Metacentricities

Three interesting news items have arisen in the past couple of weeks or so, and they all sparked the same reaction in me. They are each different, but each raise some of the same issues.

A scientist suggests that exploiting the oil reserves present in tar sands will make climate change unsolvable. Because we already have created a dangerous situation with climate using the oil and natural gas reserves, adding oil from tar sands increases the amount of carbon tremendously, possibly leading to irreversible climate change.

Then, there was the 3D printed pistol. For those of you not glued to your newsfeeds, basically, someone was able to use a 3D printer (still expensive, but remember when laser printers were expensive?) to create a single-shot weapon (called “The Liberator.” Sigh.) Of course, it’s not such a good gun, but it is the first. And, well, you know how technology goes.

The last is that scientists were, for the first time, able to create human stem cells from skin cells using cloning. It’s a big breakthrough, and may well lead to really important treatments. But it also paves the way for actual human cloning.

Both of these last two things are, at the moment, in questionable legal territory. There are state laws (in 13 states) that ban reproductive cloning, but no national law, except to ban funding for it. The 3D printed gun has all sorts of legal implications, and the plans were taken down, but of course, you know how how useful that is. I found at least 10 torrents with the files (that is a link to the concept of torrents, for those of you who don’t know what that word means, not the files, I won’t do that.) They are out there forever.

What’s so different now, is that all of this is inevitable. You can see it coming down the pike. And given the fact that this world is now one really small village, where we are all affected by what happens everywhere, and information moves almost instantaneously all over the globe, but at the same time, different countries have different laws, and different willingness to deal with things, we are headed for danger.

Scenario: As standard oil reserves start running out, oil will get so in demand, and so expensive, that it will be inevitable that someone will exploit them.

Scenario: Government cracks down on people distributing plans for 3D printed guns, but between 3D printers getting better, and people experimenting and getting better, making a gun that can do serious damage becomes a project someone can do in an hour in their basement. That also means that someone can create an underground business making many weapons that can’t be tracked.

Scenario: The US bans reproductive cloning, but, say, the Cayman Islands thinks it’s a great cash cow, and companies start making clones, first surreptitiously, but then out in the open. Want a child? Have a clone. (There are about a gazillion science fiction stories and novels that have this premise.)

And the quip, “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” is true, and useless at the same time. You might not, but someone will. And it’s going to get worse. These are just three examples. (The robots are coming.)

So what are we to do about this? Shrug our shoulders and hope for the best? Shrug our shoulders and just wait for dystopia to catch up with us? I don’t have a good answer, but we’ve got to find a way to collectively go deep, make good decisions about where we are going as a species.

Most Buddhist traditions focus a lot on training you to pay attention to what’s happening at this present moment. It’s a really important practice. Being able to be present in each moment to whatever is happening, whether it is your breath sitting, or being with a loved one, or working, or whatever it is, is the beginning of being able to be equanimous with whatever is–whether it is joyful or difficult.

And, of course, we all know that now is all there really is. The past is past, the future is yet to come, and living in them, dwelling in them, keeps us from the present moment.

The problem is, that in order to live our daily lives, we need to attend to both past and future. What do I need to accomplish today? Where did I leave my keys? We need to dip into both past and present with some regularity. So how do we do this without losing the present?

Part of the question is: are you clear, and in the present when you are attending to the future or past, or are you lost in the future or past? Are you constricted when you consider, for example, what you have to do tomorrow, or what happened yesterday? Are you dwelling on it, perseverating, feeling stressed about either the past or the future? Being present to those feelings is key.

I have two examples of practices I use that help me in this regard. First, is cooking practice. I love to cook, particularly for other people. And I love cooking for retreats – it’s a kind of container that helps me with this practice.

Cooking requires thought about present and future, particularly. You want everything to be cooked approximately at the same time, and, especially if you are cooking for 30 or more (yes, I’ve done that) it requires a lot of coordination. What I find really interesting is how I deal with the stress of trying to make sure that everything worked well, was seasoned correctly, is cooked, and arrives basically together, on time, when people are ready to eat. In a sense, it’s attending to both the future (how everything is going to come together) and the present (how am I feeling about it all.)

