The situation . . .

 Sit·u·a·tion:  a set of circumstances in which one finds oneself; a state of affairs.

Dear you,

My oh my, we are all in perplexing situations.  Whatever they may be, the king of stoicism suggests the following:

Marcus Aurelius:  "It stares you in the face.  No role is so well suited to philosophy as the one you happen to be in right now."

What is my current role? A few: citizen, annoyed/amused Florida condo owner, feminist-lioness, cat-lady, exercise lover, and eternal student. Suited philosophies? Aurelian stoicism (face it), Aristotelian "push" (just do it), Epicurus (eat, drink and be merry because . . . you know the rest).

All these thinkers, if sitting on a what-should-Joyce-do panel, might suggest the following: If an old, orange man says he will be my 'daddy' whether I like it or not, stay calm, tell him to fuck off, and have a cocktail.  If a random condo "manager" lies and mucks things up at my Villas, stay calm, tell him to fuck off, and have a cocktail. If a sad local is ranting about how women are wrecking the country by being all "free", stay calm, tell him to fuck off, and have a cocktail. If someone hustling for money suggests you sign on to a shady contract (be it a phone deal, condo agreement, or ubiquitous streaming forever-binding document), stay calm, tell her/him to fuck off, and have a cocktail.

You know, each of those things happened to me today already.  If I acted as advised, I would have exceeded my daily F-bomb limit and be ripping-tipsy.  And it's only 4 P.M.  But at least I would be very, very calm.

Perhaps I'll cut the "fuck-offs" and just elegantly face "it" (whatever the situation is), do something productive, and eat, drink, and be merry.  I am NOT cutting the cocktails.

What is your role, dear you, what are your philosophies?  Good luck, in any and all situations.  Especially the ones we are in today. Keep calm and carry on.

Love,

Joyce

Will versus Worry

Dear you,

I don't know the source of this quotation, but I love it and whoever said it:  "The beauty of life is in denying mortality, not arranging your life around it."

Thank you. Truth! The trick is striking a wise balance and asking myself "am I just procrastinating and avoiding realities I must face or am I seeing things clearly enough to be sensibly fearless?"  After all, worrying about daily glitches and that end-of-life thing is pointless.  I'm all in for delusional feelings of immortality! And yet, I worry about the here and now which makes me feel very mortal and kind of old:

I worry about the newly inflated HOA condo fees and the number of for-sale listings I see here in Villas land.

I worry about the weird little beep my car makes when I shift into park.

I worry about the tiny gash on my left elbow, not remembering when or how that happened.

I worry about the horror of a possible Trump return to the White House.

I worry about the hurricane survivors who have no water.

I worry about Ukraine, Israel, and Palestine (and now Lebanon).

I worry that I bore my cat.

No matter how much I strive for the "don't fear the reaper" attitude, the worries make me feel very, very not mythic.  And mortal. I know taking constructive action is best; don't worry/be an action figure!

I will chose a real estate broker and get this condo sold.

I will shop for a new vehicle.

I will pay attention to where my body is in space and limit my dancing-flailing approach to movement.

I will vote and send more money to support #Harris/Walz2024.

I will find out how to get that water running and back whoever can make that happen.

I will continue to stand with Ukraine, Israel, the people of Palestine and Lebanon.

I will now play with my cat who needs her person to not be such a drag.

The wills make more sense than the worries.  Even if I am delusional/immortal, I can still deal with the glitches, still(as Aurelie Sheehan wrote, this time I have the source) know that "everything matters utterly - you are made of the minutes you spend."

We are made of these minutes we spend, even if we pretend to be immortal with unlimited minutes.

Here's to the wills and not the worries.

Carry on,

Joyce

Damage

Dear you,

Well, here we are.  A few days from a nation-changing election and I am embedded in Trump country keeping my head up.  Or at least trying to.  Of course, reality looms large, such as the damage done by hurricane Helene.  We do not even know the total death toll or extent of damage.  And while we work to do our best to help, the freaks on the far right are undermining the truth about aid, about help from FEMA, and as you have all heard, they even suggest the hurricane itself was created by whatever they think the left is.  See the infamous MTG of Georgia:  "they can control the weather."  Wow. I am more powerful than I realized! But oh her words, and those of others, do damage.  Undermining truth and undermining what is actually happening to aid those in desperate circumstances. 

