19 October 2018

Nobody Likes Getting Catcalled

I started writing this last year (time stamp is 28 June 2017), then decided not to post it. I'm not sure why, exactly. Maybe because I hate advertising when I'm uncomfortable (I tend to view my discomfort as weakness, and insecurities as cop-outs), but upon further reflection, that's not being fair to myself. I'm entitled to my feelings, my experiences, and my viewpoints. So on that note, here's my unfortunately-still-relevant take on sexual harassment, first-hand.
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Last summer (early June 2017) I got catcalled when I was walking from my office to meet Ev for lunch. The guy rolled up next to me in his big red truck with the window rolled down, leaned over and informed me that I have a "nice ass".

Objectively, there was nothing overtly threatening about the encounter. He was in a car and I was on the sidewalk. He drove away when I looked at him and spread my hands in the universal "what the hell" gesture. There was minimal opportunity for physical escalation. He didn't proposition me.

But I felt undeniably violated.

I've been trying to put my finger on what it was about this brief encounter than left me feeling defiled. The analytical part of me wants to take context into account, give him the benefit of the doubt that his intent wasn't to creep me out. But the rest of me can't. There is no way that interaction had someplace to go; there was no way to continue the conversation, no chance in hell I was going to get into the truck, and no real way for me to extract myself. The entire interaction was on his terms and I had no say in the matter. 

But seriously, in what universe is that supposed to be considered a compliment? It what universe does that do anything but make me feel threatened?
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A few weeks ago, my coworker and I walked from our office to a nearby coffee shop. It was a nice day, so we went the long way around (turned the 5 minute walk into a 10 minute walk). And as we turned down the street, a car with two middle-age guys slowly pulled out of an empty parking lot in front of us, proceeded to roll down both windows and drove very, very slowly down the middle of the road in front of us. We started walking slower, and they stopped the car in the street, waited until we got close, then started rolling forward again.

So we ducked into a random framing store that we'd never set foot in before. The owner stuck her head out, and we went "sorry, we're hiding from these creeps who are following us. Can we stay here for a few minutes?"


The fucked up thing is that I bet every woman I know has a similar story. Or, let's be honest, stories. Because that is the world we live in. 
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The concern I've heard voiced again and again by men (sorry, boys, I'm not trying to pick on you, it's just that this particular issue splits primarily along gender lines) is "How do you differentiate flirting from harassment?"

Good question. 

Some things may be considered totally fine if you're into each other, but creepy as hell if it's unwanted. So, and listen carefully here: both parties have a responsibility to communicate when they aren't interested. Guy hits on us at a bar and we want none of it? Great. Nonverbal communication is nice, albeit not always clear enough (some people are just oblivious). Shake your head, walk away, ignore them. Use your words and tell him you're not interested. Fuck it, lie and say you have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Also, never, ever touch the other person if they wave off your advances (I'll get to that in a minute).

The flaw in this logic is that it only works if the offending person accepts and respects the other's disinterest. And that seems to be where issues arise. Some people have a hard time reading (or respecting) non-verbal cues. That said, if someone tells you they're not interested but you persist in your advances, you've crossed the line between flirting and harassment. The romcom's are a lie; persistence is not an ok way to get the girl.

Note that I'm not saying "sexual harassment." Sexual harassment has a pretty specific definition that originated in the context of workplace discrimination. Harassment, on the other hand, describes behavior that "annoys, threatens, alarms, or puts a person in fear for their safety." Basically, if the attention is unwanted, unwelcome, uninvited, AND threatening, offensive or demeaning, it qualifies as harassment. Notice the "and" in there. Someone talking your ear off and not taking your subtle hints to go away isn't harassing you unless they're also propositioning you, intimidating you, touching you or orienting themselves in a way to prevent you from leaving. It's that touching thing I mentioned. And following someone around pestering them for a date, showing up at their work, home, or whatever is harassment and stalking, which is a very unsexy combination.

The point I'm trying to make is that the legal definition of harassment is pretty clear. Flirting in the normal, healthy sense is absolutely not harassment. And if you want to put a stop to (most) unwanted flirting, say so. Remember, subtlety is not key here. Again, romcom's are a lie and you should not under any circumstance show up at someone's house with a boombox to get them to go on a date with you. 

If you're feeling feisty, you can always take a page out of my book and keep some fairly brutal comebacks in your back pocket. 
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I have a radical suggestion when it comes to harassment: don't make assumptions.

Don't assume that the other party means anything other than what they say, especially if they're trying to extract themselves from the situation. Don't assume they're comfortable enough to tell you to fuck off.

Don't assume you have a right to someone's time or attention.

Don't assume that what someone is wearing (short skirt, tight shirt, whatever) gives you permission to proposition them or flirt. 

Don't assume that you have a right to touch someone. Hand, arm, back, whatever. Remember that legal definition of harassment? Touching can push you over the line between annoying and threatening. So no touching unless the flirting is being reciprocated. 

And for the party on the receiving end of the unwanted attention?

Don't assume the annoying flirty guy is picking up on your signals to back the fuck off. Get up and walk away. Go to the bathroom. Make the random person on your other side your new best friend. Use you words. Say "not interested." You don't need to be polite, and frankly, being labelled a bitch isn't the end of the world. Take it from me, it's kind of fun.

Don't assume that the boisterous dude hitting on you and touching your arm is trying to be intimidating. He's probably not, but that doesn't mean you have to put up with it. Move his hand. Step back. Tell him to not touch you. If he's not a piece of shit, he'll respect your space once he knows you don't want him in it. 