Christians contemplatives have some great practices to look at the past. My favorite is the Prayer of Examen (I mentioned it in a past post.) This prayer has its origin in Ignatian spirituality – the spirituality of the Jesuits. The basic idea of the prayer is to look back on your day with mindfulness, and notice what happened during the day, with an openness to the presence of God.

I came up with a version that is kind of a mix of traditions, and I think it is one that someone who doesn’t identify as Christian can use.

First, sit and be present to how you are feeling in this moment about the day. Is there anxiety about what happened, joy, pain, and/or anger? Be open to those feelings, and have compassion for yourself. If you wish, be open to the presence of the Divine, however you define it.

Be willing to look at the days events with gentleness for yourself and others. And if you find yourself unwilling, notice that, and let yourself admit that you don’t have that willingness. It’s all OK.

Then, look at the events of the day, one by one. Notice what feelings come up when a particular event occurred. Notice when there is sadness, or anger, or joy, or pain. Let gentleness and compassion wash over those feelings, if they are difficult for you. Notice what you might have done differently, or said differently, and forgive yourself if you feel shame or anger at yourself. Let the grace that is present in the Universe bathe you with love.

Notice if you can’t remember much of the day. Notice what might have allowed you to be more present in the day. Think about what you might do tomorrow to be more present for the day.

End the Examen with gratefulness for your efforts during the day to stay present, and gratefulness for whatever the day has brought to your practice.

It’s really easy to get lost. Some unsatisfactory things in life creep up, and threaten to (or actually) upset the equanimity you feel like you’ve worked so hard to achieve. Maybe it’s a job you don’t like, or your insomnia, or trouble with someone close to you, your loneliness, or the world’s troubles on your doorstep. The world’s troubles are always at our doorstep. Sometimes it might just be a bad day, or a spate of bad days. Sometimes, it’s something really big – someone close to you dies, or you break up with a partner, or you lose a job, or you get really sick.

One of the great things about spiritual practice in general, and the path of life as practice in particular is that you actually really never go backwards, even though it might feel that way. You might feel knocked back into last month, or last year, in terms of practice, but that’s actually an illusion. The Buddha said that practice is like drops of water into a bowl. Every effort you make adds more to the bowl, but none of it goes away (and no, it doesn’t evaporate.)

We can always move forward, and know that the work we’ve done was never in vain. What we do need to do sometimes, is to re-dedicate ourselves when we get lost. Right now, I’m a little lost. But I’ve made a pact with myself – I’m re-dedicating myself to practice, again. For the forty-thousandth time. Really. I mean it. Maybe the forty-thousand three hundred and fifty-fourth time.

We have to do this over, and over, and over. But it’s actually not an indication of failure. It’s realizing, again, that practice is like that rope between the house and the barn in a blizzard (borrowed from Parker Palmer.) It can guide us, and help us to find our way home.

Since I promised a little detail on practice, and I haven’t offered any yet, here’s a taste of what I’ll be re-dedicating myself to:

• Morning contemplative practice
• Mid-day break for short meditation and reading
• Evening Prayer of Examen (my own, somewhat less Ignatian version. I’ll share it in a later post.)

I was surprised, then unsurprised, when Bradley Manning was first invited to be a Grand Marshal at SF pride, then had that invitation rescinded.  If you don’t know, Bradley Manning has become a cause celebre for those who champion full transparency in government.

I’m not going to go into speculation about what happened at SF Pride and why – there are others who will do that. What struck me about this brou-ha-ha is how the core of the LGBT movement establishment (SF Pride is as good a representative of it as any) has completely lost the thread of intersectionality.

Intersectionality is the idea that you can’t just look at one kind of oppression in the absence of others. You can’t just focus on homophobia, and not understand the ways in which other kinds of oppressive forces intersect. You can’t just care about ending your own oppression while you ignore the oppression of others, whoever, and wherever they are.

