Some call it midlife crisis. I call it Freedom of the Crone.
My son is over me. My husband is a gifted man with his own ambitions. I have been a faithful public school garden teacher providing eco-education to imbed quiet revolution via a underground, state-sanctioned opportunity to return to our egalitarian garden roots. I've schooled my kid, my friend's kids, and over a whole generation of Kona youth. Young adults come up to me at the beach and hug me and say "So good to see you Auntie Krista" and I don't even recognize them.
But my son is heading out of my house. l am wondering why I'm so weirded out right now and I finally put my finger on it.
I can officially not give a fuck.
I've been biting my tongue all these years. I've been carefully crafting my words as to not offend, as to provide essential truths with the tact of kindness so to maximize acceptance and incorporation of my radical ideals. Ideals that should not be radical because it's common indigenous sense - that all things are connected, that we should give back to nature that feeds us, that I should clean up and eliminate waste. Its crazy that these radical teachings of mine are so radical. A white, educated woman hauling trash, sorting your discards, teaching your kids how to leave places better than we found; all with a smile and clever cheers- is so crazy cool.
But I don't have to bite my tongue anymore. I haven't been trying to be crazy cool. I have been trying to shout and to abolish racism. And be an acceptable, hairy arm-pitted mom.
More than less of my friends exist in realms with zero awareness of the environmental crisis facing so many folks from Flint, Michigan to Guinea, West Africa. That police with skin like mine still beat the shit out of black people with zero consequences. People like me move to Hawai'i, or have been raised by people that moved to Hawai'i, to bail on the dramas and upside-down values of the mainland. We want to get away from the news so we move to the colonized land with the aloha.
The common bond about the people most affected by society's inequities are poor and poor is most often people of color and most often women and it goes and goes until people like me wake up and do something about it.
So that's what I've been doing. All these mothering years. I've been modeling and living and teaching growing our own food, reducing our own waste, dancing around in our own trash. With a smile and a cheer and assemblies three times a school year.
But now my son is moving on. I am not looking for a man because I got an awesome one already. I am not wanting to reproduce. Even though my son continues to be my best education, my womb is moving on.
Enter Freedom of the Crone. No. Not the old woman crone with the long white hair and the crocked staff. I am the crone I'm creating. The young crone who bodyboards Old A's and dances late 80's hip hop and traditional west African rhythms.
I can flex my white privilege in different, new and not-giving-a-shit ways.
I can be the crone who speaks with more concern about expressing myself than concern about you caring.
I always thought that after my son was grown, I would pick up where I left off. But I am realizing I don't want to do that. I want to pick up something new that blends the fierce spunk of my maiden self with the smooth delivery of my matriarch self.
I am open to your feedback. I hope you stay open to me.
Krista Joan says:
My mission is to teach, train, and testify in resistance to the white supremacy of my ancestors. My personal choices are political, powerful, and practical. Let's trash waste.