4 plus Aragorn then go on their lil journey to the elves and we see a recurring theme in M & P (Merry & Pippin’s) concern for food, as well as what little bitch boys they are crying about wading through a little bit of swampy water and mud with bug bites. Get these hobbits to Vietnam. Or trekking whatever bus routes our grandparents supposedly took to get to school. 

This entire section of the plot just reminds me of the movie “Role Models”, which, as someone who has gone larping exactly 1 time, I’m just gonna say ya’ll are missing out. I bet series like this are fun as fuck to film and anyone with a penis is arguably obsessed with any “Sword” symbolism so don’t act like you’re “above” medieval lore. 

Liv Tyler enters the scene, reminding us that, as great of a man as Aragorn may be, he is starstruck in wonder by women, the “ranger caught off his guard” that he is.

Here’s my episode reminder that our societal disdain for sexwork is related to the way sexuality has coercively been used in warfare to gain intelligence. 

The ringwraiths look like the fucking mighty ducks chasing her stoically white horse up in this bitch, and jumping over ONE cross country log isn’t going to impress me. I used to do eventing schooling all over the Northeastern USA on my 12.2 hand pony. 

Now also seems like a FANTASTIC time to remind everyone that LOTR wouldn’t exist without the fucking women because Arwen saved the day.

She does that whole “what grace has given me, let it pass to him” spiritual praying and he recovers from his coma.

A gradual theme of men being weak emerges.

The race of men are scattered, with only one hope to unite them (a white man, of course).

Frodo complains about the “burden he should never have had to bear” but as an orphan with a pretty nice inheritance, I mean… ya eventually you were gonna have to do some work?? Not sure what you expected there, buddy.

Boromir is boyishly fascinated by the “blade that cut the ring”, whereas Aragorn is respectfully mindful (setting the scene for parallels in their behavior later.)

Arwen’s witchy elvish ass comes back out to warn Aragorn about not being bound to Isildor’s fate, about him facing the same evil, but choosing a different route, about meeting him and Aragorn “thinking he had strayed into a dream.” (Beyonce’s “Sweet Dreams” where she speaks on the man being either a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare came into my head–take that as you will… I think I’M more of the “Halsey” “No sweet dream but I’m a hell of a night” type of gal, myself.) Arwen chooses to share one lifetime with Aragorn rather than face all of the ages of life alone and just fucking spare me. I am tired of the love stories. I am tired of men in general thinking keeping something your “dirty little secret” is our goal? LOL. NO.

Also, Boromir asks them to USE THE RING, to GIVE IT TO GONDOR, and then they STILL let him tag along on this little fellowship quest? RED FLAG.

What the fuck are you? A bull? CHARGING THOSE FLAGS DOWN LIKE IT’S YOUR JOB?
The fellowship just set themselves up for this. 

We finally get Orlando Bloom as Legolas’ fine ass on screen and all I have to say is if he was your favorite character, you are bisexual. Heteroflexibility should be the default anyways.

Also Tom Hardy, who is arguably the hottest man in Hollywood to me, is notoriously open about his sexual fluidity. Can we stop acting like this behavior is novel to celebrity culture and Hollywood only and recognize that queer folk are in your normal communities? 

Gimli, of course, has to throw off the fellowship talk with the firm “I would die before I see the ring in the hands of an elf” talk and the racial themes and eugenics tones get highlighted. 

M&P remark on “needing people of intelligence on this quest” and the creation of the fellowship is only what I can describe as the beginner of any Survivor series, or the Bachelor or Bachelorette, where the entirety of the cast is introduced, and you can just TELL who is going to go home first. This is how you can tell I wasn’t in charge of sending these creatures off to slaughter in the framework of its pages.

Gandalf sits on those rocks, reminding me of the mountains I scaled in Arizona, and the flights of birds, “spies of Saruman”–seems like a great time to reiterate that American crows can recognize and remember human faces, hold grudges, and pass on whatever epigenetic alteration that grudge solidified to its offspring.

Boromir keeps making little cuntish remarks and only men can ignore that many red flags for behavior and excuse it under “friendship”. 

Saruman calling upon his spirits and energy forces reminds me a little bit of myself doing yoga, and I’m gonna have to start channeling this energy in the future. I already wanted to make “cloaks” and willowy silhouettes my next aesthetic, seems a logical leap. 

The fellowship encounters that squid like creature and I’m sure there’s been a ton of rule 34 tentacle porn commissioned out there. I’ll paint a gigantic portrait with my 4’ canvases. Hire me to do it. There is literally nothing I would rather spend my time doing.

I’m actually excessively annoyed the “Strider” in my life won’t just ask me to move in with him so I can spend my days planting a garden of creepy or eerily cool plants in his retro home already, but my friend Citroni says I’m being “unrealistic” expecting that and “crazy”.

I never gave a damn about society’s norms before, and I know I’d be happy.
Sue me. But fiiiine. I’ll be “patient”.

Back to the subject of giant squids–have ya’ll realized what kind of shit is in our ocean? (Apart from gallons of hazardous waste and pollution.) The deep sea is TERRIFYING. Blue whales are the largest mammals on the planet and we can’t even track their migration or reproductive cycles because they dive beyond depths our instruments can comprehend. 

We then hear all the tragic overlays of Bilbo saying he “wished the ring had never come to him” and I wish this patriarchal world wasn’t lacking such progressive reform, but unfortunately this is the nature of the world we live in.

Existence is pain. Mr. Meseeks had it right. 

Gimli laments over the deaths of all the graves of the dwarves in Moria and naturally, one half of M&P knocks something over, royally fucking over the party and the “drums from the deep” can be heard as orcs attack. I wondered if this was the same animation used for the troll in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, because the goblin orc creature who stabs Frodo looks very similar to the troll that went after Hermione in the bathroom. Technology that isn’t developed for the military is often developed for private industry, but particularly the entertainment industry, and works like James Cameron’s Avatar had equipment designed to allow the imaginations of the film creators to be fulfilled. Truly fascinating development in innovation.

Creation for the love of art, rather than destruction.

Right as I’m admiring how busy the costume designers and makeup teams must have been, between all of the orcs, elves, hobbits, whoever,

Legolas once more graces our screens and everything else fades as I’m reminded that we get to exist in the same timeline as Orlando Bloom as Legolas.
Whatever kind of doom awaits us in the future, this should be enough for now.

The bridges and staircases that collapse around the fellowship is exactly why I don’t fuck with infrastructure or construction.

Aragorn once again turns us all on with the turn of his cloak and the pivoting of his booted heels as they try to escape.

Gandalf has his big moment. The balrog cracking that whip like the guy from iron man with those electric whip thingies for arms. 

We learn that orcs are numerous, but fucking horrible at archery because they miss every shot at Aragorn’s plot armour. They really should’ve practiced–how are you THAT bad at aiming? 

A terrible tragedy, Gandalf’s disappearance, but I could watch Viggo Mortensen jump across puddles all day long. They can’t waste time mourning his assumed death, for the “elf witch”, a “great sorceress of terrible power” awaits them in Lothlorien.

What do I have to say about these elves? Every single one of them could fuck me.

Legalize sex work. Imagine a LOTR style brothel? The Witcher? Game of Thrones?

Goddammit my next boyfriend does not deserve me and my multiple personalities.

All I want is to live my days in the sunshine, cultivating a garden around beautiful trees like that. A little witchy sorceress.

I had a previous aversion to beaded gowns because of the association with weddings, but what I’m getting from the elves is that every day is a special occasion.
Wear the fucking dress.

Galadriel is just the LOTR version of Professor Trelawney, for what it’s worth.
Her beautiful mystique and prophecies? 

Her little speech to Frodo about “even the smallest person could change the course of the future?” Ugh if I was in marketing, I’d have commercials for using reusable grocery bags, metal straws, refillable water bottles overlaid with that quote. Galadriel walked so Greta Thundberg could run. 

Hmm. Not sure how I feel about the handprints on these orcs. Are these supposed to be digs at Native Americans? Or indigenous “savages” that white European colonialists brought nothing but destruction and famine to? Am I about to hate this movie because I just recognized that? 

Galadriel is who I want to be. An ethereal witchy elf of the woods. She mysteriously appears and magically bestows gifts upon others. She seemingly knows all about their mysterious quests and thinks generationally. 

I want Legolas to look at me like he looks at that bow.

Hell, I want anyone to look at me like Legolas looks at that bow.

(JK, not “anyone” but men whose affection I appreciate, sure.)

I like how Gimli asked Galadriel for a single blonde hair from her head and she gave him 3. What a move. This is like one of my little sixth graders who stood behind me and would hover his hand over my hair, because he’d “never seen hair like it before”. (It was a very awkward phone call to his mother to discuss his behavior.)

Also, I don’t know why Gimli was complaining. He CLEARLY knew what kind of journey he was signing up for if he’s listing all of the horrors. He’s just doing this to scare the hobbits which is never good, though I’m not advocating for continued naivety. 

Kinda sus how Boromir just time and time again ignores the concept of “no”. Now I understand why men on the internet deemed him “relatable”. OOOOkay.

And Frodo being scared of Aragorn because of the trauma with Boromir?
RELATABLE. Put it in a way that men can fucking understand. 

I can never separate M&P (or which one is which), but I love being reminded of the “not penny’s boat” guy from LOST. What a show. It actually made way more sense years later when I binge watched it, because there wasn’t as much time between episodes and the questions got answered in shorter duration (without creating just as many, if not more). 

The orcs storming this lil wooded area kinda reminds me of that insurrection at the Capitol.

Someone wanna tell me why the fuck Donald Trump is giving speeches or leisurely relaxing in his mansion instead of being “handled” by Huck or any other member of B-613 in Shonda Rhimes’ Scandal? Was it not normal for everyone to think their biological father reminded them of Olivia Pope’s? Just me? Cool. 

Am I supposed to be “sad” about Boromir’s death, though? Why? This dude fucking sucked. Death was literally the only noble move he could’ve had left and sacrificing himself was redemption. This is how recruiters treat potential enlistments for our military. The trick is to get them to not fear death so much that they avoid it, but rather to charge it down, head on, and know the only way is “through”. 

“Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands.” Lol. okay? Men are idiots. 

To sum it up, watching The Fellowship of the Ring high was great. I need to start paying attention to the shows I watch instead of brainstorming abstract foreign policy or recalling random warfare strategy for “fun”.

This should 100% be considered foreplay for my next relationship, because it definitely turned me on.

“All you have to decide is what to do with the time that’s given to you” and time is relative, so figure out a perception you like and make that bitch surreal. 

Performing for Love

Survival Mode
Performing for Love
Loading
/

CHILDHOOD

If Disney Channel taught me anything growing up, it’s that I knew to anticipate my parent’s conflation of their previously failed and now second chance at a career or dream manifesting its way into my own life and I would certainly have to dramatically break free. All of those “it’s not my dream, dad, it’s yours” Zac Efron bullshit? Ya. 

So if anyone wants to give me shit for enjoying the art of “performance”, please direct your attention to the talent show at Mary H. Matula Elementary school when I was in third grade where I sang “The Star Spangled Banner” in a fuzzy blue sweater and red velvet skirt, both from Limited Too. Beginning the performance in dedication to my grandfather, a 3 time war veteran whose career for the U.S. Army involves testifying to congress and intelligence briefings in the Pentagon. Accompanied by my grandmother, whose pianist and organ skills were utilized at virtually every religious congregation in the area as well as providing the orchestral production to the local theatre during musicals. Obviously, I fucking won. I’ve known how to emotionally manipulate a crowd my entire life. I think we can all agree that wasn’t MY idea, either. I had wanted to learn the dance from the end of The Lizzie McGuire movie that Hilary and Haylie Duff performed with my best friend Shelby but nooooooo, that wasn’t “talent show material”. 

So sit back, keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times, strap in, and enjoy the ride of this shit show. 

Back to parents using their children to live vicariously through–Let’s consider “sports” as a whole. How many parents, my own included, view sports as an “investment” instead of a healthy outlet for the natural human behavior of “competition”. Fuck “functional fitness” as a concept in childhood. 

Instead, we convince ourselves that children are just naturally predisposed to need so much fucking outlets for their aggression, focus, and drive that they WANT to be screamed at for 3 hours a day, 6 days a week in the pseudo-military, physique development training that is competitive gymnastics. I grew up in the fucking 90’s, too. My parents were riding HARD on that Olympics Team USA dream. Simone Biles was asked why she didn’t smile and she said “smiling doesn’t win gold medals” and people were like “oh that’s adorable, how cute” then a few months later we found out she’d been sexually molested by her trainer, along with hundreds of other athletes, for YEARS.

Gymnastics literally operates as a way to funnel children, but especially young women, out of the “general populace” and into excessive athletic competitions that essentially require you to use performance to justify abuse. We’re not like “oh shit, maybe this is a new method of child labor. There’s no way this is healthy.” Instead, we just sit there and go “Yuuuuuppp. Abuse and performing for love is the norm. It’ll be worth it. Gotta sacrifice everything if you actually want it”–without asking why the fuck we’re requiring children (and their parents) to realize you’re only THAT driven if you don’t have other outlets for creative and artistic expression as well as emotional catharcism. 

Now, I bring this up because as I approach my 30’s, and the unsolicited advice from older men on Seeking Arrangements remind me that “my looks won’t last forever” (no shit, dude… that’s when I’ll rely more heavily on my MULTIPLE STEM DEGREES), I have hit a rather unfortunate realization that having once run 85 miles a week, and playing multiple sports a season for YEARS, and the sheer amount and brutality of CONTACT sports, including gymnastics and football, does not bode well for my long-term physical health in a for-profit healthcare system. I have put my body through HELL. I will likely need a double hip replacement before I’m even 40. Can’t wait. 

Before quarantine, I was under the impression that I had a great body because of all the workouts. Now, after ~a year of limited physical activity (save yoga), I’ve realized it’s the cPTSD that keeps me in a state of hypervigilance and in constant fight or flight mode 24/7. Yippee! 

… Ya’ll can laugh but I’d prefer to be transparent simply because of the unrealistic standards for women’s bodies in the media, the exploitation of the beauty (and plastic surgery) industries capitalizing off women’s insecurities without requiring anything even remotely resembling mental health care and utterly lacking consumer protections, and the desire for people in the USA to get a “quick fix” for everything, thinking “treatment” of various forms will be a “solution” (particularly for such insecurities). 

Back to my childhood—

Let’s look at a few key moments in sporting, performance, and healthcare history that *likely* impacted the way I view the world:

When I was in kindergarten, I broke my foot for the first time by being pushed out into the fireman’s pole area on the playground, falling straight down (without holding onto the pole), and landing “Indian-style” (a VERY outdated term. Criss cross applesauce, crosslegged, etc) on the ground. I cried, and despite only being in kindergarten, learned a difficult life lesson which is that women’s pain will constantly be undermined and overlooked under the assumption they are being “dramatic” (a common trope in medicine, even). My teacher would not even let me call my mom. I had broken 3 bones and had to wait for the end of the school day. 

Once in gymnastics, before I quit because I would literally come home crying, hated my coaches, and begged my mom to let me stop (I loved the workouts, just not the “ALL COMPETITION MODE ALL THE TIME”), I ran full speed at a vault, just failed to jump on the springboard, and completely annihilated myself at full speed. Could’ve easily broken a rib, had the wind knocked out of me, tried to go hug my mom who was seated with the other parents next to the runway, and instead got pushed back onto it, BY MY OWN MOTHER WHOSE COMFORT I WAS SEEKING, because “you’re gonna get DQ’ed”.

A few years later, on the first day of a 4 day horse competition at a location called “Fair Hill”–which hosts huge overnight eventing shows–one of the horses I was walking STOMPED on my foot. I believe (if I remember correctly) that this was not the same foot I had already broken. Nope! The opposite one. Luckily, I broke a few bones on this side too–even things out a little neurologically, ya know. Did my mom believe me? Nope. Not at all. I was told to “suck it up” because people were depending on me. 

The conflation of sports with financial success, the ability to skirt capitalism and corporate working environments, and utilizing sports as a way of paying for what would otherwise be an unaffordable and inaccessible college is a dangerous game for children. Children are not seen as a decision brought into this world by two (sometimes more) loving parents who just want to provide a human with love and care. 

Children themselves become investments. Property.

By the time middle school even came around, my parents were fucked. To nobody’s fault but their own. They had raised me to be a soldier. I performed for love and the necessity to compete ALL THE TIME and to be the best, or at least your best, ALL THE TIME was solidified. Who could blame them, though? I was good at everything. They were just funneling outlets for it to me left and right. It probably had something to do with my own creative-as-fuck mom stayed at home, raised me on a farm, and then I had the musculoskeletal development through gymnastics. 

So what is the point that I’m getting at? I’m not “mad” at my parents. My sharing these stories is never with the intention of punishing them (at least not for my mom. Truthfully… I do not give a flying fuck about my biological father’s feelings.) It is, however, to reflect on the reality of the societal conditions I was raised in. Conditions that were and remain actively encouraged within the capitalist framework of our society with little to no well organized and developed social support programs. 

I have to actively AVOID competition now. I had to LEARN how to empathize. 

And when you’re raised by parents and BOTH of them were raised by family serving in World War II, one having a U.S. Army career and the other being NYPD law enforcement, you don’t really get a “soft” childhood. You get taught to be tough. Arguably, you’re doing the bare minimum of teaching–helping your children survive. 

You teach them to excel. To win. As is the only acceptable outcome in the USA–particularly backed by generations of teachings regarding dominance in all forms–land, sea, space, olympic.

And I undeniably rose to the challenge. 

But at what cost? 

For years my competitive drive was flaunted. It was rewarded, positive reinforcement’s finest. I kept winning, at everything. I’d switch into and pick up a new sport as I got bored, or competition was limited in the other outlets. In truth, I was probably a bit of a terror. I KNOW I wasn’t always the nicest teammate. Granted, I was there to work. To be respectful. To commit. To honour that commitment. To prove my worth with every practice, game, match, competition, whatever. 

And as long as I kept winning, my parents were doing something right. Their community success, their own value, resided in the way I “turned out”. Because fuck the concept of loving your children for whoever they actually are. For providing them enough emotional support, love, and quality time to actually be mentally balanced. They had to win, to earn, respect, love, and admiration at every step. They had to harness that drive, that conflict, that inner turmoil and channel it into competitive outlets because they had no control or ability to hold power within their home. 

Side note–My own biological father is so fucking delusional over who I am that he actually believes I didn’t want him to get married. I honestly could not give two shits if he is married or not. I simply did not care to invest in a relationship with a stepmom or step siblings when I had and wanted ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with him. I also just couldn’t afford to fly out to his wedding, when he chose “Hawaii” for “the convenience of HER children”, when I was in grad school and had a combined total of $2,000 to support myself for rent and food after my tuition was paid. I worked for my apartment complex, had an etsy, and STILL struggled but sure let’s make it clear you didn’t think about and don’t care if your own daughter attends your wedding then call her “unreasonable” and a “brat”. I have worked during every vacation I’ve been on, had free lodging, couch surfed, etc. so I could still travel, but how unaware of the reality do you have to be to label your daughter as “emotionally manipulative”, beginning in middle school, just because she doesn’t like or respect the person you are and makes that clear. 