And speaking of intentional damage, we face an election in Florida that includes an amendment that would protect abortion rights.  But look first at what the amendment states and then see what the state of Florida added to "comment" on that amendment #4: "No law shall prohibit, penalize, delay, or restrict abortion before viability or when necessary to protect the patient's health, as determined by the patient's healthcare provider.  This amendment does not change the Legislature's constitutional authority to require notification to a parent or guardian before a minor has an abortion."

Here follows some commentary added to the ballot summary sent to voters: "The proposed amendment would result in significantly more abortions and fewer live births per year in Florida . . . An increase in abortions may negatively affect the growth of state and local revenues over time." 

An economic impact prediction/spin?  Really?  A female's autonomy be damned; "let's consider cost."  OF COURSE THERE WILL BE FEWER BIRTHS.  Fewer FORCED births.  Anyone who looks at this issue through the lens of economic impacts is seriously damaged.  Cold, darling.  Just cold. And wrong.  And barbaric. And damaged.

Oh, how they lie.

And then there is Oklahoma, whose school board is requiring schools to include Christian biblical texts in their courses.  This, even if the course is not "World Religions".  And those biblical texts that must be included are ones that insert documents such as the American constitution, the Declaration of Independence, etc., oh, like the recently published TRUMP BIBLES?  Damage.  Damage done to spiritual truth, to the separation of church and state, to essential intellectual coherence.

Well, there you have it.  Meanwhile, here I am in Seagrove Beach, Florida, during what people call "fall break".  This means tons of super-loud pickup trucks with excessive amounts of "short term renters" pulling in to the Villas and taking over. The damage they will do this week is already visible.

Signing off now.  I have to wander around my over-priced parking lot and pick up trash (oh, you don't want to know exactly what that trash includes) tossed from those Trumpy pickup trucks.  Enjoy your stay, assholes! 

Hang in there, everyone.  Damage is done, but truth and hope must rule!  What is the alternative? Be strong.  Be, I hope, all in for #HarrisWalz2024.

Love,

Joyce

Reality versus delusion

 Dear you,

Today, I hear bell hooks - "The most basic activism we can have in our lives is to live consciously in a nation living in fantasies . . . you will face reality, you will not delude yourself."

This, as Trump/Vance lie about immigrants, this as those in charge of my condo world refuse to alert us to what is coming (millions of dollars needed to repair structural decay due to previous management/board avoidance), this as 30A pretends to be the Hamptons of the South. One big cluster of delusional nonsense.

And also this: the death of a lovely orange bougainvillea that once grew by our pool to the east.  Weeks ago, during another mindless "landscaping" frenzy at the Villas, a worker was ordered to take a chainsaw to that gorgeous plant.  Why?  Because the new plan did not include the reality of existing beauty.  Delusion driven, the committee or whoever ordered this stupid action, imagined something they deemed better:  pine straw and a couple of sad little yellow flowering plants that will not survive this hot September. 

Yet another sad, pointless reality to face, a seemingly small thing, a very micro-local thing, but large in terms of meaning. There will always be differences of opinion regarding aesthetics, but come on.  Pine straw v. a colorful, flowering beauty?  I cannot assign malevolent intent to those who ordered the take-down, but I can confidently conclude they are deluded.

So, do something, right? This weekend I am heading to the garden center at Walmart and buying a baby bougainvillea.  I will convince one of the landscaping assassins to plant it in the space where its predecessor thrived. As for the bigger picture "this" list above, I will also continue to donate to the Harris/Walz campaign and hope, hope, hope, realism defeats delusion in November.  I will keep speaking truth about the real financial jeopardy owners will face at this condo. And I will do my best to not get aggravated by the false comparisons penned by silly tourism boards.  (Anyone who has ever been to The Hamptons knows our 30A scene is in no way comparable.  Reality:  We are still best described as the Redneck Riviera.  Own it.)

Keeping it as real as I can day by day,

Joyce

Childless?

Dear you,

Childless.  When did this become a thing to bemoan/criticize?  Gee, all my reproductive hot years, according to the breeding-is-best-advocates, were wasted. And here I was thinking I had happily chosen to go solo and not be a breeder.  As a feminist, and a human being, who is/was audacious enough to consider her singularity valuable, I never imagined the popularity of this newly twisted adjective. Being less without child.  Other derogatory "less" modifiers come to mind:

Hopeless

Meaningless

Joyless

Helpless

Expressionless

Ambitionless

Less as in lacking the noun base thing or quality.  On the other hand, there are positive "less" descriptive words:

Ageless

Boundless

Fearless

Breathless

Hurrah!  If described these ways, I am immune to the effects of age, I live without boundaries or limits, I am not afraid of anything, and I am capable of awe that takes my breath away.

