a piece of yourself

Me!

I come from the gentry. Literally. Or to be accurate, from nobility. When I went to an art academy in the Netherlands, one of my first professors recognized my name and bowed his head, asking if I was a duchess. NO! I sputtered! I come from a trailer in the woods in Canada!! We heat with a wood stove!

Cut to that trailer in the woods in Canada. It's twenty-two years later, now, and I am raising my children here. I live a highly privileged life, not only because my parents rent this place to us at a fraction of the price others pay to rent on this island (if it wasn't for this, we wouldn't afford to live here at all), but also because I'm the gentry in a place that's quickly becoming gentrified. We are in the slow process of converting this trailer to a beautiful home.

I can go to the cove (our local 'downtown' area) in one of three ways and get three distinct reactions:

I can go in 'town clothes' (you know... the fancy clothes that make me look like a middle-class mom from the burbs...), and all the other middle-class people wearing clean shirts and hairdos will smile at me or politely say hello; ask me how I'm doing, etc. This is the 'me' who is usually on my way to the mainland to shop with the other suburban moms at Superstore and look all towny in my town clothes. I wear big black boots just to feel like there's still a bit of me in me. And because I'm kind of scared, actually.

I can go in my usual clothes (dirty jeans, lumber jacket, and often a bandana), and people dressed similarly will say hello, as they lean out of the garbage truck or wander off to their landscaping or construction jobs with a cup of coffee. Those who always say hello will say it with more exuberance. And people I don't know who walk by in their fancy town clothes will keep their eyes ahead and only nod if I say hello. This is the 'me' who is just going to the store for some milk, or taking my kids to the beach, or leading a wilderness tour, or walking around taking photos for the various articles I write. This is the me who doesn't care what she looks like.

Or... I can dress up. For me that means lots of skirts, scarves in my hair, feathers and ribbons and usually a patchwork of interesting fabrics or hand-painted clothes. And people look away. They roll their eyes at me. They have literally (and no I am not exaggerating) turned their children's heads away from me. People who know me still talk to me, but the others - unless they look like me - would rather keep their distance. But this is me too! This is the 'me' who feels beautiful!! This is the me who really took time to feel great today, and is enjoying the island I have loved since I was a baby. This is the me I wish I had the guts or the time to be, all of the time.

So that's me. All three of me. And you probably know that the person inside those clothes is pretty constant. I'm just me. I see the people going by; I hear the things they say to each other about me; I see them turn towards me or turn away. And I see the many feelings on their faces as they do. I know they are people who, like me, might only be showing one stereotypical side of their many-sided selves, and that they are more complex; more interesting; more valuable, than I can know.

We are all valuable.

Our community, where houses look down on boats. (Photo: Rhiannon)

So what are we afraid of? Yesterday I was informed that we may not park cars with for-sale signs on municipal land. And our council passed a bylaw to prevent liveaboards. Yes - those liveaboards who don't wear golf shirts and look... 'alternative'. Those liveaboards who are a valuable part of our community but cannot afford to rent here. That these laws are discriminatory is obvious. But what is just the worst is that they discriminate against the poor, based on absolutely ludicrous assumptions made by people who walk by those 'poor' people every day and look the other way. Do they look the other way when they hire those people to clean their homes, weed their gardens or drive them home after a night of drinking? Maybe. Do they look the other way when they encounter those people dressed up in town clothes and serving them coffee or teaching their children? Maybe not. What are we afraid of?

I think we're afraid of other people's judgements based on other people's fears. We live in a world full of manipulative and judgemental media and social hysteria, where we are so busy looking into our phones that we can't see the humanity of the people we walk by on the street. We're so afraid of what other people think of us that we've failed to think of others. We're afraid that other people will see the 'other' in us. So we look for people to blame; we look for people to deflect that gaze upon and we shun them.

This is the fear that rots us inside until we can't see our own reflections. This is the fear that riddles us with doubts and misconceptions until our own children become the enemy. This is the fear that rips communities and nations and sometimes the whole world apart as we fight the people we don't want to see until one or both of us is too damaged to fight anymore. And then we pretend they didn't exist. But we are poor. And damaged. This is the fear we need to vanquish before it takes us away entirely. Because it will. Because we are all the same.

And when you get rid of the people you are afraid of, you get rid of a piece of yourself.