For years I walked right past him, sitting glued to his computer screen or watching the same reruns of “A League of Our Own”, “Revenge of the Nerds” (which literally includes a rape scene he’d laugh at), and “The Sandlot” for hours when he came home from work, just to ran away ALL THE TIME. He literally never once realized I didn’t come back inside, or upstairs. He was nonexistent as a father for at least a decade of my life when I lived with him. He DID, however, show up to my sporting events. Ready to cheer me on and take all the credit for MY successes publicly. At my graduations, my friends have told me how he turned the conversation to himself, and to the many “sacrifices” he made for me over the years and how “proud” he was–while doing absolutely nothing to actually assist me in those achievements. Not even very basic or regular communication. It’s easy to sit there, cheering for and by someone when they’re winning. That isn’t what makes you a good parent. I do not need your applause. 

For years, I was the recipient of public endorsement after public endorsement, only to be criticized, to analyze and review my mistakes, to be punished behind the scenes. My perfectionism is the product of the environment I was raised in. An environment that was undeniably unhealthy, but even though I am now tasked with a life journey of remembering those moments, of relearning a way to be “healthy”, of figuring out how to finally be comfortable accepting help (and even being able to ask for it). Of not even having biological familial support for that because my parents had children to fill a gap in their lives and marriage and relationship without understanding or comprehending the world they were raising those children in. Without trying to understand them, or their world, because it contradicts their own.

Since excellence was expected, it quickly lost its glamour. Trophies don’t mean shit when you win one every weekend. National merit awards are weightless. Academic scholarships and college offers piled up. I was rewarded by society for pretending like my inner turmoil and unhappiness didn’t exist. For escaping and finding mental peace for everything that could keep me away from home. Competition gave me that. But why did I need it? 

I loved competing so much that I hated NOT competing my freshman year of college and set out determined to “actually” try (in track) so I could walk on to my collegiate team. I realized I had no interest in gymnastics again–my shoulder surgeries offered limited trust in the likelihood that I wouldn’t tear or break something again, but running was a feasible goal. After all, with enough time, anyone can systematically get better at it. It’s basic physiology, biomechanics. It’s cheap, free–you just lace up your shoes and go. It allowed me to reintegrate myself within the woods, exist in my natural state–free, moving, earthly. 

I went from partying 6 nights a week and drinking alcohol for the first time one year to working my way up to an easy 85 miles a week of SOLO distance training around Chapel Hill completely self-motivated. 

The endorphins kept me happy. My body was used to needing them in such high quantities after years of sports. Elle Woods was right–happy people don’t kill their husbands, or the other men who wrong them. They channel their frustration into physical performance and everything else just kind of melts away. 

So what do we do in the USA, when levels of anxiety and depression surpass The Great Depression? When long working hours and the necessity to be productive 24/7 are driving hard working individuals to their deaths and they’re convinced it makes them more valuable than others they look down on (so it feels “worth it”) because they perceive one’s circumstances and opportunities to be the same without awareness. When 25-35% of Americans are inactive, yet many more lack the space, resources, money, and safety to feel secure in exercise? Did you know that for women (and any other sexual assault survivors), it often feels safer to be heavier in weight. You may be catcalled less. You might command less attention if you float subtly as a wallflower. You feel safer, harder to kidnap.

Why have we created an environment, a society, a country where people have to have marathon endurance of energy, of mental strength, just to feel valued, seen, and heard within society? 

Why do we embrace an environment that makes you beg for worth, for love, for acceptance, and then wonder why it isn’t fulfilling? 

Why do we then ridicule, ostracize, and beat down those with moments of clarity–those who look around and question “why”. 

To what avail? 

Why do we exhaust their fuel tanks and then berate them for being empty? 

COLLEGIATE CAREER (15:25)

Part of the draw of sports was it offered my parents the opportunity to not have to pay for college. College got exorbitantly expensive. Both of my parents had scholarships, so they just anticipated that we would also and then they’d “figure out the rest”. They’d go on to take out loans (in our names), with money that never went to our own personal bank accounts, then set certain expectations for where and when our money would be given to us. 

I had to run track, because otherwise I was required to get a job. My parents never let me work in high school, outside of the summers, and I’ve discussed how the financial coercion allowed me to remain in more than one unhealthy relationship–the allure of presents I could never afford on my own was too appealing to pass up or break up with. 

Even the jobs I did get, my dad essentially forced me to take. I umpired beginning in middle school–his personal favorite, despite hating having to make the power calls, throwing adults out of 10U REC LEAGUE SOFTBALL GAMES WHEN I WAS 13 YEARS OLD. I hated bending over behind home plate as a crowd of boys from the ballpark watched behind me–clearly, awkwardly, and albeit somewhat innocently, fantasizing about me without connecting how physically uncomfortable I was inside. I didn’t really have a choice to care, though. I was expected to take the games (it was good money, there weren’t enough female umpires), I was going to be at the ballpark anyways (my dad was umping on other fields, we needed the money for all of our activities), and these were innocent boys who had childhood crushes on me–they weren’t expected to treat me with respect or fully abide by MY boundaries (a sentiment an unfortunate amount of men still embrace). 

In college, he genuinely thought I’d enjoy working at the local baseball stadium, dancing on the dugouts in between innings. I never enjoyed being forced to be an entertainer. Even if I was naturally good at it. I didn’t and shouldn’t have needed a second job for $7.25 minimum wage, when in reality he just wanted an excuse to be at that fucking ball field. I was standing on dugouts in short little khaki shorts, dancing to “Sweet Caroline” and “Cotton Eyed Joe”, plastering a glowing smile across my face, laughing on cue, and ignoring the sexually suggestive commentary of the washed up 40 year olds clinging to their love of baseball who would stand in the dugout so they could get the best view of my ass–all things women are trained to do our whole lives. My father universally thinks everyone seeks out the same power and limelight that he craves would come easy to him, and in doing so, he created a Frankenstein’s monster a la me, the eldest daughter. 

He no longer gets a choice in how or why or when I “perform” any longer. 

So fuck ‘im. 

Looking back, I find it hard, if not downright IMPOSSIBLE, to believe my biological father, a man who flaunts his intelligence, his financial prowess and awareness, and his ego, wouldn’t have been able to understand that, had he just divorced my mother when they stopped loving each other, we would’ve all gotten almost 100% of financial aid, because of her teacher salary, and I don’t really sympathize with anyone who uses the “but he paid for your college” trope because college was an expectation in my family and they specifically raised us knowing they would pay for it. I’m not going to apologize for being a national freak in high school and having the opportunity to literally go anywhere I wanted. 

In reality, my father prevented the divorce until he was ready to leave the community (and had a reason to physically move away) so he could control his public image to the best of his ability. He tells anybody that will listen these days how my mom cheated on him. Mind you, that very boss at that baseball stadium once asked me if he and my friend’s mom with giant fake boobs, perfect hair, and a Marilyn Monroe style body ever had an affair. My boss was the older sister of one of my brother’s baseball teammates almost his ENTIRE life. The woman she referenced had overlapped on almost every team with my brother. My dad can go fuck himself about my mom being the reason the marriage didn’t work.

He also tells people I “faked my PTSD and car accident for attention”, which is conveniently his way of discrediting the validity of my claims lest they ever negatively impact him. 

Women who are “hysterical” have historically been quite easy to keep submissive, subservient, quiet. 

I have no interest in ever being one of them. 

My parents never visited my siblings or I at school, outside of SAVE the rare holiday, or a sporting event. There were no “surprise” visits, or even care packages. 

My brother, the eldest, went to the University of South Carolina and walked onto their baseball program, the same program that went back-to-back-to-back College World Series finals. They won back-to-back national championship titles. Half of his teammates were drafted into the MLB. He took batting practice with Bryce Harper when he visited his brother. He found money–he was technically a “student manager”, as even with 91 games a season, the majority of D1 NCAA baseball only uses one catcher and the bullpen catcher position worked out well for skirting NCAA rules about paying students and not “technically” expanding your roster. He found fame–athletes, especially National Championship baseball athletes, were celebrities on college campuses. He found support–my dad would visit him just to be able to go to the games, talk to him in the bullpen, share “the love of the game”. (My dad went to Embry Riddle, so even though he played AAA ball for the Yankees feeder team over the summer, he never had the opportunity to play in college.) 

I never was able to earn that “official” roster spot, either, during my time at UNC, but the only time my dad DID visit my school was when I was running at track meets. Or for graduations. Otherwise, there was no reason to be there. To be supportive. It was an unnecessary hassle to see me. 

Yet, I’m to blame for “the joy of achievement” being a fundamental pillar of my ENTJ mentality? You know children are shaped by their genetics and environment, right? Both of which have everything to do with my parents and nothing capable of being controlled by me?

Again, I don’t necessarily “blame” my family for this. 

My parents both grew up under the context of military drafts, constant warfare, tension, and stress. Their fathers arguably could never fully take off their uniforms–how could you? Discipline comes naturally, and both of their own mothers were just as strict. They went to college, hours away from their parents, and travel wasn’t as feasible, affordable, or accessible. People wrote letters, they didn’t text. You sat in silence and learned how to survive on your own. How else were you expected to grow? 

Teaching your children to know they can’t depend on you, emotionally, mentally, physically, and then wondering why they’re hyper independent shouldn’t be so confusing. 

From a VERY young age, I was taught that my pain, my mind, my soul, would be ignored. In more ways than one.

I was taught to “suck it up”. To “move on”. In part, largely because there was no other option. 

When I started therapy my junior year of college, after a horrendous break up that left me unable to cope or function with any resemblance to humanity, it might’ve been the first time in my life that I had support from someone, an adult, who just wanted to learn more about me. Who wanted to learn more about why I do the things I do–not to judge, not for ulterior motives (save maybe some curiosity and also money), but to support and encourage my growth. I had someone who looked at me when I revealed things who would cry and watch me struggle for the words I needed without pressuring me to hurry up and find them. Someone who cared to listen. It only took me 21 years, and I feel like I got there a lot quicker than most Americans (lol, competitive nature, remember). How sad is that. 

I was desperate to make track work, even though I was forewarned and had my own nasty experience with the coaching staff. I hoped it would ease the financial burden I was to my parents. I hoped it would provide the structure and guidance I felt lost without. I wanted it to demonstrate my potential, my work ethic, my strength, mentally and physically, without requiring words. I never quite got the answers or validation from others that I sought, but I certainly found and prioritized myself over all of those miles. In truth, it didn’t end up mattering that the politics made me hate the formal premise of something I had learned to seek peace within, because I knew of the patterns of repetition, the mental clarity, the focus, the drive, that it took and that was enough.

SELF LOVE (24:13)

It makes me sad, in a way, how far humanity, particularly the bounds of “professionalism” within academia and the capitalist job industry, have skewed our purpose on this earth. Even the most kind hearted people worry about exposures over their public image. Exposures of seemingly innocuous human behavior well within the frame of “the norm” for our species–even if a particular conservative consensus portrays a fallacy of otherwise.

An old friend, who, if truth be told, was never really a “friend” to me (even if I thought they were my best friend for a few years) tried to blackmail me recently. In hindsight, and thanks to a reminder from my old therapist that “just because someone was a good friend in X context or Y year doesn’t mean they still benefit you”, it’s blatantly clear her own narcissism and “main character” syndrome has created an environment where she desperately grasps for control. I get it, though I don’t think I’ve ever particularly cared what people are saying about me, because I know my own integrity, character, and commitment to honor and honesty speaks far louder. 

Naturally, she texted my biological mother a link to this blog, framing her interest as a “concern” for my well being and wanting to know how my mother intended to “handle” me, a 28 year old woman. She threw a few threats in (in the same sentences she’d claim she was trying to handle it “like an adult”) like whether she should make her own blog and tell the world that my boyfriend in undergrad once mistakenly told me he was “clean” even though he had NEVER been tested for STD’s ever (Kansas and North Carolina…get your sex education together fucking now) and I got chlamydia. IDK…call me crazy but it seems a little disingenuous for someone about to start a surgical residency to stalk the private blogs of someone who has blocked them on all forms of social media and then try to socially shame them for sexually transmitted infections. Particularly in this modern age of healthcare. You have failed part of your training if that is the case. (I mean, she did fail part of her training but the current standards for med students are ridiculously paced, though that’s a separate discussion). 

…You’ve also failed the social norms of respecting any kind of boundaries. I’m allowed to reference the events in my life and people who shaped it and hold no allegiance to people who have sexually assaulted me when I shared a bed with them. I’m sure you thought I didn’t remember, since I never mentioned it and we remained friends, but you are a predator. And we don’t negotiate with terrorists over here in the U S of A baby. Kindly fuck off and out of my life and live your own without caring more about controlling your public perception than changing your private actions. Good luck.

Maybe that’s the hardest part for people to respect, or acknowledge…That those who you’ve interacted with do have their own stories–which might differ from you, or offer a striking contrast of perspective. But it seems ridiculous to expect them to be under an obligation of misplaced “loyalty” when you had none for them. 

I suppose if you’re obsessed with control this doesn’t strike you as weird. 

Personally, I’m not interested in power–I’m interested in the balance of it. I’m interested in the reciprocity of it. The fluidity and exchange of it. Mindful observation, communication, acknowledgment. There is power in knowledge, as Michelle Obama likes to remind us. Which is why the reciprocity of knowledge of my friends, the people in my life, matter most of all to me. I don’t want to be dominated by imbalances.

When you are motivated by serving others, it becomes so commonplace to put aside yourself and put the needs of others first that it takes a lot of time to re-learn this and not feel guilty for needing to express yourself in the way that you do. I’m reading “The Body Keeps the Score” and it’s incredibly validating about how I break down randomly crying in yoga, reminded of specific events with certain muscle activations, or how my own progress and recovery almost necessitates that I “shed” these events in ways that I feel are beneficial to creating conversation for a more important narrative. 

It is freeing, to speak on it. 

It is freeing, to allow myself to be who I am meant to be. 

I think I put up with a lot of unhealthy behavior, both in this “friendship” specifically and my previous relationships of variety (familial, dating, etc.) because I grew up in an environment that taught me to have unconditional love towards those who abused me. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I tried setting boundaries, asking for space and things I needed, and they were ignored, downplayed, or frankly dismissed without care. I was a CHILD. Why is it that the burden fell and continues to fall on me to “drive it home”. 

I don’t want that kind of energy in my life any longer.

 It’s cancerous, so to speak. 

But to be who I’m meant to be, I also can’t hate myself or the events that got me here. I must speak on them, because they shaped me into who I am and trying to understand people, the community, life was my form of empathy and compassion when my abusers were calling ME the “narcissist” and “self involved”. Even after all of that, I’d forgive them because I loved them regardless. That’s not good, and that’s not healthy.

While on a walk with a good friend, someone I competed with on the Math team, who is a brilliant mind in STEM, I was reminded of the fact that when everything went wrong in my life, I clung to self love above all. Maybe that was my privilege. I was beautiful, skinny, blonde, and smart, but nowhere NEAR the “prettiest” (nor did I have the knack for fashion or the money) to be “popular”. I was athletic and good at any sport I wanted to try and was allowed to do (which I again contribute to hours of abusive coaching through muscular development). I was gifted in music, though I stopped publicly singing pretty early on because my brother would mock me for how much I loved it. I was smart at every subject, and loved to read and learn. I was enough, for myself. So when others mocked me, however true or false the words that they whispered or shared brazenly, I didn’t really care. I wish they wouldn’t. I didn’t enjoy it. But I knew it wasn’t a reflection of me. They had no meaning over who I was to myself, and that above all was the difference. 

My family has lost power over me, namely because I no longer respect or require the love of people who were seemingly incapable of loving ME. I find it tragic and pathetic that a child was framed as the “difficult” one for questioning her surroundings and that her parents only stopped their abuse when I got smart enough to threaten to call CPS. And instead of asking yourself why your child thought they needed law enforcement to protect their physical environment, you branded them as “difficult”. 

You said “every child runs away that young” when I was ~5 years old. Does every child pack a backpack after a particularly harsh disciplinary measure from their father, hide it in their closet, wait up ALL NIGHT and then sneak out in the early hours of the morning, crossing the dew covered grass barefoot, dragging my cat comforter, backpack slung over my shoulder, and DIABOLICALLY PLOT TO LEAVE WITH A DEFINITIVE PLAN? Then just LITERALLY NOT COME HOME FOR A WEEK until you’re forced to? Does every child not miss their family?

Maybe Disney’s Soul had it right and our personalities are decided for us long before we emerge into the physical realm. 

Maybe to some, even my own father, I AM the “manipulative megalomaniac who is intensely opportunistic”… but that’s Earth’s problem.

Or, maybe I’m just honest

Maybe my “weapons” of communication, my words, my writing are the way that I make sense of my world, because in reality they’ve been dismissed, for far too long.

I know the way I love myself can be matched because of the quality of my actual friendships. 

My best friend from undergrad lived with me all four years. We shared a room for 2 of those, practically, and still held sleepovers in the same bed when we needed the companionship. (#SapphoAndHerFriend). When she was depressed, because hormonal irregularities in women fucking suck and it’s our actual biology and can we please teach it and get universal healthcare for christ’s sake, I’d clean her room for her, and she’d let me, knowing it made me happy to be helpful and she didn’t have the energy or time to prioritize it. Her family took me on every family vacation, I’ve gone to every wedding, beach weekend, or just casual hang outs because I just love to be in their presence. And she loves me for who I am. Who I actually am. Not who other people want me to be.

My sister told me she never doubted whether she wanted to go to college because she saw what my best friend and I had and “just wanted that”. 

Of my two best gal friends from graduate school–one lives in Florida and I literally could just exist happily as her roommate for decades if she wasn’t destined to be a mom sooner rather than later. We didn’t LIKE to go entire days without talking to each other. The other one lives in Boston and has dated one of my best male friends and visiting them is like visiting home. She is the most incredible chef and it makes me hate the “chore” of cooking less and perceive it as an act of love and nutrition rather than just a way of integrating chemistry into health. They make me a better person, because they love me without expectation. They nurture my growth. 

One of the people whose minds I value so much, but whose privacy I’ve also wanted to protect, goes out of his way to remind me that I have already accomplished so much. Even with the “failed” collegiate sports track (to my mother, whose legacy of a full ride D1 scholarship and 9th at Penn Relays was NOT going to be in my future), he would dismiss me undermining my accomplishments and say things like “psshhhh. Please. You’re basically an Olympian.” I thanked him the other day, after my biological mom passively mentioned to me “you haven’t even accomplished anything yet”, for reminding me that success is arbitrary and very subjective.

To me, “success” now means happiness. 

And happiness means mental peace. 

That aforementioned “joy in achievement” that ENTJs crave so desperately now means a wider range of things to me. Maybe it’s the romantic in me, for I am an artist at the root of it. Though I tend to also downplay THAT, because I’ve never taken formal art classes and don’t know proper technique or how to reference (but Van Gogh was also self taught so as long as I don’t take up the drink or cut my own ear off, I think I’m on the right path). Plus, writing is even more self deprecating and emotive than painting and since writing is in everything we do, and most people are capable of doing it, those who don’t publish their work in the same avenue, or get the insight of others prior to publishing, might downplay their significance. The old “if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around, will it make a sound?” phrase? “If nobody is reading their scribbles, can they call themselves a “writer”?” 