Bradley is currently in military prison, awaiting trial. He has plead guilty to some of the charges against him, and confessed to leaking documents. By exposing the documents he did, he helped to lay bare the utter brutality of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The thing that struck me the most about the whole situation is not that Bradley Manning was uninvited. It was how he was uninvited. There was this completely unnecessary part of the statement:

…Bradley Manning is facing the military justice system of this country. We all await the decision of that system. However, until that time, even the hint of support for actions which placed in harms way the lives of our men and women in uniform — and countless others, military and civilian alike — will not be tolerated by the leadership of San Francisco Pride. It is, and would be, an insult to every one, gay and straight, who has ever served in the military of this country…

They are bending over backwards to make sure that it was clear that under no circumstances was there to be any suggestion that SF Pride did not support the military completely and wholeheartedly. I can understand that the nomination of Bradley Manning put the board of SF Pride in a difficult situation. And, I can imagine they were thinking: let’s not let anything serious get in the way of a good party. 

But this statement sweeps away every single doubt in my mind that might have somehow miraculously (and, frankly, uselessly) crept in after years of focus on gay marriage and gays in the military. There is no intersectionality to be found here, anymore, at all. Time to look elsewhere.

We are reminded, sometimes all too often, of the brutality in the world. Sometimes, that brutality hits close to home, and other times, it is far distant, out of our sight. Having to acknowledge, over and over (and over, and over) again that human beings can be brutal with one another is painful and difficult. It is hard to accept.

I don’t want to accept that people build bombs, and place them places where they know people will be hurt and killed. I don’t want to accept that people take weapons, and shoot people deliberately. I don’t want to accept that women and children are raped, molested and assaulted every day. Worse yet, sometimes this brutality is either done in my name, or done with my complicity, or my tax dollars. I don’t want to have to accept that, either. I don’t want to accept any of it, none of it at all.

But of course, I must accept this as true, because it is what is. This is not to say that by accepting it I condone it, or think it is right, or proper. This is not to say that because I accept it, I will do nothing to change it. This is just to say I must accept it, because it is what is, and unless I can accept what is, I will find no peace, and no end to my own suffering.

Just like we must hold ourselves with great gentleness and compassion, we need to hold others, and the hurting world, with the same compassion. And, we need to hold the perpetrators with compassion, too. That one is really hard. It’s hard to find compassion for someone who has done something we find deeply abhorrent. This doesn’t mean we don’t hold that person responsible and accountable for what they did. It just means that we have compassion, because we must remember that any brutality is born of suffering.

Many, many people, in different traditions, phrased in different ways, have said this same basic thing over many millennia, including both Jesus and the Buddha. Violence only begets violence. The only way out of a cycle of violence is love. The only response to violence that will end it is compassion.

And it’s OK, if you can’t accept it. Allow that you can’t accept it now. Give yourself the space to be angry or frightened (or both.) Don’t fight those emotions, because they are also what is. And perhaps, over time, you will be able to accept what is, and respond with compassion. And then, the world will be different.

(This was actually meant to be post #3, but the events of the day suggested to me that I write this today. I will spend at least two posts on actual practices that I have found to be really helpful in my journey.)

I was asked recently by a significant person in my life: what is my passion? I have many passions, of course. I have a passion for learning, and a passion for writing. I have a passion for play of all kinds (not so much involving my body and mostly involving electronic equipment of some sort, although I do love to do artsy-craftsy things on occasion, and enjoy a good wrestle or kite-fly once in a while.) These passions change in relative importance in my life, although all of these have been important for pretty much all of my life, even as a kid (not so much the writing–that passion arrived in college.)

But above all of these varied passions has arrived one overarching passion. A passion that has been with me pretty soon after I understood what spiritual practice was. I have a deep, abiding passion to use everything in my life (and I mean everything) in the service of my spiritual practice.

I don’t quite know exactly which moment this became true. In some ways, it’s been with me a long time. I think I would have said as a young adult that I wanted to learn from every experience. This passion isn’t quite that. It’s not really about just learning from experience, although in some ways, one can’t help but learn from experience if one is committed to life as practice.

One of the things this involves is a willingness to dive deeply into questions about why I behave the way I behave, and why I react to things the way I do. And it’s not about judging that behavior or reaction – it’s just about knowing it and understanding it. And alongside of that, there is the willingness to hold that reaction or behavior (meaning, really, holding myself) with acceptance, compassion and gentleness.

So this is where it gets interesting, right? How can you hold your own behavior that is in some ways problematic with acceptance, compassion and gentleness without feeling like you are in some way fostering it?

