I have to write a love story today. My original intention for the coming week was to write about anger, to write about rage. To write about being a woman in a world that’s truly unkind to women. Brutal, in fact. To write about being a woman who’s hated solely because of my sex. Once you add in my confidence, my brains, my moral compass, my political views, my sexuality, my sense of humor, my weight, and my religion, that adds up to a whole lot of hate coming my way.
Just by virtue of being the proud owner of a 64-year-old slightly worn-out vagina.
Yesterday, I sat in my comfy chair with my feet up, as I do each Saturday, laptop keyboard at my fingertips. I wrote and I raged on the page, for a very long time. But it didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel good, it didn’t feel healthy. Don’t get me wrong, I AM angry. So angry. Often to the point of rage. But I’m still in that learning curve; the one that’s showing me what to do with all my anger. Because when I wrote all my rage on the page, I didn’t write anything that’s new. We all know the rub. We all know the old, “whenever I’m angry, I cry instead of yell, because no taught me how to yell.” All I was taught, by my family, by the culture, is it’s not okay for women to show anger. We all know the “if I open my mouth and yell at a man, then I’m a bitch” bullshit. It’s nothing new.
Yesterday, I had nothing fresh to offer to this ongoing, tiresome conversation.
Tiresome, because enough already. It’s never made sense to me that men treat us they way they do, and it never will. What do you mean, we’re not equal? It’s a no-brainer in a brainless world. The only thing I can come up with is that deep down, men are terrified of us. I can’t wait around for them to figure out that there’s other ways to get shit done. I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. But women have known for an eternity, that the way it’s been working, has never, ever worked and never will.
I had to stop writing that piece because the writing wasn’t helping; it hurt. It always hurts and I AM angry. I’ve been angry for a very long time. But I held it inside, and turned it on myself instead of finding a way to channel it outwards so that I could make positive change. I’m not there, not yet. Ranting doesn’t help me. Hating doesn’t fix a thing. I don’t want to behave like a man. Look at the mess they’ve gotten us into; why would I want to emulate that?
So instead––today––I’m doing something radical. I’m turning to love, and I can’t believe I’m saying that. But that’s the person I want and need to be.
In early 2022, I met a woman I fell in love with, and one of the things I noticed about her on our first date was the tattoo on her arm that read “Love is the Answer.” I asked her if she really believed that. And of course, she said yes. But I wasn’t buying. Not yet.
It wasn’t the first time I heard that expression. I think we’ve all heard it at one time or another. But how many of us have lived it? My therapist believes it with her whole heart. And I scoffed at the concept. The cynic in me, the one who’s been hurt so many times, was not ready to open my heart enough to agree or even explore the possibility. One day, she asked me what I thought the opposite of love is. And I immediately said “hate.” And she said, “no dear one, it’s fear.” And everything crystalized in that moment. Everything is born of love or fear. Anger and hatred are born of fear.
So today, I choose love and know that I can still feel angry. I can have more than one feeling at the same time. But how will I make change? Will I do it from a place of anger? A place of rage? Or do I try a different way? Can I come from a place called love? Can I let my anger be a source of fuel to spark my love instead of my hatred, my rage? Those feelings can coexist. Anger and love.
It seems I’ve been coming from a place called love for a while now, without being fully aware of it. Instead of doing anger the way I’ve seen men do it, I’m going to do it the way I do it. I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet, but I do know it’s anchored in creativity. And creativity is a container for all the feelings. And from that place, change will come. Because when I’m kind, it’s often contagious.
I think that’s called the ripple effect. Oh, you’ve heard that, too?
Today, I’m writing about the love I found in a very special place. A place where the kindness of strangers becomes the kindness of friends. In the midst of all the crazy going on around us every day, I found an oasis where love and care reside. Heart. Courage. Breathtaking intelligence and humor. The people who reside in this place are fighters, thinkers, lovers, carers, clowns, and artists. Should I tell you the name of this place, this garden of delights, so you can live here, too?
I’d wager many of you already know the place I’m talking about. Some of you already reside here right along with me.
Yes. It’s Substack, of course, it’s Substack. I call it Substacklandia. Others call it Substackistan. That one’s really brave, because we all know that some jackass might come along and misinterpret it, call us dangerous lefty subversives, and turn us in. Because yes, there’s a lot of love, but there are still jackasses everywhere we turn.