I am done performing. 

My friends have shown me that I don’t need to. 

I have shown them the same. 

I do everything now for self love. 

I have faith in myself, above all, and know I don’t need to tread along these roads alone, but I do need to make myself accessible to those who want to walk with me, for however long.

I want to allow myself to love–who I am with the understanding that I’m certainly not that “difficult”, I’m just “honest”. And it’s perfectly clear the USA struggles with accountability regarding the “truth.” 

I want to allow myself to learn–in both the traditional academia sense and in unconventional routes, such as just seeing what my favorite humans can teach me just by learning about them. Mindful observation. Who they are, holistically.

I want to allow myself to grow–to plant myself where I know I’m happy, where I want to create and cultivate a life.

Maybe I’ve been watching a little bit too much “Game of Thrones”. Maybe Spring bringing warm currents of air, the flowers blossoming, and the leaves returning has happily coincided with my diabolical nature feeling extra refreshed. Maybe the culmination of my fully vaccinated status, embarking on air travel again, and moving plans are the momentous change signifying clarity, peace, and a new day. Signifying hope. 

Or, maybe it’s just love. 

My friend from the math team, let’s call him “Wade”, because I told him his hacker cybersecurity status gives me major “Wade” from Kim Possible vibes, asked how my car accident changed who I am. He’s known me pretty well since middle school, though as an introvert and nerd he fulfilled the “wallflower” role of the public school experience. I told him it changed nothing about “who” I am, PTSD and all, but it changed the way I prioritize life. 

In a way, I feel like I died that night. I watched myself fly into the treeline, out of control, and fully accepted my death. I was content, in that moment. Ready for it. 

All of this just seems like extra time. 

It seems like the time I get to enjoy my life.

It’s the time I get to prioritize the people I love, and those I want to create a life with. Not the things that I want to do. Not the goals I want to achieve.

It’s time I get to create a life for me.

It might seem “illogical”, maybe it’ll derail my career, however temporarily, but I won’t regret it. 

You don’t regret the things you do in love. 

Because at the end of the day, there isn’t enough love in the world. 

How can there ever be? 

And living a life built on love, for yourself, for others, for your community, means acknowledging the things that come easy–the highs, the achievements, the stepping stones–but even more so the ladders that built you into who you are. The foundational concrete. The support beams. Reconstruction and remodeling. The carfax. 

I know what “love” is because I know how to show it to the people in my life. Because it is what I show to everything in my life–my art, my animals, my friendships, my travel, my relationships, the sky and leaves and trees around me. Other people’s love might look different–communication is about learning how to speak each other’s language, and not everyone will try to learn yours, however badly you may wish it.

The great wrestling love of my life and I never worked out because, ultimately, it was me who couldn’t communicate. Which may seem crazy, given that I have essentially a personal diary on the internet freely available for anyone and everyone to read. (Arguably because I opened up to one guy and had to rush to make it seem like that wasn’t MONUMENTAL for me…) Yet, now I think even that was for a reason, even if I don’t understand it quite yet. Even if I never find out why. He was a communications major, too (typical of D1 athletes), but it’s why he knew my sleeping soundly with him was so huge, or why he knew I enjoyed watching him play video games and openly talking to his friends about me, or why he knew I loved him even though I couldn’t speak to him. 

I couldn’t tell him that I called him after my car accident because no, I didn’t have anybody else to call. My mom yelled at me. My sister asked me if she could get back to her birthday dinner while I called her from the side of the road, trying to distract myself from reliving the crash over and over and over again in a seemingly parallel universe to my retinas intaking the actual scene unfolding before me in current time, while I sat there, dissociated, and realized I had moments before decided I was okay with being dead. That I didn’t think I’d be making that phone call…but she didn’t care. I was a distraction. An annoyance. A burden.

I couldn’t tell him that I loved being in his presence because, for seemingly one of the few people’s presences, ever, I felt mental peace. That him trusting his intuition and chasing me down in the dining hall my freshman year, jumping over tables to get to me, was the start of an invisible string weaving our tales and lives together harmoniously for years to come. I didn’t know how to voice to someone that I knew I loved them because I recognized what I felt I’d been denied my whole life. Someone chose me.

And when his dog, the love of his life, who ADORED me, and to this day, who I think he will always, always, ALWAYS wonder if he misses me (even if he’s plenty happy now), had tumors and surgery and needed to consider termination of treatment, I didn’t know how to explain that I knew how scared he was because I’d gone through it with several horses, now, including one that followed me around the pasture like a puppy.

And I don’t think I could be that person for him, even if I felt it, because I didn’t know how to communicate it. And I was scared to learn. Scared he’d judge me and leave me. I couldn’t tell him, someone who was just as worthy of undeniable love and support as I was, that I cared or why. 

In truth, I don’t think I knew how to frame it, because the sad reality is that recognizing that was your experience sucks, for everyone involved. 

How do you explain that to people? 

I went on a date recently, which was nice enough, but I knew it wasn’t “it” because he kept APOLOGIZING to me when I explained who I was. 

I’m not “sorry” for the things that happened to me. Do I wish that I had some different contexts? Sure. Do I make decisions now to prevent myself from being stuck in the same cycles of negativity? Sure. But being “sorry” for the things that made me who I am–someone I LOVE–is never going to be the answer. 

To this day, I’ve only told one man a particular layer of depth regarding my familial life directly. Some of the ones I’ve formally dated have experienced it first hand, for sure. But only one has asked me to tell them. And when I asked him not to pity me, he told me that my telling him had the opposite effect. He said he thought higher of me, like I was stronger. It’s scary to believe him. To think that might actually be the case…especially from someone I love, someone I think already does (and arguably who I just want to) love me. 

…He’s a dumb ass Virgo, though, so try as he might to “not let me in that easy” (his words, not mine), I’m like “bro, you associate me with everything you love. Figure it out. I will not beg for it. I deserve someone who can communicate their love for me without stipulation. Who chooses me every single time, whether it is convenient or not.” My friend from UF was once at a tailgate, about 2 years ago now, and told me this guy was there, sitting off to the side, by himself, looking down at his phone and smiling. He was texting me. It’s little moments like these, times I know he thinks of me, the depth in the moments in which he needs me, that I know he loves me. Even if he struggles with his own words. 

I don’t know why, call it a premonition, but I just think everything is going to fall into place. I think I am exactly who I’m meant to be, for whatever I’m meant to do in this lifetime, because I’m committed to learning and growing along the way. 

There is power in intelligence. 

And there is confidence in the intellect of oneself. 

How better, than to cultivate a life, devoted to loving oneself, one’s friends, one’s chosen family, so fiercely, passionately, and purposefully, that your love becomes that powerful? What else is there?

The Sexual Psychology of Fetishes: A Dissertation

Survival Mode
The Sexual Psychology of Fetishes: A Dissertation
Loading
/

Alright alright alright, I don’t really know how to introduce this topic in any way that won’t make me giggle, but I’m getting into my theory on the sexual psychology of fetishes. We’ll do a brief overview of introductory psych, including introducing some big names like FREUD and dabbling in our favorite Greek Mythology with Oedipus. (Did I just give you flashbacks to high school history class? Good.) Then, we’ll pass the seven levels of the candy cane forest…past the sea of swirly twirly gumdrops… jk but I will speak anecdotally on my own information both from the unfortunate instances I’ve tried online dating and my personal private actual real life–in which men feel very comfortable telling me their sexual fantasies and fetishes. I’m not here to judge. I’m a scientist baby, I am FASCINATED by some of you. As long as you don’t creep ME out and direct it towards me in gross demeanors, learning about the strange facets of humanity’s sexual variance is truly the 8th wonder of the world. 

A Brief Psych Background

Psychology is an emerging field in western medicine and particularly American medicine, as our narrative and focus on psychology involves conflation of biological warfare and military development. *The CIA and geopolitical bias surrounding the Cold War and framing of the USSR, Eugenics, and democracy versus communism has entered the chat.* However, it can be traced back to ancient Greece in 400-500 B.C. (Think Socrates, Plato, Aristotle and great philosophers who pondered the mind). 

Sigmund Freud (1856-1939), the pioneer of psychoanalysis, introduced theories of psychosexual development and sexually confusing relationships based on parental figures. 

In the 1890’s, a Russian physiologist, Ivan Pavlov, used dog salivation to denote “Pavlovian”, or classical, conditioning showed two unrelated stimuli could easily (and relatively simply) become linked to produce a “learned response”. 

Operant Conditioning, developed by behaviorist B.F Skinner, utilized external, observable behavioral causes over internal thoughts and motivation. It involves associative learning, in which the association between a behavior and consequence (which can be negative or positive) occurs. 

You truly cannot tell me if the porn industry was dominated by women we wouldn’t already have conditioned men to cook, to unload the dishwasher, to put the toilet seat down, to clean the house, any basic household tasks or emotional support for sexual favors or interest. This is a simple technique I use on boyfriends. I reward or repeat desirable behaviors until they become second-nature. In society, lack of accountability with reference to a lot of issues, but definitely violence towards women, is likely the reason it continues. We are operantly conditioning men to not believe there are consequences for their (potentially dangerous) actions which harm others. 

As a reminder, before we get into it–never fake an orgasm. The men do not need to think they “did a good job” if they did not. This is the participation trophy of sex.

Cut it out. Sex doesn’t “always” have to end in orgasms of one party or the other, either. It doesn’t need to be some finish line or end goal if it’s not happening and you don’t need to feel guilty for it. 

Neurotransmitters are chemical substances that are released at the end of nerve fibers because of nerve impulses diffusing across a synapse (aka: enough stimulation has been reached for action potential propagation). These are the chemicals that relay messages throughout our bodies regarding nerve sensation.

All the nerves in your body eventually travel up through the spinal cord to some extent and into your brain. The spinal cord and brain together make up the central nervous system, as your spinal cord’s biophysical purpose is moving nerves from the motor cortex of the body (physical sensation) to sensory cortex (mental reception) and is involved with reflex coordination.

The Foot Fetish (4:50)

Speaking of reflexes, does anyone else have trouble sitting still when the people giving you a pedicure go to scrub the soles of your feet? I can never help but giggle and brace myself so I don’t kick them. 

On that note, the first one we’re gonna start out nice and strong with is the good ole foot fetish. This fetish has been around in pop culture and mainstream media since the 1950’s at least, though we know humanity is weird and if Lord of the Flies type of shit used to (still) happens on the regular, then thinking about people getting off to some toes seems remarkably reasonable.

I mean there are some humans who are racist…

don’t judge yourself for sucking on some toes.

Alright, first off, let’s look at the beautiful anatomy of the feet. As someone with monkey toes who can pick up things after years of gripping a beam in gymnastics, pushing off for high jump or hurdles, kicking soccer balls–my feet are rather beautiful works of art. I have a few scars from when I broke a mirror and hid it in my closet so I wouldn’t get in trouble…A great plan until I forgot it was there, stepped on it whilst playing hide and seek, and now it can be used to identify my body if one day someone murders me for my feet. Maybe I should make an OnlyFans and insure them like some surgeons insure their hands. Ludacris told me to shake my money maka a long time ago but what if your money makers more so “dangle” at the end of your limbs? This isn’t a joke. Men have paid me for strange things in this lifetime. A gal’s gotta pay her bills and grad school was expensive. 

Thus, naturally, I get a lot of instagram DMs requesting feet pics. 

Now, DO I think my feet pics will one day be my Kim Kardashian sex tape? Maybe.

Do I think it’ll more so be used by men who consume it on the internet then try to say it devalues my opinion or education on completely unrelated things? Most likely. 

Foot fetishism is “the most common form of sexual fetish for otherwise non-sexual objects or body parts”. (Wikipedia). Sigmund Freud, an Austrian neurologist who founded psychoanalysis (I think he would’ve loved to meet me, personally) was born to Jewish parents, which is probably why Christians villify sexuality and all of psychology in general as “witch magic”. Those good ole racist undertones of the American education system that you don’t realize overlap with the framing and focus of our education and general curriculum. 

Freud coined several novel psychoanalytical terms. Most of which can be summarized in the following chart: 

That whole “butt stuff 2020” or whatever year it was? That wasn’t novel. Men are fucking children and love to put their penis wherever they can. Those little squishy toys you’d get from Rainforest Cafe basically prepared our whole generation to give handjobs from childhood. Ringpops, push pops, and popsicles in general? Taught us how to suck on some dicks. Which I love to do. In one of my “Amanda Please” episodes, I discuss giving head like you are the one ring to rule them all. Men look at you as you take their cock into your mouth with the same frantic and primal admiration and desire that the ring had over everybody. Plus, penises are like bread and they have emulsifying agents that cause it to rise. It is very easy to tell when you’re at least doing a decent job. Negating erectile dysfunction, mental barriers, or even depression medication which affects libido significantly (which ya’ll shoulda remembered from Sex and the City)

I get why vaginas must be terrifying to men. Like, if a woman’s nipples are hard, she might just be cold. I have a fairly low body fat percentage on my chest and I don’t retain any weight in my upper body so my nipples can cut diamonds most of the time. Don’t take that to mean shit. And I’m typically a “Class Five West Virginia Rapids” type of super soaker if you’re doing at least a decent job. If you’re not, you essentially just need to sit there and let me enjoy myself first because you’ll get off after me. The orgasm gap is real, and I’ve spent my whole life bridging it because ya girl is an equestrian and the men are replaceable if they can’t also mentally captivate me. I’m getting sidetracked, but unless a woman is communicating with you, I have no doubt it must be fucking TERRIFYING to know if you’re doing the “right” thing. And if you’re lucky enough to have more than one serious girlfriend in life, you’ll realize everybody is different. Their bodies react differently to different sensations. They prefer different pressures. They are stimulated by different ideas, maneuvers, mentality. 

And most of sex education in the united states frames sex as something a man “does” to the woman. The Christian conservative overlap in that, because most of the textbooks for the American education system are developed by a religious company out of the South apparently, makes it so men don’t even REALIZE they’re supposed to think about another person’s feelings half the time. 

I told my friend Molly’s very Catholic, but very sweet, roommate (who was of the belief that sex work should be illegal because she’s sad anyone has to “resort” to that), that the same reason she’s complaining about all the “nice guys” from dating apps she’s meeting thinking dinner entitles them to sex immediately (she’s waiting until marriage, so obviously this ain’t her thing), that they do this because prostitution is illegal. That they would never be able to AFFORD the women they think they could get if prostitution was legal. And they’d realize, if we also help close the economic gender gap, that if they don’t offer the mental side of relationships, and an actually mentally competent partnership, they’re really not any better than dildos and at least with dildos we aren’t at risk for STD’s.

Speaking of, did you know in Texas you can’t own more than 6 dildos. It’s illegal.

But apparently insurrection isn’t.

And the death penalty for abortion isn’t.

Who woulda thought. 

Honestly, if prostitution was legal, it would probably give the nerds and actual good guys more confidence because they’d just hire sex workers to help them get over their insecurities tied to being “late bloomers”. Look at Elon Musk, that dude definitely gets his ass licked and absolutely loves it. I guarantee you we have watched the same alien space gangbang porn. The fetish culture porn is typically better screenplays and production quality. It’s probably a good thing I was never a theatre geek. Imagine how much worse I’d be if I was confident performing in crowds. 

Private shows are my thing, though. I loved having two dancers try to undress me in E11even in Miami in a private booth. That was hot as fuck. I just didn’t want the guy I was with to see my tits yet. We were paying for YA’LL to show us YOUR tits. Pay me and maybe I’ll show you mine. 

So I don’t judge sexuality preferences unless you are Armie Hammer branding and cannibal style because fuck that guy. If you’re two consenting adults who are both mentally competent enough to understand the potential safety concerns, go crazy. I didn’t realize growing up on a farm and with so many 4-H people would lead into such strange sex lives. People are animals, at the end of the day. 

Freudian’s psychosexual theory of development moves from oral to anal to phallic, as most religious folk in the south do…God’s loophole is the poophole, after all.

Let’s never let my ex boyfriend forget his high school girlfriend shit on his dick in the car. Apparently that’s pretty common because the girl from my high school who saved me from being the center of attention for sucking two dicks at once moved the attention onto herself when she shit on a couch in front of people doing anal at a party. When I look back, I honestly wonder what the situation with consent was etc. That’s probably why I was previously always terrified of anything even related to anal. This is also why I reinforce that women need to get sex toys and explore themselves, because you never know what you’ll like until you try it and anal orgasms are just so different. Highly recommend smoking weed if you are super uptight like me and can never relax. That way, if you do something super embarrassing–who the fuck cares. You’re the only person that will know. That is best case scenario to training your body. 

Don’t wait for men to pleasure yourself.

Doctors used to prescribe vibrators to women in the early 1900’s. Granted, women couldn’t divorce their husbands or open their own bank accounts, and since most husbands in that era were pre/during the Great Depression and post-1918 Flu pandemic, I think we can all emphasize with WHY vibrators became a thing. 

Back to Freud–

With the phallic stage of development, the child’s pleasure focuses on the genitals. Now, if you’ve ever babysat or had your own kids, you’ll understand the transitions in these stages and just now might have the actual terminology for it. Some of the little boys I babysat used to hump pillows and cushions etc without actually knowing what they were doing–you could just tell they thought it felt good. Plus, if you’ve ever bathed a baby toddler, you’ll know they hold onto their penises (if they have one) and just play with it absentmindedly. 

As a 28 year old, I’d like to put on the books that men NEVER leave this stage. They’re constantly up tucking their boners, adjusting their ball sacks–one of the guys in my friend’s fraternity would just pull his out for any photo–they LOVE their dicks. If they don’t, or are asexual to any extent, I consider you amongst a more “evolved” class of persona. Thank you for not being completely driven by your first comparison to a “sword” that reinforced your love of warfare and competition for years to come. Slaying dragons simply evolved to slaying women. We’ve seen Game of Thrones. Men in the USA are the fucking wildlings raping and pillaging us and we would like ya’ll to chill the fuck out. 

The phallic stage is when the Oedipus complex in boys is said to develop. This theory suggests men develop a strange attachment to their mothers. Freud also suggests penis envy happens here and my best friend was incredibly vocal on her beliefs in penis envy–mostly out of convenience. Also, with a penis typically assumes (although not always) that you won’t be giving birth. Birth is one of the most dangerous times for a woman, so that would be cool to not have to worry about. 

My friend from MTV’s The Real World, who used to do high jump at UNC and was kicked off the team when he performed a striptease in a bio lecture (he was actually a stripper at the Golden Banana back in Boston), would send me videos helicoptering his dick and it was like 8 inches (it was a nice dick but guess who never fucked him because he literally just wanted to fuck everything that moved). To be honest, is this why I enjoy warfare movies? And researching military technology? Do the propellers of the helicopters now remind me of dicks and does this subliminally turn me on? Maybe. I think I’m on to something. That looked fun as fuck to do, though. Also, convenience of peeing. Free drinks aren’t really a perk when they’re often encompassed with rape, but I can sell feet pics so you got me there on the “hot girl privileges” of whatever “vagina envy” you imagine exists–because YES I absolutely would rather make less money to the dollar and have men sit around and decide what healthcare and religious beliefs I can or cannot have. 