How can I spin an adjective that denotes the NOT joyless experience of avoiding parenthood?  Instead of less, consider "free".  I am a child-free woman of a certain age; there is not less-than or lack here. There is only good old autonomous me. 

Let's see how long this "childless" criticism lasts. If we do elect Harris/Walz, eventually (with time and persistence), the cultural value of choosing to go solo will regain its former luster.

Resist twisted adjectives!

Love,

Child-free Joyce

Voting in red red Florida is really fun!

Dear you,

Walton County primary voting was really, really fun!  Meaning, not.  I should know to just keep my head down and not interact with anyone here, especially far-right sign-wavers.  This is a seriously Republican county and the candidates for most local positions are all super R's. As a registered Democrat, I was only allowed to vote on three primary choices: the Democrat challenging our dreaded "Skeletor" Senator Rick Scott, the property appraiser, and for some strange reason, the commissioner candidate for a district I don't even live in, nothing makes sense here so that is pretty much SNAFU.

Seeking input about my limited choices, I approached two smiling women and a very hyper dude, all aggressively waving signs for their favorite fascists.  The smiles didn't last long when I told them I was a Democrat, one of those dangerous liberal elites.  Admittedly, that last bit was a weak attempt at humor, but the dude seemed amused.  He laughed, perhaps a bit too maniacally, and walked away while the women stayed focused, doing their best to answer my questions. During this info session, the dude came storming back in full asshole-mode. He was screaming, I kid you not, screaming, the usual complaints such as "you people are ruining the county; you and that Kamala aren't patriots" and (as expected) bits of unintelligible nonsense about "the border, the border, the border."  I didn't flinch, told him to calm down, and that made him even madder. Oh, baby, these angry white men. What is it about liberal, fearless women that sets them off so violently?  Rhetorical question.  We know.  But I do appreciate the two gals who stood firm. They gave him "back off" stares that shut him up. 

As for their advice, I did use it.  I voted for the candidates they opposed.  They can thank their angry-asshole pal for that. 

I left the voting site unscathed, except for a yellow fly bite I suffered during the "info session". You see, even the insects in Walton County hate liberals. Like I said, voting here is really, really fun!

See you in November, asshole dude, I'm not running away.

Love,

Joyce

#HarrisWalz2024

Authenticity

Dear you,

Hot August thoughts in my 1,028 square feet of shelter.  I am preparing for something as I hide from the heat, shut out construction noise, and come down from political sugar highs.  I am in listening mode, taking in thoughts from others, their shared experiences and reflections on whatever "this" is we are doing. Via book form, I listen to Richard Todd in The Thing Itself, On the Search for Authenticity. He writes "The landscape is literally contested turf, a battlefield of competing dreams."

Hot August strife in our little nation, indeed the landscape of contested turf and competing dreams.

Some of us dream of a place where people are tightly wrapped and constrained.  They dream of everyone and every venture fitting their points of view:  old roles and rules must be followed, the wild world must be tamed and strip-malled, chatter must override thinking, posing must be judged as superior to unsettling authenticity.

Then there is a competing dream: We dream of the unique individual running her/his life. (I heard Kamala Harris' vice presidential pick challenge the constraining forces on this point in his first rally, "Mind your own damn business." Yes, sir. Exactly.) We can dream of a lush world that is cherished and not exploited.  We can dream of knowing what is real and privileging that above the scam of commercialized everything.

Dreams inspire action. Successful actions are fueled by intelligence.  Intelligence is gained from study, observation of the very real (which is here behind the veil), and authoritative listening, knowing we have the power to distinguish between facts and lies. Are you thinking about The Matrix now?  In that film's world, reality must be found.  What seems to be is not there; it is a blue-pill side effect. Todd references that movie in his book, an obvious example of our search for authenticity. And who can think of The Matrix and not think about Keanu Reeves, the actor portraying the ultimate searcher?  Yes, I get it, he's an actor who isn't really searching, just a guy playing the searcher.  But the actor himself spends plenty of time thinking about reality and growth. Hence, the photo above and his words:

"Be aware of the quiet ones, they are the ones who actually think. The smarter you get, the less you speak."

And on this hot August day in my 1,028 square feet, I thank Reeves and Todd for dropping by. I'm listening. 

Let us all be the quiet ones, the smart ones, the ones searching for authenticity always.

Abstractly yours,

Joyce