I don’t expect to change the whole world. There’s just so much an old Jew from New York can accomplish. But it might be enough to make a slight dent and that can add up, if we’re all putting our best love forward. Fuck, who have I turned into??? Oh, one more thing. It isn’t just Substack that makes the culture on the platform great, because there are plenty of sub-cultures here that are questionable and downright scary. We coexist, mostly minding our own side of the street. It’s up to us to make the culture what we want it to be. Those of us who’ve found each other are creating truth and beauty every day we put our pens to paper and send ourselves out into the greater world.
I keep bumping into writers here and readers, too, who have so much passion, so much love, so much anger, and so much to offer. And we’re all different. Our stories are different and yet in many ways, we’re essentially the same. We show up for our readers, for each other, for ourselves. Are we afraid to speak our truth here? Some of us are, some of us aren’t. Sometimes, there’s a nagging voice in the back of my head that says, “are you sure you want to say this, to commit it to written form on the interwebs, where it will never disappear?”
That might be the voice of my inner saboteur, or it just might be the voice of discernment, popping through to keep me safe. An early warning system for me to consider. It helps keep me mindful of my purpose when I write. That’s what happened to me yesterday when I took my first run at this piece.
We speak our truth here. We speak it with gentleness and with force. We speak from love and we speak from anger. We tell it like it is. That’s my kind of crowd.
I’ve been on the platform since January 2024. In that time, I’ve grown as a writer, I’ve become more confident in who I am as a woman, and as a human being inhabiting this planet. By telling my stories, by sharing my life, I contribute to others. I’ve also grown as a friend. I’ve learned to let other people contribute to me. I’ve learned to accept help and love.
I’ve been graced by the friendship of so many beautiful people here. I met a great crew in a workshop when I first came to Substack. We’ve stayed friends from the beginning, meeting on Zoom every other Saturday morning to talk about our writing, our lives, our fears and what we’re doing to make this world better. We lift each other up; we read each other’s posts and restack them, spreading our wisdom as far as the algorithm will allow. We have each other’s backs. We sing each other’s praises. We’ve taken the concept of a kaffeeklatsch and elevated it to a whole new level.
And then, there’s my pal who I’ve written about before. And . And newcomer ; we’ll be seeing great work from her soon. And so many more of you, I think it would be impossible to list all your names, because someone might slip through the cracks. Remember, along with my 64-year-old vajayjay, I’ve got a 64-year-old brain that’s been through a lot.
Eileen and Susan and Kelly came to my aid to help me get to Los Angeles and visit family during a crisis when I needed to let help and love in. I asked for what I needed, got it and more. These women––two of whom had never met me in person––offered me solutions; their homes and hospitality when I was vulnerable. I asked for help, something I’ve only recently started to do, thanks to what I’ve learned in therapy and my 12-Step meetings.
I’ve learned I’m not alone after living a life of tender isolation. My fears are being replaced with a shy willingness to trust love and grace. To engage and choose my village, my family. To turn away from fear and replace it with my inner reserves of grit and passion. To come out of hiding and let myself live a full and happy life. I want to do this in the midst of the mess that’s been thrumming the beat of our daily rhythms whether we want to hear that beat or not.
There’s always been a mess. It’s very bad right now. I’ve never seen it worse. And I’m angry and I get scared. Fear has a purpose, when it’s kept in proper perspective. I think of fear as a helper who pops in from time to time to keep me safe and grounded.
But fear doesn’t rule me anymore. Now, love is in charge.
I’m dipping my toes in the love pond. I’m going to sit on the metaphorical grass––it’s a metaphor, because if you know me, you know I AM NOT OUTDOORSY––and I’m going to watch the ripples in that pond radiate out. I’m taking my anger and my love, and becoming a thug. Not the kind of thug that may come to mind when you hear that word. Because I’m a special brand of thug. A gangster of the oddest sort.
I AM a LOVE THUG. Are you?
When you become a paid subscriber you help me by making the time I put into my writing possible. It’s less than $5/month for an annual subscription, and you get to be one of my matrons of the arts!
Click the heart “♥️” to like, the speech bubble “💬” to comment, and the spinny arrow thingy “🔄” to share/restack to the Substack community.
Tips are welcome and so appreciated. If subscriptions aren’t your thing, but you still want to say thanks this is way to do just that.
My Substack 101 workshop starts in October (two weeks from tomorrow, 10.2.25). If you’ve been thinking about writing a newsletter on Substack, or are new to the platform, but don’t know where to start, this workshop is perfect for you!