That guy, Strider, the one I’ve referenced past with the pregnancy and twin fetish, has gone out of his way to specify and clarify that I was the fetish, not the fetish itself. I think he secretly has an Oedipus complex cause he has posted things like “my mom will beat up your mom” and she’s big on hiking the Appalachian Trail and we both like all the same stuff and I don’t wanna be the one to point out that I think I’m his dream woman because I remind him of his mom so maybe he should just stop being so scared of his feared and imaginary inadequacy, but alas. He also has confessed or asked whether I’d be into gang bangs, which — like, excuse me. What is the problem with that? You have a room full of guys who you get to choose to fuck at your own discretion? (Not the type of gang bangs in porn where the woman isn’t in control). What is not hot about that? My only problem is, because sex work is illegal, I’d never feel comfortable meeting a stranger for any of that because I’m, again, terrified of getting murdered and don’t enjoy casual sex (I enjoy a LOT of sex when the right option is presented, otherwise I’m disinterested) enough to care about making men I don’t care about happy or have access to me. Thus, in that scenario I’d have to likely know the people to some extent which can just make things awkward so it is never ever something I would ever propose or seriously consider. Especially not if I’m not dating the (main) guy. 

Nah, you don’t get the show. People pay good money on OnlyFans for homemade content like that, buddy. 

You do not get to NOT buy the cow and still get the milk for free. Which…we should probably refer to men as the cows in that reference more often. They make more money, their cum is white like milk…

Freud also proposed periods of sexual latency as well as a “genital stage” from puberty onward where you actually engage in a “sexual awakening”. 

The reason I don’t judge Strider for not knowing anything about women is, apart from being an INTJ which typically means reserved socially, he grew up in a male only household apart from his mom. One of his first girlfriends in high school also later went on to actually do porn and she was apparently into some extreme fetishes. He said he could’ve predicted it, because that’s what she was into at the time as well. I personally think this reinforced a fear of inadequacy, because he thought he wasn’t physically “enough”, because he has passively commented on my vagina being like the glass slipper to his cock or some shit like that because he “thinks he’s perfectly sized for me”. Which, he is, but he is currently unavailable to me, so I would never give him that satisfaction. Strider is the same one I mention who nearly choked me out until I passed out the first time we met and hooked up, who I called a “liability” to his fraternity dad. 

We have hooked up only a handful of times since but he reaches out to me regularly and has gradually progressed more and more and I’ve seen this lifetime movie–it only ends two ways: murder or marriage. Sometimes both. I don’t really want to get murdered, so if he could admit his love for me so I worry less about his interest, that would be cool. 

I am literally “the forbidden” for him. His family–big time confederates. Mine–union general and POW. His family–slave owners. Plantation south slave owners, nonetheless. Mine–spoke 9 native american languages and lived on the frontier peacefully to negotiate trade (hopefully I won’t eventually unearth worse). We are both the biggest war histories and one time I fell asleep watching a civil war documentary with him and we just snuggled kinda on an L shaped couch and he lightly reached out and touched my fingers when he thought I was asleep. It was so cute and gentle. I thought at the time he had friendzoned me.

I refuse to date or seriously consider anyone who can’t verbalize their feelings for me, because words of affirmation are one of my main love languages and I need someone to be able to remind me of the good that I bring them. I also recently went back and looked at Snapchat memories with him and he is just staring at me in mystified awe in pretty much every one where I’m doing anything odd. It’s kinda cute. I don’t know why he would downplay it, but love is scary and I’m intimidating, so I get it. 

Now, am I Selena Gomez and do I just have a fetish for his love? Maybe.

I view my life through the frame of “there are multifactorial dependent, diverse outcomes and possibilities for every scenario. I can predict what is the most likely, or which ones I would be happy in, but the majority of life is unpredictable. We’ll see which dimension it takes me to.

Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution addressed that it is neither the most intelligent or strongest of the species that survives, it is the one most able to adapt. 

I look for partners that I think will be able to grow through life with me, but I’m not concerned that if it doesn’t work out, that’s “it”. I’m also, frankly, just not prioritizing men. They don’t really deserve it. My value doesn’t depend on the presence of a male at my side. 

Though, this mentality unfortunately gives the men I occasionally fuck a huge leg up because they KNOW that I live on a farm in the rural country and HAPPILY am focused on myself, so I genuinely do not give a fuck about meeting people (especially right now). I go months without talking to people normally, because that’s how my family is with communication. And they use it to their advantage, much to my detriment, and know my feelings towards them don’t change just because of life’s natural absences (and state geography).

To be fair for my parent’s generation–without technology, you actually just settled down right after college. My mom and dad met while she was in undergrad and military families get married quickly. There was a nice little dowry of a house and land, attached to her, after all. My mom, thus, grew up thinking it was normal and your spouse should and could not communicate for weeks on end, because duty calls. He might miss your facetime but he’ll never miss an instagram model’s booty pic–just remember. 

While we’re at it, I take back the nice things I said about the Special Forces Army medic. He’s hot, and I’d still go to the shooting range with him again, but don’t you DARE read my blog then have the audacity to give me dating advice. You lied to your fiance about teaching me how to shoot a gun and I had to UNTAG YOU ON INSTAGRAM because you were worried about her reaction. You are on deployment checking my instagram every day and have to wait for me to call you out on it, before saying I have “interesting thoughts”. Which, I do, and can’t blame you for, but the fact that you refuse to follow me because she’ll see, is insane

I do not envy or desire any relationship with that much insecurity and distrust warped in control. That is not love, and that is not something I “want to come home to”. Life is an adventure and call me Bilbo Baggins, but I’m skipping my ass down that lane happily and I want to explore the world and what “life” means with someone who loves me and chooses to see me for the way I see myself and others. I don’t want your version of love because it dulls to mine. I want to be effervescent. And I don’t want my partner to feel the need to hide those lines of communication from me or what it means to be “human”. They don’t need to understand it, or know how to navigate everything alone or figure things out for me, they just need to learn how to talk to me. 

Circling back to foot fetishes, now that you got me all hot and bothered thinking about the Army, it’s estimated that 1 in 7 people have sexual thoughts about feet. 

First of all, there are over 7,000 nerve endings in each foot. You know what that means? A lot of sensory stimulation.

Reflex points in your feet can be stimulated for homeopathic remedies to address digestive issues, head aches, and even PMS pain for women. Thus, fucking with a foot fetish may offer some relief you weren’t aware was correlated… or even potentially CAUSALLY associated. 

Men–do not use this as an excuse if your partner tells you they have a headache. Don’t pressure them for sex unless you know them REALLY REALLY well (& they won’t get mad), because women shouldn’t need to ever justify why they don’t want your cock inside of them. 

Second, referencing that oral stage, feet are often up by the partner’s head if you’re looking at heteronormative sex. Look at how porn is shot–the focal emphasis on the feet. If you’re fucking her, sometimes the feet are over your shoulders. Right there within grasping range of your tongue, desperately searching for somewhere to slither between so you can stop alternating on looking at them versus your own cock and needing something else to do. Of COURSE the toes are gonna cum into play.

You contort her enough and maybe her hips hinge open and she can place both feet behind her head. My friend Mina from the “ENTJ Women Unhinged” episode can do that, actually. And drink wine from a wine glass held by her feet. She is probably the hottest person I’ve ever seen, so her boyfriend is one lucky guy let’s just leave it at that. 

If you’re fucking them doggie, not only do you visually see their butthole, but their feet are right there at the edge of your fingertips, usually. Potentially even offering stability and grip potential for better driving force and thus, sexual pleasure for themselves. In this way, they are classically conditioning themselves to enjoy touching feet, because they associate it with plunging their cocks into the crest of your labia. Real sword and the stone type of bullshit. We wonder why nerds like D&D so much. 

Speaking of–have I ever mentioned that The Farmboy is a huge D&D player and apparently used to get in fights with his ex girlfriend about not skipping it for her. He skipped an entire game for me, and all of our mutual friends were shocked. Did I mention I have skills? I’d marry that man in a heartbeat. Once again, I will never consider it until he can somehow pick up these imaginary signals I’m echolocating to him like the whales in Finding Dory, confessing his love in a style reminiscent of “The Notebook”, but I’m fine if that doesn’t happen. 

LOL. what is wrong with me. 

So my question is–
why would men not have conditioned themselves to be into feet?

Especially if they consume pretty much any pornographic content. 

Foot binding was even considered a foot fetish, and we learned about that in AP World History class about the Chinese empire. I’m oddly attracted to ballerinas and dancing en pointe is essentially identical in a lot of ways. Their skeletal structure physically changes and it looks REALLY COOL in x-rays. 

Furthermore, the sensory nerves that these action potentials travel through when your feet are stimulated, travel up through your groin. Biochemically, this should heighten your own sensation. The nerves of the feet are connected to the spinal cord in the lower back and pelvis. If you change the positioning of yourself minutely, it can DRASTICALLY affect sensation during sex–especially if vibrators are introduced. 

All women should get vibrators purely because you will be able to have so many DIFFERENT kinds of orgasms that it’s honestly just cool. 

Sex should be fun, explorative, and a biochemical release. Not taboo or something to be ashamed of.

Medical Professionals and their Kinks (26:43)

Speaking of exploration of the body, medical professionals are some of the kinkiest mother fuckers I’ve ever met. Keep in mind medical examiners (who perform autopsies) also have to go through medical school. 

In medicine, you’re used to diagnosing through minute considerations of the body and what it is capable of, how systems interact, which actions release which chemicals and when. Subtle cues on how to tell, predisposition towards recognizing the state of blood flow through their veins, pulsing in the veins weaving through their bodies, bulging against their skin. Medicine is an art of the body, for those who are skilled enough to view it as so. 

To me, I have no interest in casual hook ups because I have no interest in casually knowing people. I’d like to use whatever limited time I have on this earth immersing myself in the lives of those I love, however so. Naturally, that extends sexually because I enjoy learning how intimately someone enjoys being touched. The facets of their personalities that make them unique. How they experienced life and grew up, shaping their views of the world and views of me. 

I can’t really explain it, I just know it–virtually immediately. I feel at home with them even as strangers. Thomas, the German who is truly dominating the sex olympics of my vagina, even though we shared a mere 3 weeks of passionate love affairs, was starring at me from across a bar and just perplexed by me. I loved it. He saw me the way I see myself–in wondrous curiosity. He was so loving, too, I will always think of him fondly. Germany doesn’t have typically great international PR, either, (no judgment…I’m a US citizen) so Thomas is doing you all some serious good. 

Because of this sensation, I can mentally dissociate quite well from discussing sex apathetically and colloquially towards being intimate. Maybe you don’t understand it if you’ve never actually been in love, or maybe I’ve spent too many summers in obscure wine towns hidden in the lavender fields of the South of France, but the human body is not inherently taboo and treating it and something as natural as sex in that way is a disservice.

By treating the body, especially the female body, as taboo or necessitating it to be “pure”, “ladylike”, and “unbroken” it undermines the fluidity of sex. It is a disservice to the temple of human flesh that houses your soul to not be unafraid to touch yourself. To not feel guilty for your own pleasure. To not express love freely in your various forms in a world that lacks it so badly. 

Studying evolutionary anthropology, the authors of “The Genius of Dogs” and “Survival of the Friendliest” reference how humans originated from primate ancestors–two of which, the bonobo and chimp, we study to reference human behavior to, today. Chimps, a patriarchal society built on alpha males are excessively violent and sexually aggressive–even genitally mutilating their neighbors to prevent competition, much like how the churches like to circumcise babies to diminish nerve sensation and sexual pleasure (though directed commonly at female members of the group in a “The Handmaid’s Tale” mentality). Bonobos, however, are matriarchal societies. They are sexually fluid and use sex for conflict resolution–not conflict creation. They are typically peaceful, expressively loving species.

Can the general public please just legalize weed nationally so you don’t have to leave your social support for medical care or fun and can our culture as a whole have a Woodstock era revival of sexual freedom please? I watched John Mayer play guitar at my first music festival at Music Midtown in Atlanta circa 2014, one of the only times I’d done edibles at the time, and it transcends most music. I cannot truly be expected to date men who can barely comprehend anger from sadness, right? You can’t expect that to turn me on or entice me, right? 

Anyways, medical people have some of the kinkiest fetishes always correlated with the medical field they are in. 

I have quite a few foot surgeons, shout out to my hometown hero who wrestled for American University back in the day and was a senior when I was a freshman in high school, so he knows all about my worst version of myself and never used to be deterred, who have admitted I have nice feet. This one asked me out a while back but it never went into motion, or maybe I had a boyfriend, and now I’m pretty sure he’s dating someone but it doesn’t stop him from sending snapchats of his cat purring as it lays on his cock, just so I can point out that cats like to sit in warm places and if increased blood flow through his groin makes it warm, it makes logical sense. I’m not saying it’s risque, but I have a whole post on Animal Behavior and my sex life so maybe it truly is innocent and he doesn’t keep me as an option on the back burner “just in case” but I kinda think a lot of my male friends view me in that light, so I don’t *quite* trust it. I do enjoy the conversation a lot, though. 

If a foot surgeon is telling me I have nice feet and great biomechanics,
I’m gonna BE FLATTERED…RIGHTFULLY SO.

Also, I take a fair amount of pics of my ass from forward of my shoulder, as I’m laying on my tummy. My feet will be kicked up behind me and I’ll move them up and down slowly while staring at the camera. Never fails to get a dick hard. My nice feet, a smirk, and the bubbliness of the round crest of my ass? I get it, I get it. A worthy conquest. 

My friend, who was in med school classes at the time (a second year) was requested, by her much older, think dad-aged MEDICAL PROFESSOR WITHIN THE SCHOOL WHO WAS THE PARENT OF HER PROFESSIONAL JUMP ROPE TEAM, a team so serious she traveled all over the world from childhood and performed at multiple olympics, was a GI doctor and asked her to strap one on and peg him. So she did. Why not? Stimulation of the hypogastric nerve in men induces orgasmic sensation via stimulation of the prostate. It is basic fucking biology and natural to enjoy this. Why does wanting to achieve higher orgasmic potential seem so taboo for men? Quit being so homophobic.

This is the perk of having a diverse friend group. My bestfriend “lost” her virginity her senior year to her now-fiance, to this day the only man she has ever had sex with. And despite SEEMINGLY being a huge slut, she just liked to drink and would make out with tons of random dudes, including ones she picked up off the street after bars closed at the end of the night, go home with them, then turn on The Grudge to “ruin the mood” so she wouldn’t even be pressured into anything more. Thank goodness she never got taken advantage of, honestly. That was risky to an extent, though hilarious. It was great for me because I had someone to party with and make out with occasionally. Half of my friend group is Southern religious conservatives, some are younger than me from when I was in grad school, and then a lot are older than me from when I was in undergrad. 

I learned about rimming when I was 21-22, before the “butt stuff” phase took over and it became mainstream topics of conversation, from my friend in law school who was engaged. It’s such a small world, because this friend also happened to know the previously mentioned great and somewhat disappointing love of my life (currently), wrestler, before she ever met me, because he apparently stole her car and drove it around campus while she gave his friend, now rising within the UFC circuits, head. 

Why are American men so fucking homophobic that they refuse to consider getting their bodies explored and played with, because they don’t realize it can be just as fascinating as their desires to explore the female body and its variety of holes and sensations. Men biologically have a prostate gland that should feel pretty fucking good (apparently) when stimulated. Why the fuck would you deny yourself the pleasure of knowing how your body works? Especially if it could be an odd way to heighten sexual pleasure? 

I will not date you if you aren’t at least somewhat turned on by the idea of another male sucking your cock or at least open to discussing it. I’m not gonna pretend like we’re the only two people on this planet and you will never be sexually turned on by anything else blah blah blah. If you can picture me in a threesome with a woman or multiple partners in general, I can damn sure envision the power dynamics of men exchanging it. Or, again, a room full of men lusting in adoration for the chance to pleasure me. Plus, watching male-on-male porn is so hot because men must know what they enjoy best. I assume they have the better technique and insight. Same reason why lesbian porn is so common, even for “straight” women to watch. 

I can straight up watch porn objectively for hours. It is such an interesting media industry. Seeing the difference in sexuality and marketing across the globe is also alluring. Of the safest countries for women, all have legal prostitution, by the way. There are benefits to less sexual repression in society. Almost like…sex is a completely natural thing and we should not sully the act of it by putting such arbitrarily taboo natures to it such that men have now conditioned themselves to have death grips and seek out anal for the tightness of those muscular sphincters because only that, or the hard grip of their dominant hand, can actually get them off anymore. 

Which, I know, is somewhat hypocritical to say when I capitalize on our pathetic attitude towards sexuality and desperate framing of the “Evolution” of humans as if we didn’t murder the other species of neanderthals and hunter gatherer societies that had minutely different physical attributes–likely because we were suspicious of these slight differences and viewed them with “us” versus “them” mentality. But sure, we’ve really “evolved” away from that standpoint, globally….

Cardiologists will commonly hire women and pay them to just listen to healthy, regular heartbeats for a while. Not even to have sex. 

People pay for your sweat, bath water, tears, underwear, and anything you can possibly imagine over the internet. 

You don’t think I’m a little suspicious of eventual cloning technology? We are looking into cloning technology for potentially dinosaurs down the road and you think I want some strange man fetishizing American college girls to have a vial of my sweat down the road? Or my dehydrated pussy juice on the underwear I wore for 6 hours or to work out in? What are the implications that some obsessed scientist might clone me, even accidentally, in the future–possibly utilizing EVEN A CLONE OF ME FOR HIS OWN SEXUAL PURPOSES. If you sell them your DNA, does it legally and contractually mean they can do whatever with it? What if this happens down the road? 

People go to the ER frequently for getting bottles vacuumed into their assholes because they don’t realize it pressure seals it because they failed introductory physics and had to switch to an econ or business major freshman year.

Rodents get stuffed into assholes.
It’s Michael Scott’s “tube city” in your intestines. 

I promise you, medical people have seen and are into the weirdest shit. Both literally and figuratively. If you’re self conscious about yourself or your body etc, date someone in healthcare. They take care of people with varying bodily compositions and health all damn day long and nothing much phases them.

Like I said, I’ve held a flaccid penis taught after numbing it with local anesthesia for my surgeon to cut off skin cancer. I had to awkwardly explain to the surgeon why I thought we should logically glue the wound shut (instead of her proposed bandaging method, which was for me to ace bandage a gauze pad with ointment over the stitches). It was an odd navigation, explaining that the changing progression of blood flow would just cause that to fall off almost immediately, but we ultimately ended up gluing the wound shut. #Dermaglue. I miss that job. Win for me and limp penises recently surgically operated on everywhere.

This is your friendly reminder you can get skin cancer even where the sun doesn’t shine. If you have insurance, it should cover a yearly total body skin exam (TBSE). You can’t tell if anything is changing in size, shape, or color if you don’t have baseline measurements. Go see a dermatologist, people.