That’s actually, to my mind, one of the places where life as practice is the deepest and richest. If there is something we do that we don’t like (eat too much sugar, drink too much alcohol, are too quick to anger, etc.) how is greeting that behavior with acceptance, compassion and gentleness going to help change it? The ironic part is that we actually can’t really change the behavior until we fully accept that we do it, and understand where it comes from.

Today, I was really grumpy. The electricity went out this morning, and I had a bunch of conference calls and work to do, and I had to camp out at a local cafe to get my work done. It was unexpected and uncomfortable. And I was grumpy. And the more I didn’t like that I was grumpy, the more grumpy I got. Finally, I said to myself “OK, I’m grumpy. I’ll just be grumpy.” And my mood lifted, and I’m not grumpy anymore.

This is a really minor example of a state that doesn’t really generally have any negative ramifications, except perhaps some minor affect on some people who happen to be in my presence. But in some ways, it doesn’t matter. Take anything you don’t like about what you do, and notice how you feel about it. Notice the knots of resistance to that thing. Notice the circles (and circles, and circles) of self-judgement about it. Those circles of self-judgement mostly serve to shield you from the core of what moves you to do that thing. Open it up and let the air in. Don’t judge. Cut yourself slack, look at yourself with the gentleness you would a child, or a kitten, or puppy or <insert favorite baby being here.>

I’m not saying this is easy. Life as spiritual practice is a sh*t ton of work, honestly. Sometimes, the most infuriating thing about it is that it never gets easier. But the rewards are, in my experience, totally worth the work. Removing circles of judgment means joy can make its way in a lot easier. You actually do change, in ways that are positive, both for yourself and those around you. And you keep learning (over and over) to accept what is, because, really, what is is all there is, even if we’d rather that not be true.

I’ll be exploring more of this in the next few blog posts because, well, it’s my passion.

(This post was inspired by a Facebook conversation with my friend, the Rev. Ryan Dowell Baum, about this article.)

There are some issues in our society that just won’t go away. Abortion is one of those issues. I was only 13 when Roe v. Wade was decided, and I didn’t really understand its implications until I was in my 20s, and a budding feminist.

First, I need to locate my personal stake in this debate. I am a lesbian, and have been since the early 80s. Thus, getting pregnant accidentally was not something that I was especially at high risk for. In addition, I’ve known since I was a teenager that it was a medical reality that I would not be able to have children without extraordinary measures (even though I never wanted to have children anyway.) This means that basically, for all of my “reproductive” years, there has been basically zero risk of me having to need an abortion.

Also, I am a biologist by training, even though I am not presently doing biological research. One of the things I studied was developmental neuroscience. So I have a lot to say about what might be going on during embryonic and fetal development. That said, I am not a materialist (that is, I don’t believe that we can explain everything with science, and know everything about what’s happening during gestation just by understanding the science of it.)

My position on this issue hasn’t changed much, really, although I have a more nuanced approach to the issue than I have had in the past. I have good friends at both ends of the debate. (Well, not quite. I don’t think that my pro-life leaning friends think we should necessarily overturn Roe, even though they wish there were no abortions. But I’ll let them weigh in in the comments section, if they wish.)

There are three ways to look at this issue that I want to talk about in this post: the sociopolitical, the scientific, and the spiritual. I’m gonna go pretty much in that order, with a bit of weaving in and out. This is going to be long. Bear with me.

Let’s get one thing out of the way: women have been controlling their own fertility, including terminating their own pregnancies, for a very long time. The oldest recorded laws, the Code of Hammurabi, from the 2nd millenium BCE, mentions deliberate miscarriage (and had unequal penalties, depending on social status.) Women have been using herbs, poisons, physical manipulation and sharp objects to terminate pregnancies probably for thousands of years or more. Laws and edicts limiting or forbidding abortion have never succeeded in eliminating them, and, because of the uneven way those sorts of laws tend to be enforced, they will always have a more deleterious effect on some women rather than others. For instance, the newest regulations in some states regarding abortion, which have had the effect of closing clinics, have disproportionate effect on poor women who can’t travel to other states.

And this brings me to another topic, then I’ll veer back to the question of law. Some people in our society are treated differently than others. Women are treated differently than men. For some people, that is as it’s supposed to be. But I’m not one of those people. There are two factors that impinge on the question of abortion: first, the coercive nature of sex, and second, the long-term economic effect of having children is disproportionately borne by women.

