Late To The Party

So, I'm late to the party.

This whole "blogging thing," well, I hear it's past its prime.  The universe of the blogger has been taken over by twats.  Or should I say, Twitterers?  Yes, my dear friend who finally (finally!) convinced me to start a blog signed me up for Twitter too. I suppose she figured if she left me to my own devices, I might miss that party altogether.  I still don't know how to use it though, Twitter, I mean. I feel lost among all the witty "pound-hashtags."  I want to shout at my iphone:  "Who are you talking to?  What did they say?  How do I follow 5 million conversations at once?"

I know, you are confused, right?

I describe myself as a rock and roll volcano, but I don't know how to Tweet with the twats?  I'm a whole decade late to the mommy blog, for goodness sake.  What the hell kind of misleading marketing is this?

And now you know how I feel.

See, that whole "blog description" thing gives me only 500 words to sum up what I am doing here.  And you know, I felt I had two choices.  The first option was to say:

I have no fucking clue what this blog is about.

The second option was to try to craft some artsy-fartsy, metaphor-laden, description that was full and concise and brilliant.  Buuuuut, what you see is what you get.

And, at least it is TRUE.  I mean, I am in a constant state of inner - tornado.  The various aspects of my personality whirl around each other trying to decide if it is best to knock each other out cold or hold hands and sing Kumbaya.

Can you imagine living with this brain?

My quest for inner-peace has taken me to yoga classes, meditation seminars, women's studies classes, a professional life as an actress and choreographer, years of therapy, peace rallies, anti-gun rallies, shooting ranges (no really), rallies against domestic violence and child abuse and finally, wonderfully to the creation of my own darling family.  I have argued in political science courses, online forums, and over dinner tables in the US and abroad.  I read and I cry and I meditate and I drink some wine and I go take a pole dancing class and I am still lost.

I know I believe in compassion.  I believe in kindness and generosity and nurturing.  But I also believe in shouting from the rooftops and fighting back.  I have learned in my complicated life that too much passivity in the face of adversity does me no favors.  So how do I work toward compassion, kindness and gentleness without losing my voice or my nerve?  How do I protect myself and those more fragile and innocent without a little bloodshed?  These are the questions that keep me up at night and have led me to this party a little late, a little backward, a little upside-down, but no less ready to rock and roll.