BDSM & Healthy People 2020 (39:00)

Speaking of cancer and health in general, did you know that 25-35% of all Americans are inactive? They have sedentary jobs of some kind involving physical inactivity and don’t get the allotted recommendation for physical activity through sport or exercise, etc. Physical activity has a ton of benefits–”better sleep, improved mental health, reducing risk of obesity, heart disease, type 2 diabetes, and some cancers” (CDC). 50 million Americans and the “biggest public health problem of the 21st century” yet half our government refuses to actually govern based on science, knowledge, and actual education over misconstrued opinion and falsities over the decades. 

Now, do I think in true ~*~American~*~ fashion we as a society would conflate sexual and physical health and have such overall negative outcomes (and yet, still try to argue that not moving to universal healthcare somehow benefits us??? Because we should… want(?) A country with 40%+ having chronic diseases which impact quality and quantity of life? Why do you not want a strong country? You know what, nevermind. Different topic for a different day). Yes. 

Do I also think people are so obsessed with control over others in the fucking “country of freedom” that, coupled with human inactivity, our necessity to be productive or multitasking 24/7 and “normalizing” needing multiple full time jobs to just keep a roof over your head or pay simple bills, and sexual aggression through the porn industry that we have also gravitated towards BDSM as a way to address this societally in a multifactorial approach with the limited “fun” time we have? Absolutely. 

Though often in such a way that overlooks the severity and extent of actual consent and proper protocol. BDSM in hook up culture with partners you can’t, don’t, and probably shouldn’t inherently trust, as a “quick fix” to get exercise and stretch/work muscular groups you don’t prioritize normally, sexual satisfaction (Read: orgasms), just further biochemically conditions ourselves to enjoy this in lieu of “healthier” and less physically demanding sex lives because you’re able to afford and have the time to go to a gym or work out class as you need–versus resorting or needing to carve out hours of the day to be tied up like you’re a galley wench pirate in Victorian England kept in the stocks, physically presenting yourself just for the satisfaction of another.  

Orgasms have a lot of benefits too, so by all means if your partner ties you up and gets you off multiple times, do whatever you have to do to close that orgasm gap. Like I said before about yoga, changing minute ways about body positioning–flexing different muscular groups, activating certain sequences, all have varying cascays of effects, both biochemically and physically.

Here’s what happens to the body when you cum:

Dopamine is “the key neurotransmitter involved in stimulating orgasms in humans” (The British Psychologist Society). Dopamine releasers (amphetamines such as adderall) or reuptake inhibitors (cocaine) can facilitate expression of orgasm regardless of gender. 

Antipsychotics and antidepressants work to make orgasms harder by blocking the dopamine receptors. So if you or a partner take these and your libido is impacted–talk to your primary care or psychiatrist if it isn’t working for you. However, I’m of the belief that mental health should be prioritized over sexual. Don’t have sex with people who hurt your mental health. Your sexual partners should be people you can trust who you can discuss this with. They shouldn’t get offended or assume “it’s them” if the other person can’t cum, but it also doesn’t need to be a judgmental investigation where you demand an explanation. Sex doesn’t always HAVE to “end” in orgasms. I recommend nice play sessions throughout your time with them. Breaks are cool. Snacks are always good. Have fun with it, it should be enjoyable for both of you. 

Serotonin, the neurotransmitter involved in mood modulation, cognition, reward, learning, memory, and even physiological processes such as vasoconstriction (think blood flow constriction which can be altered and enhanced via choking) is blocked for reuptake by antidepressant drugs. Most SSRIs, except for nefazodone and buspirone, reportly inhibit oprgasms. Apparently buspirone has been used “off label” therapeutically for treating premature or early ejaculation as well. 

Anti inflammatory biochemicals are released (great and super useful for recovery, age “protection”, and protecting against environmental toxins you come into contact with through skin absorption).

Sex in sports is a somewhat taboo topic since it can cross a lot of awkward professional boundaries and people like Larry Nasser will use the inability of comprehensive sex education to guide naivety of youthful innocence for predatory behavior. 

Rhonda Rousey reportedly talks about fucking the night before her fights. This makes sense, because estrogen and testosterone are both released as a result. These enhance your skin and hair health. Note that both of these levels wax and wane through a woman’s typical reproductive cycle, thus the libido is expected to be somewhat cyclical and periods of asexuality or disinterest are normal and may not involve your partner or anything being “wrong” with your physical body.

Sigmund Freud also coined the phrase “before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes.”

Orgasms literally can treat “hysteria” in women (let’s remember our early 1900’s medical documentation of prescription vibrators) which really just means “vibrators help women not be reliant on men for sexual satisfaction and sexual wellness”. Everybody needs 10. 

Research institutions are starting to use fMRI and PET scans for the study of orgasms, thus the extent of this knowledge. I’m hopefully keeping it enough introductory biochem where it makes some type of sense. Being physically active, especially through sport, can increase your natural testosterone production. Testosterone helps restore sexual interest and pleasure and is a common androgen therapy for men who are ageing or have had their testes surgically altered or removed, as well as for women following oophorectomies. Also a topic for a later date, but cis hetero women often need hormone replacement and therapy so shut the fuck up about the imaginary issues with the less than 2% of the population who identifies as trans just because you suddenly care about people’s health/access to healthcare and really just wanna shit on someone’s most comfortable identity for them, which should be irrelevant for you if its not harming you and they’re happy. 

In women, “pain thresholds more than double during orgasm” (Whipple & Komisaruk, 1985). As a woman in sports with a very fucked up, drastically skewed pain receptors from the multiple bone breaks and general contact, I endorse this message. Let’s not forget vaginas and women are not the weak ones. We are physically designed to essentially take a beating to our innermost crevices and enjoy it. I’m sure the argument will eventually be made that my altered pain thresholds, including one my OBGYN commented on as she removed and reinserted a new IUD after my Mirena expired over 7 years with me barely flinching, are fucked up for no shortage of reasons and as such, naturally effects my sensory neural impulse propagation through sex. 

Furthermore, the cortical regions of the brain responsible for orgasm are also activated during painful stimulation. This has psychologically become understood to have overlapping activation of “pain” versus “pleasure”, an obvious facet of BDSM culture. Thus, why would sexual activity that consensually combines the two not offer ultimate orgasms? 

Oxytocin is also involved. Commonly called the “love hormone”, you can experience a release after 20 seconds of physical contact. 

…Yes, I have literally used this to explain to my guy friends why I requested a prolonged hug and we should express love through friendships more, including verbally being appreciative and acknowledging our friends better, because all we’re doing is depriving ourselves of “positive vibes” (hormones) by not. As someone who had a sexually intimate previous partner be the one to point out they think one of my dominant love languages is physical touch, yet I withhold it and hate personal contact without permission, as is typical of people with histories of sexual trauma or abuse. Yay me.

Oxytocin is a neurotransmitter involved in “childbirth, breastfeeding, sexual activity, empathy, trust, and relationship-building” (Medical News Today). Females typically have higher levels than males, and may even benefit people with anxiety, depression, or intestinal problems. Thus, sexual health and wellbeing can impact mental health and wellbeing a lot more than we frame it. Again, why would that NOT be the case when half of the nation is hell bent on framing sexuality as something taboo versus well within the boundaries of completely normal human behavior that is not dependent on some social construct of marriage or purity. 

Nipple stimulation actually triggers oxytocin release,
so suck on them tiddies if you want to get particularly close with a partner.

Nipple clamps would obviously impact release and stimulation by this logic as well. Oxytocin is also released and affects uterine contraction. (It can medically be used to induce a termination or complete a miscarriage, but your body also naturally produces it.) Oxytocin released in the blood stream affects uterus contraction, but within the brain it impacts “emotional, cognitive, and social behaviors” including, but not limited to, sexual behavior, bonding between couples, and maternal care. 

It isn’t as straightforward as some of the other hormones, because it can be internally produced in times of stress but external supply of it also reduces stress. It has enhanced bonding effects while also being correlated to increasing group think behavior in unhealthy manners (prejudice, aggression, jealousy). 

Let’s look at the biomechanics of stretching alone. 

BDSM and contortion play, effectively stretching with toys and a partner, increases blood flow, as targeted muscles widen their blood vessels to allow blood absorption (and neurotransmitter movement). 

Stretching activates the parasympathetic nervous system, responsible for rest/digestion, inducing potentially calming or relaxing effects during an activity which would otherwise activate your sympathetic nervous system and stress centers. This operational dichotomy is inevitably sexually rewarding in a multifactorial manner.

Plus, endorphins are released and everybody knows from Reese Witherspoon’s Elle Woods in Legally Blonde that “endorphins make you happy. Happy people don’t kill their husbands.” These are commonly released after sex in the body’s biochemical natural reward system, thus stretching to activate release ahead or during sexual activity seems logically beneficial. Endorphins also have greater pain-relieving effects than morphine, causing feelings of euphoria. Do I really need to explain how this, coupled with the pain-threshold increase during orgasm for women, would be incredibly beneficial to heighten sexual pleasure? 

Regular sexual activity also improves neurogenesis, or neuronal creation within the hippocampus of your brain, responsible for learning and memory. Thus, regular sexual activity with partners worthy of trust get biochemically reinforced to build stronger relationships and increase healthy brain activity.

Keep this in mind if you gravitate towards a particular Dom/Sub role, as you will be further reinforcing your biochemical conditioning. I prefer the exchange of power, myself…likely a testament to my pansexuality, so I can do it all and I’ve never liked narrowing down my choices. In fact, I believe it was Ali Wong in her Netflix special Baby Cobra who mentioned assertive, bossy, domineering women in other aspects like and prefer to be submissive in bed, because it is the one time we are able to relinquish control. 

This should be a pretty good introduction into the sexual psychology of fetishes, BDSM emergence and framing of healthy sexual activity, how common different kinks or sexual priorities actually are, and that you shouldn’t be intimidated to talk about something of that relevance with potential or future partners. 

If you’re too uncomfortable to do so, chances are either you or them mentally aren’t in the best head space to engage in that, and you should also be able to recognize those instances as well. 

Women who orgasm regularly have decreased risk of breast cancer, everyone is less likely to die of heart disease, and prostate cancer in men drops by 33% with 21 or more orgasms a month (Fertile Ground Wellness Center). Sex is good for comprehensive health reasons. Make sure you’re doing it safely, and consensually, but it should be an experience to be enjoyed by any and everyone involved.

Also don’t forget, if you die of autoerotic asphyxiation, or any simultaneously dangerous BDSM activities, your body can and will be transported to the medical examiner for the typically state-required autopsy in the bondage gear and positioning it is found in.

Remember that next time you choke your chicken and self out with a necktie while your sweet, caring mother is upstairs making you dinner. For the medical examiner staff, at least those ones are typically “funner” than normal. You know they went out doing something they loved, at least. As Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark of MFM would say, stay sexy and don’t get murdered.

REFERENCES:

http://www.bridgewater.nhs.uk/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/Foot-Facts.pdf

https://www.innerbody.com/anatomy/nervous/leg-foot

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foot_fetishism

https://bigthink.com/sex-relationships/psychology-of-foot-fetishes?rebelltitem=4#rebelltitem4

https://www.cdc.gov/media/releases/2020/0116-americas-inactivity.html

https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/275795#the_love_hormone

https://www.healthline.com/health/why-does-stretching-feel-good

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3548359/

https://fertilegroundwellnesscenter.com/2019/03/26/o-my/

https://thepsychologist.bps.org.uk/volume-21/edition-2/orgasm

https://www.apa.org/news/press/releases/2009/08/physical-inactivity

https://www.chicagotribune.com/lifestyles/health/ct-americans-inactive-computers-blame-20190423-story.html

https://www.cdc.gov/media/releases/2020/0116-americas-inactivity.html

https://www.simplypsychology.org/whatispsychology.html

https://www.simplypsychology.org/pavlov.html

https://www.verywellmind.com/operant-conditioning-a2-2794863

JOE ROGAN:

Survival Mode
JOE ROGAN:
Loading
/

What is wrong with the USA and why would he ever be a worthy moderator of a presidential debate?

If any of you have perused the athletic “scandal” that is my instagram (which, my siblings would have you believe automatically makes me the devil incarnate and dishonoring the entire family more than Mulan… both of which occurred for just being women, I would like to note….)  then you’d probably know I’m not too fond of Joe Rogan. So my disdain at the very thought that he would facilitate a presidential debate was even more disheartening. I already wanted to put my head through a god damn wall, like Mike Sorentino did that one season of Jersey Shore where they went to Italy (Season 4? Maybe? It’s been a while), but this just tips the scales ever so slightly. 

So who is Joe Rogan?

Brief overview:

-American comedian

-Host of one of the world’s most popular podcasts, several of which hosted some of the 2020 Democratic presidential candidates (Andrew Yang, Tulsi Gabbard, and Bernie Sanders)

-Has had a plethora of political figures, public figures, and scientists relevant to US history, and possibly, the rest of this discussion, including Edward Snowden, Elon Musk, and my personal favorite, Iliza Shlesinger

-Commentator for Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC), the patrons of which arguably make up the largest part of his audience (from my personal experience / interactions with men in the wild)

-Probably the ONLY reason he has any actual political pull is because our government and cultural values as a country are so fucking corrupt that we somehow don’t see this as a global embarassment. And money = power in good ole capitalism, so this guy MUST get it, right?

Why Am I skeptical About This? 

To sum it up, you’re about to dive into a rabbit hole of how Joe Rogan embodies the American experience of exactly what pisses me off most about our patriarchal culture and why he is absolutely the wrong choice as moderator of a presidential debate, but particularly a presidential debate in the setting of a global pandemic (which he previously downplayed), where distribution of wealth is a regular issue (the guy plays with which state to relocate to like its a board game–this is people’s livelihood at stake, have some class), and we already have one too many white men who think they’re going to be the one with the world-class mentality of saving (literally, we just want OUR OWN VOICES, you do not need to step in, asserting yourself to “represent” us…how about you help get US into those positions?)

But I digress…

Let’s Take One Giant Leap Back Mankind…

To properly get into this, I’m going to delve into my own background as an athlete, and what I’ve come to focus on with my own world views now that I’m well into my 20’s (and OBVIOUSLY know all.) It’ll be worth it, I promise. By now, you should realize all of my writing comes full circle at some point.

From the time I could walk, I was playing sports, with the decision that I was Olympic quality being made prior to my conception. My dad played in the minor league baseball circuits on his summers home in NY from Embry Riddle, and he played with a AAA team that fed the Yankees. My mom, a mathematician in D.C., graduated from Penn State after being an NCAA Division 1 collegiate runner. The genetics were in place, and my siblings and I were destined for greatness. 

Growing up, running was always my way to stay “in shape”. Sure, I competed for my middle school track (2 practices then showing up at a meet against the other local middle schools) and in high school (cross country, indoor and outdoor track), but I never actually “trained” for it with any actual structure. My high school coach had been the same person who coached my mom “back in the day”, and he literally let us, kids under the age of 18 with no personal experience or knowledge on what healthy running is, to choose the workouts. Our boys team played a variation of four square for practice. I stayed in shape, though, playing multiple sports a season, attending two official practices a day once I got to high school, often 3 (usually 1-2 for my actual highschool and 1-2 travel teams). I never once slowed down. This was my norm, though, and seems to be the norm for most of America in this rat race of endless exhaustion we call a “free market”. 

When I was old enough to walk, I was enrolled in gymnastics. 3 hours a day, 6 days a week. Some days I cried about being at practice. Other days, all I wanted to do was climb that creepily high rope and make the long drop into the foam pit. I had a six pack by age 5 and spent my brother’s baseball games practicing my back handsprings along the baseline past the dugouts.

We also grew up on a farm, so not only did I have to attend practices for all of my sports, but riding horses regularly was considered a chore, not a “practice”, and horses take a lot of daily work. It’s a rare person I come across that understands the full impact growing up on a farm has on a person. If it was light outside, though, and I wasn’t at practice for one of my other sports, I was usually found somewhere on or near my ponies. So after I was exhausted with practices, I usually had to go take care of the horses, and only THEN could I eat, shower, or sleep. 

Side note: I actually think that’s why wrestling attracts so many midwestern boys–they’re used to working these insane schedules and intensities of workouts from what it means to be “country” folk, but they’re all of the country folk who question authority (in a good way, often, just not one that’s necessarily viewed as beneficial to all of society when not constructively channelled) We’ll touch back on wrestling in a bit.

In middle school, the decision came to discontinue competitive gymnastics, due to time constraints with my growing equestrian career. Inserted in its time slot on my schedule was travel soccer, something I’d be able to do with the rest of the crowd in high school. 

Quitting gymnastics at ~13 years old also let me finally hit puberty, so I scaled from 4’11” to 5’7” in the course of my eighth grade year and entered high school ready to continue leveling up my athletic career. 

In high school, I went from sport-to-sport searching for that desperate endorphin high to target my frustration at everything (my parents, siblings, the mean girls in my grade, one of whom was my best friend/”frenemy”, boys, the world, Hannah Montana being cancelled, you name it). Like Taylor Swift, “I was an impossible pace”, and only forced to slow down when 9th grade year of travel soccer, some stupid bitch illegally slide tackled me from straight behind me (terrible form, what are you, a Duke basketball player? What a dirty fucking play). I fell straight onto my left clavicle, completely severing it in half and displacing it by two inches. Now, I’m not a very big person. My clavicles are rather dainty, in fact. (My upper body is actually the one place I hold absolutely no weight.) It was gross, my arm was just hanging limply. Well, if there was any question as to whether that love for the adrenaline rush had fucked me up, it was answered in that moment, because I STILL tried to play. We were already a man down, having had a red card and been down a man to start the match, and I couldn’t sit on the sideline and just watch. Plus, I had been sent with another parent via carpool, so my mom wasn’t even there to take me to the hospital! The only choice was obviously to fucking play!

If you wonder where the determination comes from, I’ve always had it. Earlier that fall, I had “just decided” one day that I wanted to play football. I’d jumped into some of my older brother’s practices growing up, so why wouldn’t I be able to do it at the high school level? I could hold my own against him, Royce, and Alex, who were the best on the Waldorf Wildcats. All of the boys in high school had just been on different teams they’d beaten. So, I joined the freshman football team, much to the dismay of several of the boy’s parents, and wore glitter eyeshadow to every single game. Even though my dad drove me over thirty minutes from my high school soccer game to my high school football game in the neighboring county (it was the first game, I couldn’t completely miss it!) and my kick never had a shot because I got my experience of what I can only imagine is a fraction of what freshmen fraternity members all across the USA experience in hazing. 