Sex, whether it be straight or not, cannot be taken out of societal context. But heterosexual sex in particular is deeply affected by our society’s patriarchal nature. Women can, and do quite often, get pregnant by coercion, whether it be overt (rape by stranger, acquaintance, or partner) or covert (subtle physical intimidation as well as economic dependence.) And protecting oneself from accidental pregnancy under those circumstances is difficult or even impossible. In addition, having children, whether intended or not, has a life-long impact on the earning capacity of women. That is the way our male-dominated system is currently structured.

These two factors mean that laws greatly limiting or forbidding women from having abortion increases the likelihood of three outcomes: unwanted children growing up unwanted and unloved, children born and living in poverty, and women dying from illegal abortions. None of these outcomes are positive. These laws have never been shown to increase the likelihood of happy families.

The question is, of course, why have laws limiting or forbidding abortion? You might say, it’s like any law – some behaviors are not in the best interest of society. It’s a good thing if you have a law, and concrete punishment, if someone burns down your house, or robs a store at gunpoint. And the rationale of outlawing abortion is that abortion is murder.

But is it? To my mind, that has to be a scientific question. To say that abortion, at any stage, is murder, suggests that a developing fetus is a human being that deserves the same rights as one that has been born. When human life begins is not such a tough scientific question, really. When a fetus can live outside of a mother, it is no longer part of the mother, and is its own person. Therefore, before viability outside of the uterus, a fetus is not a person. On the other hand, it is true that before viability, there are all sorts of interesting things going on. But there isn’t a scientific moment before viability when one can say: “yes, now that developing bundle of cells is a human being.” I agree that abortion, after viability (legally, 28 weeks,) shouldn’t be legal, except in the case of saving the life of the mother.

You might say, “well, I believe it is a human being, and worthy of the rights of any human being.” You could say that, but that would not have any scientific backing behind it. I’ve often heard, in pro-life circles, that thing about a fetus has a beating heart, and that should mean something. Well, mosquitoes have beating hearts, but we would hardly call killing a mosquito murder. If you know anything about “ontology recapitulating phylogeny“, there is a stage when the human embryo rather resembles an invertebrate. Things are much more complicated than people thought at the origin of that theory, but all the same, early stages of embryonic development things are quite primitive, as primitive as creatures we kill without even thinking about it.

The problem with using a belief as a basis for law is that it’s just that – a belief, and not necessarily shared by others in our secular society. We have to have some kind of foundational process for determining policy, and science, and the use of evidence, is the best we have, or else we’ll be doomed to policy by dueling belief systems.

So in rounding out these two sets of issues – the sociopolitical, and the scientific, the right for a woman to choose to terminate a pregnancy before fetal viability seems pretty clear to me. And it is. But that doesn’t end the issue for me, by a long shot.

As I said above, I am not a materialist. Just because a fetus isn’t viable outside of its mothers uterus doesn’t mean that it isn’t necessarily a person. I happen to be someone who believes that we have a soul. I’d say it’s way more complicated that we think it is, and I’m pretty sure it’s not our personality, so to speak, but something much more ineffable, impossible, probably, for our limited brains to grasp. But I do believe there is something besides this body that makes me, me. I can’t tell you when this body got it, and I don’t exactly know where it goes when this body dies (I have my theories. Maybe another blog post,) but I believe in it just the same.

There is a psalm that is often quoted by pro-life folks: Psalm 139:13 “For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” It’s very poetic, and it has deep significance for people, a significance I understand, because truly, I believe that all life is sacred, and if there is one thing we’ve gotten very wrong in this society is undervaluing life – all life.

That’s the rub. How to hold both of these things together – how to fully appreciate the sacredness of life, and, frankly, the tragedy of abortion, with the need for women to be able to determine their own lives and destinies. It is further complicated by the fact that most pro-life advocates also support patriarchy, the system which, in my opinion, makes abortion more likely, not less likely, for the reasons I stated above.