As I leaned forward, moving to kick, with the snap of the ball, my entire line decided to stand up and move aside, letting 3 huge line men have a clear shot to my very first kick in a game ever! I got anime-style judo-thrown about ten yards directly backwards by 3 ~200+ pound linemen who had just seen me, ~110 lb, 5’7” frame, long blonde hair swinging, GIRL, running across the track to my team’s huddle. And despite being tall, I was scrawny in the way most 9th grade girls are, and we had to borrow my shoulder pads from the local poundball team. (Small clavicles, remember.) It was one of those moments where the entire stadium is quiet, sure that I was dead. When Laquan (my amazing holder, side note, he transferred and his replacement deserves the following message: fuck you Madison Townley–you and I both know exactly what you did) came up to offer me a hand and check on me, already waving the coaches over, ASSUMING I was hurt, he was rather surprised to find me laughing hysterically and basically being like “what the fuck guys, do you think I’ve never been tackled before”. It’s almost like these men forgot I grew up with an older brother. Or riding horses. Or doing gymnastics. I’m USED to eating complete shit and taking it like a mother fucking champ.

Two games later, I kicked the 27-yard game winning field goal against an otherwise-undefeated magnet school that could essentially recruit its football team, who later went on to win States our senior years. Which, if you grew up in a small town, you know basically certifies your celebrity status amongst the good ole hometown boys. 

In track earlier that winter, I made it to the top of SMAC as a freshman in every distance event. My coach believed it was our duty to help out our team as much as possible, so, knowing I would kill myself to score as much as I could, he put me in the 4x800m, the 1600m, the 3200m, and the 800m. I ran 4 miles of racing 1-2 times a week for 3 months and just kept moving up in the rankings. At nights, there were futsal practices and weekends were balanced with a series of co-ed games. I “had” the time, so why not? 

Spring track was just like the winter, and despite being “coached” by other high school athletes (which is, honestly, the most inappropriate thing for any kind of distance running), I was still performing at generally unprecedented levels for a freshman. The signs were all there for me to just keep staying right on track. (Pun intended). The clavicle break happened just after my spring season ended, in the midst of travel soccer, so my summer was spent recovering and I only really missed a season of travel soccer.

Plus, a broken bone, by highschool, was standard procedure. I had already broken 3 bones in my foot on two separate occasions. (The person responsible for one of those actually had a terrible bout with cancer and ultimately passed a few years back, so I look on the memory more fondly now.) I inherited my father’s clumsiness, so I’d broken multiple toes separate from those foot fractures. Seriously…one time I broke my toe climbing out of giving my dog a bath in the tub. It got caught in my towel and twisted. I’m an accident waiting to happen. For the most part, though, gymnastics had taught me how to beat the shit out of my body, but safely. I’ll never forget seeing what others must’ve all the times I skirted injuries prior, than when I watched my best friend Anna sprinting after a guy in our dorm, only to slowly lean forward drunkenly and seamlessly move into a diving forward roll. She continued her drunken sprint otherwise undisturbed and without missing a beat. My own father has broken all of his fingers several times, his nose roughly ten times, and a plethora of other fractures all over his body, and my mother grew up on the very Appaloosa horse farm that I was now growing up on, and you see a LOT of gruesome injuries on farms. Injuries like this were simply a part of life and part of loving the sport so much. My lack of nerve endings and ability to tolerate pain in a variety of abnormal ways is probably part of what contributes to my love of all sexual exploration now, too, interestingly enough. But I digress…

By the time I finished high school, I lettered in 14 different varsity sports. Mind you, we only had 3 seasons. In track alone, I was moved from distance (my 4×800, 800m, 1600m, 3200m quadruple each meet, into a mixture of hurdles, steeplechase, 4x200m, 4x400m, and even high jump, adapting and excelling universally. Collecting trophies became an expectation and they no longer held significant meaning. I knew I had earned them because the work was tangibly there in documented physical performance, sweat, and muscle fatigue. I had moved into the ODP-trajectory of soccer, acquired my C-1 certification in pony club, competed in equestrian nationals. I had placed 14th individually at cross country states, the 4th hardest high school cross country course in the nation, on 1 week of practices after my soccer season was out, I had All-County, All-Conference Honors, the Wendy’s High School Heisman State and National Finalist, accolade after accolade. And at the time, I’m sure I enjoyed sports for the recognition. Winning each race or game or match was this necessity to somehow justify the hours of work had paid off. I was occasionally in the paper for things like when I stopped to help my fellow SMAC competitor mid-race of that same State championship cross country race, but the idea of “sportsmanship” felt weird, because I still made sure I didn’t fucking let her beat me when she regained her composure on the course.

In college, my freshman year was the first time I didn’t feel a need to compete. Yet, after finally loosening up my reservations and drinking alcohol for the first time in my life, I determined that partying was fun (still love it, find me at E11even in Miami instead of a frat party, though), but I craved the structure of routine and performance that sports had always given me. My goals in life did not revolve around grinding up on our 7’ tall NBA-bound basketball athletes under the neon fixture intricately balanced above a questionably constructed frat-house-basement stage, much as those men may have wanted them to (Seriously, PJ Hairston, stop sliding in my DMs asking me to suck your dick every time I post a throw back from Dance Marathon). The amount of now-famous dicks I could’ve sucked if I didn’t have a solid amount of self-respect. (But also, no slut shaming here, I was just mentally recovering from a very abusive relationship and gobbling an endless array of dicks Nathan’s hot-dog-contest style just wouldn’t fulfill me.) Although, it’s a lot less cool to tell people that Tre Boston, a safety for the Carolina Panthers, tries to ass-fuck women on the dance floor of La Rez and literally just shoved me over and pounded up against me, as if he was actually fucking me. I’m not sure who taught you to dance, buddy, but in the DMV we get a lot more sensual than that. It’s more “Cassie’s “Me + U”” theme than whatever Metallica-level of hatred you had for crushing your dick against my backside in the ten seconds before I pulled the plug, completely disturned. I will say, the guy was one of my African studies partners (Honestly, an incredible class. Shout out to Pierce Freelon.) SURPRISINGLY I KNOW FOR UNC AND NCAA ATHLETES, ESPECIALLY THE FOOTBALL TEAM  *shocked pikachu gif* and to this day, I’m genuinely curious as to what about me seemed like that was appropriate? Or what about being the ONLY person in La Rez dancing made that seem like it was appropriate? Let’s use some context clues next time before I have to lower your audacity like a character control on Madden. 

Anywho, I enjoyed my LFIT class because it was group PE, and I normally had to work out alone. I did club gymnastics, too, though without a proper coach, I couldn’t trust my shoulder enough to throw or try what I used to so freely. Liability wise, public universities should probably at least make sure there are credentialed coaches/mentors overseeing their collegiate activities for students. One more way to create fun jobs that don’t make people hate their lives! Still, I missed competition that I could take seriously. I missed being a part of that togetherness, the environment of a team. The Club track team was a possibility, but I had never really “meshed” with just girls, as I come off naturally very dominant, try as I might not, and my first practice (I hadn’t run that summer, remember, I didn’t have to in high school sports) I got dropped on a trail 3 miles off the school’s property and had no knowledge of the town itself yet, so no way to know where I was, what direction to head, or even who the girls were I’d been with. I didn’t blame them, though, I was holding them back. It just didn’t make me want to return. 

That said, the summer leading up to my sophomore year, I contacted the track coach from the magnet school in my county (the ones who misuse their vocational school programs to recruit for their athletic programs) and was set onto what would then build into a 2-year training program, at its peak of 85 miles-per-week and running a 68 minute 10-mile race on a difficult course. I had finally found a group of equally nerdy, balanced introverted/extroverted kids who needed to channel their energy into something productively. Even amongst the D1 circuit, it was with these oddballs now dispersed all over the globe that I finally found a positive sporting community. 

And distance running, unlike other sports, gives you time to think. Distance runners tend to be the nerdier groups, the scientists, the introverts, because you can be completely unathletic and still be great at it. Seriously. Picture your cross country runners from high school. Those nerdy, lanky kids just turn into nerdy, lanky adults. I say that fondly, as a fellow geek. I’m just “cool-passing” because I’m physically attractive to most males under the white, blonde, American Barbie model. You also self-reflect during all of those miles–at some point having to confront your thoughts because it’s just you and the dirt trail winding through the woods in front of you. We spend the most time in the natural world, so it makes sense that we often become the biologists, the conservationists, the environmentalists who eventually transition into doing triathlons, ultramarathons, or hiking the US National Parks in our later years. 

My parents were amongst many of those who believed that sports were my ticket to pay for college. They had tried to save money, but even they couldn’t have anticipated how expensive colleges got. Or how I would be recruited for both academics and athletics NATIONALLY, yet then they would have the audacity to limit me to an in-state or more affordable option, after my years of work and performance. Even when soccer recruiting fell through, because they couldn’t afford to pay for all of my travel teams AND send me to camps over the summer, my mom was convinced that my switch into track would get me to the Olympics. (Even this summer, she literally said the words “there’s always cross country skiing”. Mother, there is also coronavirus.) 

But unlike probably a lot of other athletes, I didn’t ever give a fuck about the Olympics, I just enjoyed being athletic. I like the way it makes my body feel, the strength it gives me. I never thought about it past the practice at hand, the game coming up, when the season was progressing. Being an athlete was such a necessary part of who I was, and am, as a person, that no lack of title or performance achievement takes that away. After all of my accolades, the titles became meaningless after a while. Much like the current holder of the “presidency”, supposedly the most coveted position in the world, they lose their worth when they fail to recognize or be filled with actual value. Some of the best athletes I’ve ever met fall unnoticed, through the cracks of exhaustion. It wasn’t lack of talent, either, it was the inability to avoid other responsibilities in their daily lives. Needing to commit to work to provide for their families, and not even their own children, but their parent’s children or sibling’s babies, or being unable to risk the potential health scare and not currently being insured, the looming threat of your already meager savings, despite working multiple jobs and well over the 40 hour work week, being decimated by the cost of healthcare too great a reality. How many people did I swipe through on Bumble who were into their 30’s yet still claimed “washed up athlete” in their bio? 

But, my brother had walked on to his NCAA D1 collegiate baseball team after choosing a school for mechanical engineering, somehow getting paid for his contribution while also playing 91 games a season and having to stay in Columbia over the summer until eventually going to Omaha, Nebraska, for back-to-back-to-back College World Series Championship games (2 of which were victorious). Obviously, I needed to follow in his footsteps, as that was expected. Everything he had done in life, I had also done, or exceeded, in some way. The spotlight must be mine. Nevermind that I was already studying biochemistry at a top 5 public university, which would win the Nobel Prize (Did I spell that right, Mr. Trump?) during my time there, I also needed to do more. He got to take batting practice with Bryce Harper, Jackie Bradley Junior, Grayson Greiner, and Christian Walker, all of whom are now living out his dreams of playing in the MLB while he hates his mechanical engineering position. 

So where do we draw the lines of “success”? At what point can I stop competing with my siblings in the eyes of my parents? And society? Why is everyone always so obsessed with the stats of the players instead of who they are outside of that few hours of media devotion? 

Sports in the USA

Now, when I look back on that time, and all of my achievements in sports, in today’s day and age, I have to stop and think about what it really means for me to “be an athlete”. 

This topic has come up a lot recently, particularly with the media and Colin Kaepernick’s Black Lives Matter protests. A popular sentiment is the idea that an athlete such as Kaepernick should “stay in their lane”. Your job is to play the game. We, as the consumers, are here to judge you. You’re a vessel for being bet on.

That sentiment is rooted in the necessity of US culture to route you into one career at age 18 for the rest of your life. Like Eminem says, “you only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow”. Gotta love that good ole influence of a patriarchal society built around militaristic values. That government propaganda to encourage “Patriotism” under duress of war, entrapping you in a career of military life because you no longer fit in with the normal population and they make no efforts to rehabilitate you (unless moving out West counts) and foundations of individual priorities, for a NATION of 3 billion people (ya, sounds VERY sustainable, you dumb twats) seeps into the economy by normalizing thousands of dollars of debt, remaining in a job EVEN IF YOU HATE IT, as long as it pays “decently” because you should be “LUCKY”, to even have one. Or how we should be lucky with our ability to speak out in favor of different conditions portrayed as “radical” social movements instead of “progress”, because the alternative is what, a communist regime? 

So as an athlete, you’re gifted with the ability to use your presence, but not necessarily your voice. It’s a bit of a “the consumer is always right” mentality that gluttonizes our Super-Size-Me brethren of West Virginia gremlins (there is a lot of good about hicks, for the record) instills this false narcissism that they should also dictate programming. And who can argue with that logic, when the end goal is ratings and viewership? The phrase #MoreThanAnAthlete becomes a social media movement, because it’s necessary. The very idea that an athlete, or any public figure, for that matter, is an actual human being and not a corporate-controlled lizard-person is blasphemous to the people who actually need to be reminded. 

But this has been a COMMON THEME throughout sports history! How has our education failed us such that people can so easily forget the incredibly vast history of utilizing sports to make a political stance throughout history? Why was THIS news? How is it that we thought it was controversial that a BLACK MAN wanted to protest statistically proven police brutality against BLACK INDIVIDUALS? WHY WAS THAT FRAMED AS AN UPROAR? Why did we even have to justify whether an athlete should have their own voice and still be supported, particularly when it highlighted a national issue with decades of indisputable statistical evidence? Why was America’s response outrage? 

The History of the NFL:

The reality of the backlash to Kaepernick’s protest being in the NFL is that organizations like the NFL, or American football, and even the MLB, (the “World” Series is literally just the United States, let’s retitle that, okay? How about we start youth programs in other countries? Provide them with baseballs, bats, and explain the rules?) is that both organizations are USA-centered. They aren’t played in the Olympics because they’re not Olympic sports. They’re the foundation of “the USA is best” because the USA is the only one doing it. And in a nation with such strong foundations of cultural racism, such as a league where 70% of the players are colored, yet only 2 of the teams have colored ownership, it’s a parallel of slavery. 

In the NFL, 22 of the teams have been owned by the same family for the past 20 years. Even in 2018, only 2 of the 32 teams were owned by people of color. Which means as a football player, you’ve literally signed a contract exchanging your physicality for a sum. It’s a rather large sum, but still. Since the average player retires by the age of 26, that means you need to figure out a way to physically push your body to unsustainable levels for the “glory” of performing in stadiums of sweaty, greasy, overweight middle aged men who lost sight of their dicks years ago. But hey! Those men have money. And if you’re getting paid for it, I guess you shouldn’t consider it “slavery”…even though the principles you stand for as a person have effectively been brutally criticized by the media and reduced to nonimportance just because your ring of white owners frowned at it. 

I’m from a sports family too, so I’ll admit, when he first started kneeling for the National Anthem, in my mind I sat there and went “hmm, well let’s see. In 2012 he replaced Alex Smith as the 49er’s quarterback out of opportunity (Smith had a concussion), leading them to a superbowl appearance–their first since 1994. In 2013 he had a decent season, but then the years that followed had him in/out of the starting position. By 2016, he was yesterday’s news, a decent quarterback, but the NFL is full of those. This MUST be a publicity stunt just to make it hard to cut him.” 

Even if that were true, though, what is the harm in what he did? 

Why would it bother me that a mixed black child who was adopted by a white family, went on to excel in academics and multiple sports until he landed at the University of Nevada, Reno on a full scholarship wanted to talk about race? Children (and adults) who are adopted, first of all, already have a series of psychological considerations to their upbringings that would inevitably cause some confusion or cognitive dissonance, even with access to all of the “best” therapists and early interventionists. Children (and adults) who are anything other than white also face a HUGE array of subtle reminders of just where in society other people think they “rightfully belong” at every step in their life. I got bullied as a child and even though I KNEW it was rooted in jealousy, it still hurt. Could you imagine people doing that at every stage of your life and never growing out of it no matter how “successful” you get? 

As a woman in STEM, I’m now well aware of the discomforts of trying to forge your way into rooms that were gated to keep you out. Of the pressure to be something because anything else is a “waste”. Of wanting to have your voice be acknowledged and respected without feeling the need to validate yourself with an endless supply of evidence, scientific theory, and quantitative data. Your male colleagues can just give the answer and know it won’t be questioned. You have to have 2-3 different bullet points to support.

My first conscious experience of this was really in college (only because I was blind to what the criticism towards me as a person was rooted in years prior). Prior to college, I didn’t really have black men in my classes. Bhaskar, my Indian gamer friend, who was great with computers in high school–which, to the extent of my knowledge meant he could install Snake on my TI-83 graphing calculator, was the only real minority. My football teammates were black, though, they just weren’t in the “advanced” classes. Maybe 1-2 black kids played soccer. I also dated a Hispanic-appearing boy from the neighboring high school, and my mom taught at all of the lower-income area schools in the county for most of my adolescence. 

I thought that, because I also had a difficult home life, in a low-income area, and we went to the same schools, that they had the same opportunities that I had–especially since I was friends with so many different people. In reality, every opportunity I had was the initiative of my parent’s necessity for some standard of “greatness”. Those kids might have ONLY been able to do that one thing that I just happened to do with them. My parent’s home, and all of our space for my creativity, was funded by my Grandfather’s distinguished military career. Sure, I put in the work behind the scenes, but the opportunities were dropped in my lap and all I had to do was show up. Nobody looked at me and doubted me once I got going. I had to keep my peppy mouth shut, but only until after I proved my worth on the field. And because I was so multifaceted, instead of being silenced, my voice was encouraged. My junior high school year, I wrote for my tri-county newspaper’s “Athlete’s Diary”, a weekly column that I could tailor to my own interests. I was ENCOURAGED to use my voice as an athlete, and because of my physical ability, it was respected on and off the field by those who were aware. 

How would it ever be “normalized” to think otherwise? 

It’s Not Just an “NFL” Problem:

As a child, I viewed sports with the “Field of Dreams”, “Angels in the Outfield”, and “Little Giants” mentality. The American dream of underdog’s prevailing is universally appreciated, a real fan favorite. How is it, then, that we meet it with such disdain when its presented to us in the form of racial inequality? How can the same percentage of people who cling to those replays for nostalgic comfort be so blind as to condemn it when it doesn’t even interfere with the timing of the game? 

And at what point in the USA did we become so enthralled with sports, our consumerism culture, and our own egos as a nation that we neglected to realize sports are pastimes, a luxury, the result of having the time to focus on such things because the rest of our lives are going well enough that we can devote the time to games? At least within our country.

Was it always like this? 

The very idea that we have so much time on our hands that we can have professional athletes, let alone intellectual professional athletes from all corners of our land coming together to run, skip, hop, jump, shoot, spin, whatever, for “glory”, all because they’ve been privileged enough to have the time to devote to something like running, or swimming cannot exist without the rest of the community functioning within the realms of proper “civilization”. As someone with multiple higher education degrees, I understand that I only get to study epidemiology and biochemistry BECAUSE there are people who provide my food, make my clothes, take care of our national security, pick up the trash, sow the grain that I feed my horses, make the communities that I travel between so safe. 

Yet, somehow in the event of a global pandemic, the chronic health effects of which we are sure to uncover, in horror, for YEARS (which Joe Rogan did a SIGNIFICANT amount of discounting, for the record), our athletes emerged as on the table of “essential” workers. When our nation should have been “putting the team on our back”, literally by doing what our fat fucking American selves have prepared our ENTIRE lives for, which is, to stay at fucking home and drink, watch movies, play video games, and fuck and/or masturbate for 2-3 weeks, instead we demanded sports teams to travel across the country, downplaying the risk to not just the players but the hotel staff, the bartenders, even the coaches, whose very designation as “needing” to go back to work (for the money) meant they definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford their healthcare bills should they GET coronavirus. Not to mention you’re also endangering the lives of their families, those they interact with in public (purposefully or by chance), and contact tracing is a butterfly effect twistering out of control. Plus, in Florida, where the NBA opted to move the bubble to Disney for, they tied the relief funding to a business’s ability to return back to work at X capacity, effectively removing any “freedom of choice” from whether they TRULY felt it was “safe” or not. Or how we just created an entire generation of people that may doubt science should a biological warfare attack, the newest, growing range of warfare for the last few decades, occur and necessitate our use of masks to prevent a plague. The point is, nothing about that situation was handled with any level of sanity or logic, and as a nation, we should’ve used the time to highlight WHY we still prioritize athletics. How to be active within the confines of your quarantine. Notable movements spawned by athletes throughout our history.

Athletics were our distractions, our GAMES, a luxury. Not essential. 

Becoming a professional athlete in the United States is just another competition that removes the purpose behind athletics if you don’t get to use it for anything meaningful, like a voice. And removing the purpose behind athletics just makes it like anything else–any old job. But ambivalence doesn’t sell out stadiums. Fans don’t cry because they’re neutral about a rivalry. So, like almost every facet of our culture, the USA has warped our view of sports to be a capitalist-driven market place such that our professional networks are effectively modern-day slavery, particularly women’s sports, that ONLY exist for the American consumer because it is tied to your paycheck, healthcare, housing, and dependent on your marketability. Endorsements by major brands are now necessary for athletic advantage and generally a collegiate education is the way to get there. Unless your sport peaks at particularly strange times–gymnastics being less than 18 for global representation and triathletes commonly beginning their athletic journeys much later than most, by your early 20’s, you’re tapped out of potential. Which means that, from a very early age, you’re subject to representing a variety of brands on a state, national, or potentially global scale. 

But how do you sift through that to determine what YOU stand for? 

& When would you have the time? 

Sponsorships by something like food companies that allow you to eat better quality, healthier meals for free (or reduced) prices are a huge advantage, particularly since the American education system teaches so little about proper nutrition and our government subsidizes areas of the food industry that are less healthy for the American consumer. So, you’ll likely jump at the first contract you get, especially if you barely make over the poverty level of financial income from the season, even if the company is unethical, or doesn’t support your values, all because the promise of being the 1% of people that can get that money gives you hope that you can not hate your life so much, and thank you to Arianna for finally putting it out there that “whoever said money can’t solve your problems must not have had enough money to solve ‘em.” One brand builds into multiple sponsorships and hopefully these corporate brands don’t drop you when you speak out in favor of your own safety, health, or experience–even when it’s the morally and ethically “right” thing to do.

But this is America, the same country that allowed Hobby Lobby’s CEO, a religious conservative, to deny healthcare coverage on the basis of sex and his own personal religious beliefs to all of his female employees, despite Hobby Lobby being a national corporation that largely serves a customer base of females. Who am I to determine what constitutes ethics? Or where to draw the line? “Only God can judge you”, but “God” isn’t the only one who has to face the consequences of your actions. Whatever helps you sleep at night. 

And particularly right now, America is claiming outrage over our “pedophilia” problem as if this is new? Or that Trump is somehow exempt from these corrupt circles of millionaires and generational wealth despite being from them himself? Or that our pageantry circuits, cheerleading, gymnastics fixation wasn’t somehow capable of being massively exploited? Is it even capable to reduce exploitation in a world enshrouded in greed? We have Larry Nassar sexually assaulting HUNDREDS of young girls, for YEARS, often WITH THEIR PARENTS IN THE SAME ROOM. It’s shuddering to think that could’ve very easily have been one of those girls had I taken just one different step in life. 

If college is your route, to get recruited you likely needed to be able to afford their costly summer camps, and have transportation to/from on top of the expensive costs of your travel select team, your own vehicle and gas, because your parents just couldn’t justify driving 1.5 hours in rush hour traffic after your high school practice to get to travel ball. They had 2 other children to think about (and pay for). Rarely do you hear the true underdog story any longer. You grew up on “Backyard Baseball” thinking you were going to be Pablo Sanchez and instead you realized you were in “Dodgeball” facing the Purple Cobras, only you didn’t catch that rubber ball flying at you, you watched it zoom at your face with your hands tied behind your back and no way to defend yourself. So when the kind stranger that is Jerry Sandusky desecrates your innocence in a Penn State locker room, only to be hidden for years because it was easier to pay off people and “hope for the best” than to actually do the right fucking thing, you stay quiet and thank yourself for him even noticing you. It must make you special. 

Stockholm Syndrome is a fucking bitch. Only it’s not just innocent children being abused for years unable to break free from the memories. It’s the entirety of the American people doing the work and labor to be enjoyed at the whims of others who put in no actual work of their own, yet somehow magically control what happens to the numbers in your bank account. 

Let’s take Lebron as an example. Ringleader of the NBA, gets his dick sucked by ESPN every day of the week even when he’s out of season, well-respected and particularly revered in the tragic light of Kobe Bryant’s death, should’ve never agreed to start the stupid basketball games back up. You can’t tell me the same younger players who were snapchatting from the bubble the shitty cafeteria-style food they had, captioned with “you know Lebron ain’t eating this”, would’ve agreed to play if you had gone on tv and spoke out about sports needing to take a backseat as an example for the health of our nation. He, and every other member of the NBA, should’ve joined in protests, leading teams to peaceful sit-ins to demonstrate the necessity to address the causes when coronavirus and the BLM movements first started. Thinking the solution was to dribble a basketball and shoot it at a plexiglass board is completely forgetting the purpose of sports. 

Bottom line: We need to recenter our priorities as humans.

Think Bigger: The Olympics

The ancient Olympic Games were “a religious festival to honor Zeus, father of all other Greek gods and goddesses”. The athletes were all men and beginning 776 BC, they raced (yay for track! The most underappreciated sport.) The Olympics literally started off as a single race, followed by DAYS of partying. Modern day fraternity tailgates are the closest thing we have to this. 

Then, from 393 AD until 1896, they had rescinded into the shadows, an all-forgotten event, until Athens, Greece once again initiated hosting. 

Since 1896, the Olympics have only been cancelled due to world wars: 1916, 1940, 1944. 

The Olympic Oath, taken by officiants, athletes, and coaches alike, address doing it for the “glory of sport, for the honour of our teams, and in respect for the Fundamental Principles of Olympism.” The values of which are excellence, friendship, and respect with the goal of “building a better world”. With some clever deductive reasoning, the purpose of the Olympics, the foundation of which performative sport in the USA is largely built on, is thus to facilitate comradery in the form of sport. I have a hard time believing the first Olympics, with just a single track race as the competition, would have a several-day-long festival that was an insurmountable dick-measuring contest by the winner who then asserted their physical dominance into every country “just because they can” in some jestering tones for several days. Nobody likes that dude at fraternity parties in modern day, and nobody would’ve liked him then, though Joe Rogan is the type of guy who often gives that guy a spotlight. (I also only say that with the tone of surprise because the USA wasn’t founded in 776 BC, so we weren’t around to take something as cool as the Olympics and Jersey Shore it into that.)

In many countries, sports may be the only way to garner international attention and hopefully, leverage eventual refugee or immigrant status. Every year, the African athletes talk about things like bringing internet to their remote villages, or digging a well for clean drinking water. Distance runners talk about running without shoes and as an epidemiologist, I sit there and picture the videos of guinea worm and other parasitic diseases native to their land their bare feet doesn’t protect them from…but they don’t have access or the money to spend on luxuries like shoes, so there’s no other way. 

Meanwhile, the USA collects our 46 gold medals in Rio and accepts our global title as the “freest country in the world, best in the land, paradise, yadda yadda” all while subjecting an athlete on our own soil, the “land of the free”, playing a sport ONLY played within the United States, to public condemnation, despite the fact that the NFL has an audience of 16.67 million fans per year IN PERSON and then an additional 16 million network viewers EVERY SINGLE GAME for the message, on BEING MORE TOLERABLE OF 13% OF OUR NATIONAL POPULATION, A POPULATION WHICH ONLY EXISTS BECAUSE WE STOLE THEM FROM THEIR OWN CONTINENTS, SHOVED THEM ON WOODEN SHIPS FOR MONTHS, AND THEN WHIPPED THEM INTO SUBMISSION TO DO THINGS LIKE PICKING FUCKING COTTON IN THE SAME LAND YOU NOW PLAY FOOTBALL ON, to potentially reach and resonate with. Somehow, though, the idea that we win more gold medals in a sporting competition is attributable to global success. It preserves the idea that democracy is the best thing in the world. But who are we trying to prove that to–other countries? Or ourselves? 

The same people who howled in delight at Tom Brady and Gronk playing footsie in a kiddie pool, really highlighting their retirement to Florida with their season-starting loss devalued cultural awareness and COULD because as a nation, we set forth this forward public image of how that kind of behavior being socially acceptable and have lost sight of what kind of example we are setting forward for the world. And how do we condemn our international rivals like Russia or China for genocide when our own government is guilty of the same thing? And if we know that countries like Russia are doping and going to continue finding ways to cheat, why are we still trying to race alongside them in these desperate Olympic bids of superiority? That very mentality is what ended in Chernobyl. So why would we ever focus so largely on whether one of their athletes can jump half an inch further than one of ours and why should we set a global precedent that we permit that kind of behavior? Or encourage it? At what point do we as a nation step back and analyze our sports culture and say “this is not the example we want to set for the youth of America or the rest of the world”.

We have IOC rules in place where you could only represent your Country’s Team’s sponsoring brand–even if the brands that sponsor you every other moment leading up to you qualifying for that Olympic team are ethically-sourced, sustainable, local, and way more in need of the exposure than Nike. And the athletes, the source of the exposure for it all, didn’t have a say. Nevermind the greater discussion of what the Olympics represents– friendship, respect, a better world. Channeling global energy into sport, which, again, is supposed to be FOR FUN. Before platforms like instagram, snapchat, only fans, whatever your vice is, the only method for exposure was being photographed and seen. So why have we as a nation, the proponents of a “free world”, consistently silenced that in this modern age of technology and the ability to share your voice? Isn’t that the point of democracy? To share opinion? But who structures where “moderation” lies? Is it the voice of someone who created his image around a sport glorifying gore, encouraging violence and bloodshed for the sake of entertainment? Joe Rogan epitomizes that mentality. He’s been a contributing part of it. 

MMA Is Problematic

As such a ferociously talented athlete across so many different sports, I like to think my opinion that wrestling is far and away the most difficult sport–on par with only gymnastics, for women, holds a bit of weight. I certainly won’t get any refuting from wrestlers. (Although women also wrestle too now, which is pretty freaking cool, and men do gymnastics.) Still, wrestling is one of the oldest forms of combat, existing across the globe regardless of geographical boundary or cultural values, and can even trace its Olympic reign to the ancient Romans and its actual origins being present even in cave drawings. (Anyone else get a sad twinge at the reminder of Jon Snow showing Daenerys proof of the white walkers in Season 7-8 of Game of Thrones, there?) Despite loving to touch on my themes of hating the patriarchy and toxic masculinity, there’s something undeniably MASCULINE about having the physical strength and mental wit to submit your opponent. I should know, because I spent 8 years on-and-off getting physically submitted (oh, so fucking willingly) by the man who very well may be my Achille’s Heel at some point. 

Wrestling is undeniably commanding respect. It has honor.

Mixed Martial Arts, on the other hand, in capitalist America, is anything but. Most of my friends, also in their mid-to-late 20’s, who listen to Joe Rogan, listen as a result of his involvement with Dana White and the UFC. And don’t get me wrong, I think martial arts are cool. I love the intensity with which they are studied, the necessity of mental focus. I hope my next venture in life includes some grappling training, should I find an outlet I actually feel comfortable trying that in. I watched my dad and brother freak out over the Rocky movies as a kid. I just couldn’t really grasp why anyone would opt to get the physical shit beat out of them or why it was glorified. Men are truly interesting creatures.

Now, I’ll give it to you. Is humanity predisposed to be drawn to gore? Is it even possible to thwart human nature into being “good” in any sense? Shouldn’t it be better that we fulfill that need to create havoc, chaos, or war and channel it into sport? 

Hear me out: our goal should be peace. Any sport that requires a level of gore to that extreme is no longer a sport. There is a reason it is called “Cage fighting” and you are no better than those poor dogs the world has seemingly forgotten Michael Vick abused, all because he was decent with a football. The only reason “we” value the level of bloodshed and dehumanization of that as a culture is because we still cling to our patriarchal values blindly. We shouldn’t encourage it…for both medical reasons and psychological. 

Patriarchy in the United States

Because of the American Revolution (1775-1783) and our social distancing from the Kingdom of Great Britain, Americans like to assume the world began in 1776 and anything over a ~100-year-timeline seems out-of-touch, unthinkable, and surely not still happening in the world. Definitely not worth mentioning in the news and any suggestion that we approach things rationally and with logic is met with some bitter disdain from an only-slightly-more-privileged class that would still benefit from all of it. This centric-thought process is a similar fallacy to the first “scientists” (people in modern day who liked to sit around, maybe smoke some weed, and ponder life’s mysteries, not unlike Joe Rogan) who proposed the earth was the center of the universe, or how white Americans can’t seem to grasp that just because they don’t witness something happening personally, doesn’t mean it’s not a completely valid concept. I saw a meme that said something along the lines of “I don’t understand Korean but I still know it’s a legitimate fucking language” and it really resonated. 

To some of you, it may be surprising to hear that I fully 1111111110% support our US military. As much as I disdain the patriarchal cycle of sexism, I appreciate the security of a strong military. I’m not an idiot, I know what horrors of the world are out there. I grew up on army bases, my neighbors were secret service, I had helicopters landing in my apple orchard like it was normal. Sleeping on the floor of the pentagon was a fun “treat”. Despite my daddy issues and still living under the reign of heteronormalcy, I embrace our military whole-heartedly. It keeps us secure, but just as often as we have used it for the “common good” of our civilians, we must also acknowledge the obvious flaws in its historic abuse of human rights. Vietnam was a disaster because our development of Agent Orange skirted the Geneva Convention Guidelines by the premise of being a “defoliant” instead of a “corrosive biochemical warfare”. My grandfather was living proof of that, existing with blood clots on his lungs from inhalation of the noxious fumes. But then the Gulf War happened and the military was in the good graces of the American people once more. Look, I get it. If we don’t fight wars on other people’s lands, then we’re going to have to fight them on our own. 

But MY point is our military has an equally treacherous history of getting involved SOLELY for personal gain, which we will now be answering for DECADES to come because of the generational trauma we’ve instilled upon regions and just “hope” they somehow magically grow up to not hate us over. Sounds like my biological father’s logic to parenting. In the age of technology, this is just not sustainable. We need to acknowledge the results of our actions and cultural values. Prior to the dissemination of information, the military didn’t have to answer for it as much. Which, seems logical, particularly when travel was far less frequent, we didn’t even know if the Earth was round (some of us still don’t, Kyrie Irving. How’s that Duke education working out for ya. #GDTBATH). We can’t just exhaust our own resources at whim and leave ourselves vulnerable, right? So, our military became focused on controlling the narrative. Our media became dramatic, sensationalized fiction, and our presidency has since become reality television instead of actual reality. 

However, our military culture, despite being responsible for the technological boom that it is today via the commissioning of Licklider to develop the internet, thrived off of misinformation and distraction of human attention. Which it did well before technology, as well. In WWII, we had Japanese internment camps, yet slapped an apology on it on the basis of “war hysteria”, $43,000 in today’s money (maybe enough for a down payment on a house?) and tried to move about our days. We’ve long disguised questionable immigration policy as “protecting American workers”, even though we branded our nation under the “Field of Dreams” mentality, yet after building it, now suddenly DON’T want others to come? Not to mention the fact that we had the audacity to “grant” Native Americans citizenship in 1924 as if it was some victory, or as if they weren’t here long before the rest of us were, even though they couldn’t even vote in several states until 1968. Imagine constantly being relocated at the whim of some random person in fancy pilgrim clothes like Cam Newton in his COVID-NFL debut that  was inevitably painful, tragic, and awful, yet somehow THEY were the savages? Fuck this, Pocahontas was absolutely right. We should have a new generation of horror films focusing on the survival or death stories of some of these grievous racial injustice moments throughout US history from the perspective of the hunted. They might exist already. I’m too much of a weenie to watch horror movies alone and I’ve lived alone for ~4 years now, so it’s very possible I’m just out of touch. 

With technology being so closely intertwined with military advancement, suspicious cultural changes have become harder and harder to spin in a positive light. 

World War II had reassured everyone we disagreed with white supremacy, and publicly fought against Nazi values, yet Nazi’s flocked to Charlottesville, Virginia and were welcomed at our current president’s campaigns for re-election. With the 1936 Olympics and Jesse Owens’, the black US track phenomenon, gold medals symbolized that the world disagreed with eugenics. We PUBLICLY disagreed with dehumanizing others from a global perspective, but kept our barriers in place within the bounds of our national lives. 

In between periods of war, Americans were just content enough for the stability, the peace, the consistency, that they didn’t have the energy to question why they kept having it disrupted. The early 1950’s was Korea. The mid-1950’s until the mid-1970’s was marked by Vietnam. Then, the nuclear threat, the Space race, and physics became plastered across newspapers, broadcast even on the novel television! The Soviet Union, the remnants of which are still some of our most flaunted Olympic competitors, were clearly established as a threat to our national security. Total domination over them in whatever ways we could would secure our position within the world. 

The entertainment industry continued to develop, and the 1975 predecessor of UFC emerged with the Rocky film starring Sylvester Stallone as the “All American” symbol of blood, sweat, and tears born in Philadelphia, land of the Liberty bell, in July of 1945. For those who don’t know, Rocky embodied the US resilience of never giving up, overcoming obstacle after obstacle. Over the course of five movies, eventually it was acknowledged that the glorified boxing career and misplaced value on blood, sweat, and tears over physical health, because the reality of what it means to live in a “developed” world means that it should, realistically, NEVER come to resorting to that, resulted in brain damage–the kind “that was normal for boxers”. 

I’m sorry. But What? 

With CTE and criminology discussions involving repeat abusers’ brain development, especially the KNOWN psychological profile that serial killers have often experienced repeat head traumas, why are we encouraging such devastation for the sake of “sport”? I understand needing to be able to defend yourself and training for such adequately– but what are we teaching people if we allow people to be “purchased” for a fight, gambled on, and flaunt that lifestyle as desirable, even when Conor McGregor is in the news for some despicable act. Or when they might literally die on screen, broadcast to millions, including even their children? Don’t even get me started on Jon Jones. The necessity for an easier life and financial security should never be so desirable that you incentivize wanting to inflict brain damage on someone for fun. At least WWE is scripted, fake, and centered around acting. 

But anger is the one emotion that men have universally been allowed to show with a military patriarchal system. 30-40% of police officers were even involved in incidents of domestic violence. My grandfather, a New York City cop, took a strong hand to parenting. My other grandfather, a colonel in the US Army, took an even stronger one. But they had stressors, their jobs were hard, it was always a “mistake” or “justified punishment” and sports let them get out that frustration, that anger, that loss when they had to keep it together every other aspect of the day: set forward that strong example. We just “accept” that men are like that.