I actually think I know how we can make a difference. This is how it goes: First, young boys are sent letters like this from their moms, so they don’t rape or coerce women. Second, as much research money as goes into women’s contraception starts going to men’s contraception. I figure if they spent 1/2 as much money researching male contraception as they did erectile dysfunction, a non-invasive contraceptive for men would be on the market in the course of a few years. And, of course, young boys would have to be taught that it’s as important that they prevent pregnancy as it is their female sexual partners. Third, eliminate the economic penalty to women for having children. Heck, I’d even go for paternity tests to force the male partners to contribute equally economically. And if they don’t, yank it out of their paychecks. Also, provide paid maternity leave, and free child care. 

I’d bet those things would go amazingly far in greatly reducing the numbers of abortions in this country. But they aren’t going to happen, are they? We are going to keep having this tired discussion about when life begins, when that’s really not the point, anyway, because we can’t ever really know when human life begins. Only God knows.

Many of you know at least some pieces of my spiritual/religious history, but I’ll share it in a relatively short but pithy snippet: I was raised a frozen chosen, then was set on fire by people who wouldn’t dance. Afterwards, I threw out the baby with the bathwater, danced among trees, and walked on the path for a while. I sat on cushions then rediscovered church with a bunch of transcendentalists, then went to seminary, communed with these mystics, and these, and these, joined the last house on the left, and have gone on journeys.

Out of that panoply of religions and spiritual traditions, two have stuck: my deep abiding with Buddhism, and the long embrace of Jesus. I feel as comfortable (and as uncomfortable) in a room full of silent meditators, as in a room full of people singing about Jesus.

There is so much about these traditions that are different. Their origins are from entirely different cultural/historical/political streams, and their manifestations in this particular time and cultural moment in the United States can hardly be more different. And although I might appear to an observer to be sitting in silence in my room, I might be doing mindfulness meditation or centering prayer (or some other kind of prayer) and they do completely different things inside of me.

There have been some great books that talk about the ways in which both of these traditions have similarities. One of my favorite books of this genre is Thich Nhat Hanh’s book “Living Buddha, Living Christ.” A salient quote:

“When we understand and practice deeply the live and teachings of Buddha or the life and teachings of Jesus, we penetrate the door and enter the abode of the living Buddha and the living Christ, and life eternal presents itself to us.”

I think this book is my favorite because it seems to me that a lot of Buddhists seem to be able to understand Christianity better than most Christians understand Buddhism. The funny thing about my history is that it was, without question, my Buddhist practice that sent me back to church.

I have hemmed and hawed about this for the last almost eight years, but I have realized finally that I truly am a small-u “unitarian.” That is, although at the present moment, I am not a member of a Unitarian Universalist congregation, I consider myself a unitarian in the theological sense. I don’t think Jesus is God or part of God, except in the way that we all are a part of God. I think Mary got pregnant before she was married, by rather ordinary means. I don’t know whether or not Jesus actually rose after 3 days of being dead – I’m certainly open to the possibility, but I kind of doubt it. I don’t think that Jesus was any kind of sacrifice for our sins, and believing in Jesus saves us from hell. Nor do I think God is in any way sadistic as that would suggest.

Most people would say that means I’m not a real Christian, but I would beg to differ. Jesus doesn’t need to be God to me. What Jesus is to me is an extraordinary teacher. Someone who was of that relatively small handful of people throughout history that have the deepest insight into life, human beings, and reality than anyone. He was a prophet and a rabble-rouser. And to my mind, just about the best thing we could do as human beings on this planet is follow his example, and really listen to what he taught, not simply worship him. Most of us who call ourselves Christian have sort of a hard time of this, surprisingly. I am, luckily, at present pretty allergic to worshiping Jesus, so I’m stuck having to just try my best to follow his lead.

Both Jesus and the Buddha provide amazing examples and teachings of how to live a compassionate life full of generosity and joy. And, of course, they are not the only ones. There are many other paths to that same life. But for me, that’s one of the things I find so compelling about the two together – they get there by somewhat different means, both valid, both full of love and consciousness.

And, at the same time, as the title suggests, embracing both fully is a balancing act. Not at all inside of myself – there it’s easy. But outside, in the world, where people often have a hard time understanding how I can fully embrace both, because they are so different. But, in so many senses, they aren’t.