So how can we fault them for enjoying endorsing it with addictive behaviors, gambling, fighting, drugs, when there’s nothing wrong with a little indulging from time-to-time? If sports is one of the only major ways the American male has been permitted to show emotion for something without feeling the bounds of public scrutiny for the “vulnerability” of their emotion, how can we condemn the most barbaric, raw, “return to our roots” facade that is the MMA circuits, the NFL, etc when these people are adults willingly entering into these contracts? How many Chris Benoít tragedies is it going to take? How many Aaron Hernandez situations? OJ Simpson? Our love of glorifying the bloodshed that is the UFC, NFL, and professional sports when we reduce it to “just a game” is perpetuated by the leaders of our nations only representing military service values and “don’t ask, don’t tell” style “progressiveness”. God forbid we acknowledge a weakness to the world, even when not doing so actually weakens our citizens.

We need to begin setting a precedent that men do not need to be these macho Arnold Schwarzenegger-style meat heads who insert themselves with relevance into every facet of culture with the misplaced confidence that your opinion must surely be the right one, as white men are prone to do. We need to move away from that method of debate as a nation. We need to remember the collective pause quarantine offered and how, bottom line, promotion of physical and mental health should be a priority. Our sports culture should, logically, serve as a huge database for that. But we are never going to move towards that with a moderator whose cultural fanbase includes a large section of viewers who subscribe to the riches of violence. Of chosen barbary. Nevermind the wives, girlfriends, children, viewers who have to watch your inevitable, and almost assuredly mental spiral and have Stockholm Syndrome into thinking it is “valiant” that the father of their child would put himself in the risk of brain injury for financial luxury. 

But is there even a way to limit violence? How do we know it isn’t inherent to human culture? Even the bible portrays humans as susceptible to sin? 

It isn’t about removing violence altogether. I’m not saying we need to completely disband UFC or stop MMA. 

It’s about removing glorifying bloodshed whenever it isn’t necessary. Of not showcasing that as a possible priority to the American people in a time where unity should be held above all. 

Encouraging violence roots deep with our military pride, though, and existed long before modern gaming systems flooded male feeds. Fun fact: the CIA even delved deep within World of Warcraft at one point. There’s definitely a reason I play Call of Duty, and do everything male-dominated when possible. I learned tactics of how to infiltrate and dismantle from an early age. But gaming systems weren’t making our children more violent. Nor would taking them away solve anything. Our cultural emphasis on military history had already secured that hundreds of years prior and it will continue to exist for generations to come. Yet, we pointed the finger at the technology because holding man accountable is blasphemous. How dare we learn from experience. 

With technology, the dissemination of information, accessibility of global travel, and necessity for action, particularly in light with what we know about global warming, climate change, and environmental values of the importance of conservation, it should be our global priority to promote peace, education, sustainability, and collaboration. We have the accessibility, technology, and education to do it. We need to quit pretending like letting some states live in the modern world and some exist on a Westworld style loop of the nostalgic commodity is permissible. We shouldn’t set a standard of devaluing life at the crossing of our border. We definitely shouldn’t be carrying out forced sterilizations on ICE detainees in the state of Georgia, an act of which is going to be referred to under the context of “genocide” once the inevitable dozens of other whistleblowers step forward into the national spotlight, only to soon dull our senses with overstimulation. That’s the world that making politics a game of chess has become, only highlighted by the proposition of this debate at all. We’ve always fixated the spotlight on the lunacy instead of the bigger picture. 

And the bigger picture is humanity. 

And as humans born within the United States of America, we are thrust into an international political spotlight that was chosen for us due to the nature of our familial history, and just like Kourtney Kardashian, at one point we may have been along for the ride, but we’re now being faced with the necessity of getting the fuck out of the influential mess we’ve created to devote time to what really matters. 

And what really matters is supposed to be love. And empathy. And being able to spend the time not worrying about your physical safety, your mental or physical health, or the thousands of those who you know are going to experience the same level of torment that you’ve experienced. Nobody who has been abused and has actually healed wants someone else to go through what they had to go through. That doesn’t mean forgiveness and complete disregard, either, but it means acceptance.

And as citizens of the USA, we need to start accepting that there are always going to an insurmountable amount of international threats, thanks to DECADES and GENERATIONS of white, conservative colonialism. We legitimately owe it to the world to undeniably encourage peace above all. Which means not acting like the sore fucking loser when our Olympic medal count drops because Lebron and the boys need to stay home and protest in Lafayette Square instead of resuming to their petty games as long as they’re “wearing t-shirts that say the names”. And protests don’t have to be loud. In fact, some of the most prolific moments in history were silent. The Greensboro four were so incredibly effective because they gave absolutely no excuse for their stance to be undermined. 

Do we think we’re going to mend any international relations by condemning all muslims as terrorists? You realize we’ve had about 5 or 6 white domestic terrorist incidences since, including what I would argue is the current state of the presidency because causing now generations of Americans to question science and logic, returning to eugenic-driven values of “Patriotic” education, Uterus collectors in state-sponsored facilities in Georgia pulling women from cages and removing their reproductive rights, is surely going to create a significant amount of broiled hatred within the bounds of our own country. You’d have thought we would’ve learned.

To all of the Christians–Mary and her lil man are knocking at your inn’s doors and you guys are turning her away. She’s gonna have to suffice birthing Jesus in some mangy stable all because you didn’t want to admit we have a “hospitality” problem in this nation structured around our necessity to compete: militarily, economically, athletically, whatever. We have to be the “best”. 

And being good at stuff does breed hatred, so maybe hate for the USA is inevitable. It breeds jealousy, contempt, anger, from those who have less. They don’t see the work that goes in behind the scenes, the practices, the workouts, the sweat, ice baths, lonely cries, wondering if it’s all going to be worth it. But why would we want other countries to suffer in the same way that we did? Why does our corporate strength cry that jobs are being outsourced yet not question why our citizens can’t afford the cost of goods in a way that affords a reasonable living wage for our workers? Why are we accepting that the same sports companies we revere–Nike especially, has exploited fast fashion and sweatshops. Or that Jeff Bezos can exploit the majority of the world and just not give back to it in any proportional rate? It’s 2020. We know that is not acceptable. It’s time to speed it up. 

We’re never going to achieve peace, the ability to rest comfortably for years on end without the looming threat of an ill-conceived draft, if we continue to pretend like the way we’ve treated other nations isn’t criminal. But you don’t get that with a host who paved his way commentating modern day gladiators–the people who have no other focus in life they can possibly see as a more constructive use of their time than wanting to achieve glory just to be a showy celebrity, parading around in their boxers and exposing themselves to unsuspecting women in bars. Or the ones who get pulled over once, twice, THREE TIMES YOU’RE OUT! At the old ball game of the heart of America’s issues, where we tried to pretend like sequestering prostitution and gambling to a cheap, knock-off version of the wonders of the world and selling it as “magical” was going to prevent addictive behaviors from occurring elsewhere in the land. 

The American people aren’t gladiators who chose to step into that ring, getting beaten down into submission, grappled into torment, your stats flashing across the screen, watching compartmentally removed from the violence. 

We need to stop treating their lives like a sport and confront the reality of the world we want to foster. 

Political History within the USA

The Declaration states “All men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”

Our culture of rights was solidified with extending it to white male property owners, from there on out marking a culture bound by valuing everything at property level, disregarding non-tangible, abstract concepts such as sentiment, intellect, and arbitrary worth. At the time, only 6% of the population was able to vote under these requirements. 

Slaves, or virtually the majority, if not all, of black people, became representative of 3/5ths of a person for HOR representation. And despite the Bill of Rights, 130 years of courts subjectively determining a “person” was still only people with property, or white men, showed that mentality was not a thing of the past, even with their supposed “rights”.  

In 1807, women were specifically excluded from voting through an unconstitutional act, yet the sentiment fell on deaf, all-male ears in court. My own grandfather would continue to embrace that judgment to me, well into the 2000’s. 

The American Civil War of 1861-1865 passed, a war within our own borders, amongst our own citizens, amassing bloodshed of nearly ONE MILLION of our OWN citizens. Our industrialization of war also set the stage for military prowess globally in WWI, WWII, and so on. This war alone is arguably the rock skipping across the pond, the stage 1 of the Butterfly effect, the moment the camera pans out and goes “so you’re probably wondering how I got here” like Emperor Kuzco in the Emperor’s New Groove, sad llama form and all. My great-great-grandfather was a POW and Union general in the Civil War, and our family home in Missouri is apparently a historically preserved landmark now for its use as a hospital during the war.

…I’ll admit, I breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t on the “other” side. 

Let’s not forget Susan B. Anthony used this time to once again, point out the hypocrisy of the Equal Protection Clause not being inclusive of women.

1920’s, came and went. White women could vote. Finally! My people!

Susan B. Anthony still could not. 

1964 accompanied the Civil Rights Act, so black people could finally vote without restriction. Do we think people magically changed their opinions, though? No.

2008 marked the first African-American president, and we’ve yet to see a female leader. 

In fact, our closest chance to a female leader, an undeniable symbol of feminism for generations of future women in the United States for hundreds of years to come, was Hilary Clinton. It was a joke. Laughable at best. The Democratic Party threw up their “next in line”, someone they thought would be a symbol of the “puritan work ethic”, and women were met with a symbol of complicitness in an era of #MeToo, where silence is not enough. We were taunted with the choice of a woman who publicly humiliated another young woman on national television who was in a submissive position to HER HUSBAND, the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, to set the example for generations of young women in the USA? You have got to be kidding me. 

Nevermind the fact that she remained married to the man, throughout her campaign on “feminism”, and remains married to this day. (Though I operate under the assumption that she doesn’t want to have to testify or reveal any secrets about their marriage and it’s far too complicated to ever unweave at this point). Also, I’m an open marriage kind of gal, I can even be persuaded to see growth and forgiveness after cheating, (namely because I think people are inherently selfish in this day and age) but a large issue with our culture is our politician’s inability to be more transparent about their ACTUAL perceptions. That political guy in Florida found in the hotel room with that male stripper who OD’ed checked himself into rehab instead of highlighting the Miami LGBTQ community’s struggle with HIV/AIDS and proper use of PrEP, or the commonality of the swinger lifestyle. But no, we had a woman who still publicly stood by her husband after running on a platform ALMOST SOLELY ON IT BEING “TIME” FOR A WOMAN. This is like, how obnoxious it is when every single “girl power” movie has to go out of its way to stress the “girl power” theme. If you have to assert your dominance, you probably don’t have any. You can’t endorse girl power and womanhood but not publicly address the concern over setting an example to young women that staying with a cheater is okay, or that you shouldn’t have further contributed to this woman-hating narrative, fuck the culture. The introductory 3 blog posts that spiral into my Ghislaine Maxwell/Jeffrey Epstein rabbit hole of a childhood should explain exactly why I hate her so much. My logic at the time kept weighing “I can deal with another shitty white male, but I can’t have the first female president be this” with “what could possibly actually happen in just four years”. Even with all of those heavy considerations, I could not have imagined the breakdown of our democracy into our current situation. I thought it was insane that my sociology professor cried and talked about creating a “safe space” in her office for anyone who was uncomfortable. Yet, four years later, I’m still like, “THESE are our choices?! THESE? What the actual fuck.”

And the political history in the United States, that Constitution that people who still support Donald Trump and the GOP love to wave as a “perfect set of guidelines” on the basis of their religious values are completely ignoring the fact that those same political idols of theirs wanted the separation of church and state. Which means not voting on the basis of religion. Yet, our political history is still undeniably warped by white, conservative, Christian values–a fact we can ALL admit just by objectively looking at the legislative development of the United States code of conduct for not being shitty human beings in 2020. 

And that “if you have to TELL someone you’re in power, you probably aren’t”? That’s how I feel about “religion” as a whole. You lost me for good when you were overjoyed by Justin Bieber endorsing a Megachurch pastor wearing $3,000 Yeezy’s in the state of Texas, even though that same church is pro-life, despite science PROVING that pro-life legislation increases the rates of infant and maternal mortality and you also claim to care about saving babies. I’m sorry, but no. The “Republican” political party has become hypocritical at its heart. Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s body isn’t even cold and yet the Grade-A Certified Cunt, and NOT the Wet ass pussy Cardi B/Megan Thee Stallion goddess kind, that is Mitch McConnell wants to vote her successor in despite that same logic being presented to him as why a similar vote was postponed until the 2016 election was complete.

So I struggle, because 65% of our total population is still willing to believe the word of a book because they believe in the spirituality of “goodness” on faith alone, but won’t believe scientific fact on systemic cultural issues rooted in the foundations of our society, so when the opportunity to actually vote for “goodness” and programs that promote a more sustainable earth, a better community, properly coordinated healthcare, is presented to them, they make up some excuse as to why they prefer it to be the “individual’s choice”, even though there’s 200+ years of research as to why that does not work in just our country and THOUSANDS of years of research for why this doesn’t work in civilizations across the globe. The only reason we even have foundations like the EPA is because we had to FORCE chemical industries in Toms River, New Jersey to stop purposefully disposing of hazardous waste improperly, allowing it to seep into the watershed and cause a significantly higher incidence of childhood cancer. But with “small government”, the EPA wouldn’t exist. Do you actually want to save the children? Assuming the world is good is a naive way of thinking that is just harmful to those of us who had to learn that the hard way. The Catholic Church sector of Christianity couldn’t even save their own children. In fact, they were shielding the abusers from punishment because they were worried about the PR on the faith. That’s not appropriate.

Additionally, if you are voting in an election, not even for YOUR OWN RIGHTS, but for your ability to have control over someone ELSE’S rights, you’re no longer voting for “individual” choice, you’re voting for control over someone else, call it what it is. But that’s hard with a religion that stresses the importance of the individual, because it really is true that in an emergency situation, you can only be helpful if you take care of yourself first. (The old “oxygen mask on an airliner” analogy.) Still, we need to recognize the necessity to employ other people with the tools to make decisions over themselves. We can’t leave things like mental and physical healthcare, protection from the law (which, also, is supposed to HELP us, the law is literally supposed to PROTECT citizens… we shouldn’t need protection from it), the ability to afford housing, up to “faith”, because this is reality, not some idealistic delusion. And unlike delusion, in reality, we have the ability to change it, but we first have to accept it. 

Despite other countries with impressive quality of life, longevity, and distribution of health indicators existing, we refuse to acknowledge our own system needs to be revitalized because we’re scared to admit that we were wrong. But isn’t religion based around forgiveness, and acceptance, and learning as you grow? You constantly revisit the same text and get new context from it, so shouldn’t we normalize the same thing with society? The fact that Megan Rapinoe, a KNOWN LESBIAN, would receive any kind of backlash for using her position to highlight the reality of the LGBTQ+ population is ridiculous and the fact that our media would glorify that, encourage the divisiveness, and for this to be “normal” is just pathetic. We can’t keep claiming to be so advanced as a civilization when we only legalized gay marriage federally in 2015!

But 65% of the population is centered around Christian values, and that may seem like a lot–it’s certainly still the majority, so why should we change that at all? Let’s think about what that means in other terms. It means that out of every 5 Americans, roughly 2 of those are going to NOT be that way. They’re going to have different values. Does this mean they are terrible people? Fuck no. Objectively looking at all of the religions around the globe, there are a lot of fucking similarities. Concepts of a higher power only differ in WHO or WHAT that higher power is. Themes of morality, righteousness, being the best version of a human tend to involve similar themes. (I personally don’t feel the necessity to characterize what I think influences the universe. I accept that as a human, I don’t need to know all. Ignorance truly is bliss. I’ve had near death experiences, and there was just peace, acceptance, contentment.) For the life of me, though, I cannot grasp the necessity to feel as if you have to prove to others that what you believe in, which is FOUNDED ON FAITH AND FAITH ALONE (AKA THERE IS NO TANGIBLE PROOF YOU CAN SHOW THEM) “MUST” be the right way. The point is, we should still include those 2 people in things that we do. I’m sure they have a lot to offer. The purpose of the USA being the “best” is that we get to cherry-pick our favorite aspects of other cultures and bring them here to exist in one place in unity. Didn’t any of you watch Zootopia? 

So I guess my argument isn’t so much about just Joe Rogan, or what he represents as an individual. Truth be told, I recognize his comedic worth. I listen intermittently (shout out to Miley for being the bad bitch who can always put someone in their place, you are my idol), but the very fact that he even thinks the general public should want him to moderate a presidential debate under the current state of our country, with what may be one of the most important elections for a global stage of symbolizing what kind of progression we’re going to move forward with (or should I say, backward, because if Trump wins, I am seriously considering seeking asylum overseas, purely for mental health and peace of mind, because I cannot live in whatever Nazi Germany style regime he wants to reinvent) is a travesty. 

Sports have historically paralleled our international relations and cultural movements within our own country. Black men could represent the USA globally before they could even vote. You realize how fucked up that is? Right? Jesse Owens was a symbol of defiance to Adolf Hitler yet would’ve been lynched had he not had his gold medal with him walking through some towns in Alabama. We boycotted the 1980 Summer Olympics to protest Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, yet 31 years later started the “War on Terror”. 

And we do set a global precedence for acceptable behavior. The world does watch us. So no, we don’t need Joe Rogan to debate Joe Biden and Donald Trump like we should further encourage our presidential elections to resemble some mockery that is ESPN’s The Ocho instead of discouraging the circus that has been allowed to perform long enough. We shouldn’t have to debate the topics that will inevitably be discussed: whether black lives matter, is it humane to perform significant surgical operations on prisoners against their will if it removes their ability to propagate or remain in this country, whether we should be protecting consumers, addressing climate change.

This is not the world we want to encourage. 

This election isn’t about a candidate. It’s about our values for humanity. 

SOURCES:


(Do I have to actually publish these in proper APA or MLA citation on a blog? Here’s the links)

https://money.cnn.com/2018/05/18/news/nfl-nba-mlb-owners-diversity/index.html

https://www.penn.museum/sites/olympics/olympicorigins.shtml

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/12/31/nfl-television-viewership-increases-5percent-for-2019-season.html

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/158-resources-understanding-systemic-racism-america-180975029/

https://theundefeated.com/features/athletes-and-activism-the-long-defiant-history-of-sports-protests/

https://www.houstonchronicle.com/news/houston-texas/houston/article/Texas-pregnancy-related-death-rate-among-15017414.php

https://www.pewforum.org/2009/09/09/muslims-widely-seen-as-facing-discrimination3-2/

https://ehne.fr/en/article/gender-and-europe/gendered-body-expression-european-identity/women-and-olympic-games

https://www.history.com/news/who-invented-baseball

https://bleacherreport.com/articles/446420-ten-athletes-who-made-major-political-and-social-statements

https://money.cnn.com/2018/05/18/news/nfl-nba-mlb-owners-diversity/index.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Civil_War

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Football_League

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_rights_in_the_United_States

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_I

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Native_Americans_in_the_United_States

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Revolutionary_War

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Joe_Rogan_Experience

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colin_Kaepernick