I’m a real driver, even though I grew up in New York. I actually didn’t get my license until my mid-twenties, when I was in grad school in Cleveland, OH. I love to drive. I used to love to drive really long distances, like across the country, until I couldn’t anymore. I live now in a setting that is literally impossible (for me) to live without a car. Everything is 10 or 20 miles away, with little or no public transit.

And driving is, far and away, the one thing I do that is the most inconsistent with my values. I don’t have a commute, so that’s a good thing. But I drive about 10-12,000 miles a year, in a standard car (not a hybrid), many years less, some years more, especially when I was doing heavy long-distance driving. Luckily, I drive a car with (relatively) good gas mileage. In 2002, when I bought it, it was one of the most fuel efficient cars there were, but now, it’s about average, because the CAFE standards have risen (yay!)

But 12,000 miles a year means that I am putting 3.6 Metric Tons of CO2 into the atmosphere every year. And, that means I have, over my driving lifetime, put at least 100 Metric tons of C2 into the atmosphere. Now, on the scale of things, that’s not much. But it’s my contribution to climate change, and I’ve always hated it, even while I loved driving.

I do very much appreciate those people, because of their commitment to the environment, have chosen not to drive. Given my physical limitations and the distance of things, I can’t just hop on a bike and ride around to where I need to go, like many of my friends do. So this is why I want an electric car.

Now, in most states, an electric car won’t really help the environment. Many states, especially in the Northeast and Midwest, use coal-fired plants as their go-to source of overflow energy. So electric cars won’t make a big difference in terms of CO2 emmissions. But I live in California, in the top three states for the percentage of renewable energy used. Over 10% of California’s electricity is generated by renewable energy, largely solar and wind. 

One might ask, “why not a biodiesel car?” Biodiesel is not a magic bullet. The fuel has to come from somewhere. Generally, it either comes from waste cooking oil (the best source, but limited in availability) or from food crops, like soy, coconut, palm, etc. Cars using waste oil do save on emissions (90%ish), and about 60%ish using non-waste oil. But to my mind, using land to grow crops that we will burn in cars, rather than using that land to grow food people could eat is very problematic. Just like coca or poppies take over agriculture because of the demand for those crops, high demands for biofuels crowd out food crops. To my mind, the best fuel for a car is the wind or the sun.

I don’t really expect to be able to afford an electric car anytime soon, but that doesn’t make me stop wanting one.

One of the things I get to do as a science fiction writer is to explore stuff like gender and gender roles. In general, I take much of my inspiration from nature – what exists here on this planet, now. It’s rather amazing what nature does with this stuff, really, it is. Way more interesting than we ever talk about. I wrote in more detail about this in my author blog. Today’s post is about our society, now.

First, I want to just say this: I think that anyone (including children) should be able to identify and express gender in any way they want, and be completely accepted, nay, celebrated for that expression. And they can change their minds at will, even. (OK, that’s radical, I know, but it’s what I think.)

The current conversation about gender identity and expression though, is driving me nuts, and I realize I have to write about it. The rise of the discussion of “cis” vs. “trans” gendered people is problematic at its core.

For those of you who don’t know about this whole thing, the definition of a “cisgendered” person is someone whose gender identity and/or expression matches the sexual organs they were born with. And a “transgendered” person is someone whose gender identity and/or expression is different of the organs they were born with.

First, this creates another kind of “us” vs. “them” dichotomy, forcing people to choose one (or, in fact, other people choosing for you.)  And as of late (in the last few years) a lot of the response to the experience of being trans (which is very difficult, even somewhere like the Bay Area,) seems to be in expressing anger at those who are cisgendered, as if just being cisgendered is problematic. It is more nuanced than that, but just google the phrase “die cis scum,” and you’ll get the picture.

Second, some of us are neither, and don’t want to choose, or have the choice made for us, and, it wipes out our experience as not real, and not relevant. I don’t hear those voices enough, so I decided it was time to express it.

Third, what is gender expression and identity anyway? Shouldn’t we be deeply questioning that, rather than reifying it by creating this dichotomy? 

Gender expression and identity, like gender and sexuality, can’t be divided neatly into two categories. It’s a spectrum, just like a lot of things. And it would be great if people started to talk that way. I don’t want to take away from anyone’s identity as trans (or, even, cis), but those are not the only two possibilities.