Don't assume that ignoring someone will make them go away. Don't assume that you're safe. Don't assume that everyone who gives you unwanted attention is an asshole. Don't assume that they're not. 

While I'm at it, don't follow people down the street or catcall them. It's not a compliment. It's not flattering. It's not welcome. Ever.
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As a woman, being upfront and blunt about your interest is hard. We often have to weigh the potential threat level before we even open our mouths. Where are the exits? Is there someone around who might help me if things don't go well? Can I outrun him? Can I overpower him somehow? Is rejection going to make him angry and dangerous? Every woman does some split-second assessment every time she interacts with a guy she doesn't know. More often than not, it seems like the safe bet is to use body language, try to extract yourself without offending him, or just ignore him. Which is bullshit, because it puts the onus on the woman to not get harassed.

It's a fine line to walk. Hell, it's an impossible line to walk.

Most guys mean well. If they're being threatening, it's probably not intentional. They may be oblivious, but they're probably not dangerous. 

But the guys who just don't care? They skew everything. And addressing the problem will require a shift across the board. We need to change the way we talk about harassment and gender equality, what we teach our kids about how to treat each other, how we confront people who are perpetuating harassment. The victim blaming has to stop. Demonising every man who makes a stupid comment has to stop. We must be willing to communicate, to listen, and to turn uncomfortable situations into teachable moments. 

We have to recognise that this will take time, and it will likely fall on my generation to implement lasting change; sometimes people just can't seem to move past the way things used to be.

I've said this before, but it feels like it bears repeating:

Now is the time to speak out when you see discrimination, to stand up against racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, and hate. Now is the time to be an inspiration.

Let’s be the change we want to see.

13 October 2018

It's been a busy summer

It has been pointed out to me that I am really overdue for a blog post. 

When I tried to claim that my life isn't that exciting and nothing new has happened, it was pointed out to me that since my last post I've gotten married, am in the process of buying a house, and done lots of outdoors adventuring.

Basically, I'm full of shit.

So yeah, welcome to the fall 2018 edition of "Amy's life in short sentences and lots of pictures". 
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I feel like I've spent more time in a dress this summer than I have, like, ever. My sister got married mid-June in a beautiful back yard wedding (which for obvious reasons stressed my mom out, since it was her yard and the gardens had to be perfect. Which they were.). They had a very traditional ceremony and reception, which suited them perfectly and was a lot of fun. The extended family came up for the wedding and it was lots of fun having everyone together.

Plus, we got a couple pics of the Steinettes with everyone's eyes open (a minor miracle).



It also took all the pressure of me and Ev, since we kinda didn't invite anyone to our wedding.
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On September 4, we forced our immediate families and a couple very close friends to hike up to the top of Crow Pass with their camping gear. People didn't complain too badly, probably because we also brought up cupcakes and champagne.


Actually, we forgot the cupcakes in Anchorage and made Daniel swing by the house to get them on his way up. Colin and I hiked down to the parking lot to meet him and carry them up, which resulted in a super close encounter with a mountain goat who did not give a shit. It was awesome.

So anyway, everyone managed to hike the 3 miles uphill, pitch a tent, and have a lovely evening in the mountains.
The tent farm, aka what happens when you attend my wedding
There was lots of goofing around, camp food, and Adam's impressive little wood-burning stove thingy that you could make smores on. Which was super awesome, except Rachael couldn't seem to get her marshmallow cooked evenly and was very sad.


On September 5, Ev and I got all dressed up, borderline hypothermic, and married. Adam performed the ceremony, which, this being Adam, could have been anything from super serious to a rambling dick joke. He struck a nice middle ground and it was pretty much perfect. Rachael did a very impressive job with my hair in the tent, and nobody died of cold. 








On Monday, everyone reconvened for a quasi-reception dinner and Paige made us cake. And it was awesome.


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But wait, there's more! 

Because apparently I am incapable of having just one big event, we ended up with several small-ish things. The official wedding reception was in Dillingham. This served two purposes: first, it gave my parents an excuse to go to Dillingham, since they'd never been and that really needed to get fixed. Second, Dillingham is awesome and it was a good excuse for people to come visit.

And visit they did. Lorraine came all the way from the Netherlands to hang out with us for a week and come to our reception. All she asked was to see a moose or two, so naturally, Alaska obliged. 



So people converged on Dillingham and it was magical. Lorraine and I fondled some marine silt, and Ev and I napped on the couch. Also, we had a really really good dinner with people we care about. Apparently wedding receptions are mostly an excuse for your friends to tell embarrassing stories about you.


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And that just about catches us up on the last, oh god, 3 months. 

Well, mostly catches us up. But I gotta save something for later, right?




12 June 2018

I'm really good at failure

I've read a couple books recently that talk a lot about how we define failure and success, what goes in to making decisions, and the seemingly endless pursuit of happiness and perfection. And, I'm going to be honest, I really liked the conclusions: success isn't all it's cracked up to be.

There's a school of thought (which, granted, sounds a bit trite) that failure is more valuable than success. At the most basic level, you'll never fail if you don't push your limits. In that sense, failure is simply part of the learning process. Dig a bit deeper, and you'll find that failures are often tipping points - the impetus to train harder, change jobs, make different choices. Arguably, our failures define us more than our successes. And what we do with those failures can make us stronger and smarter, or tear us apart. 

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These days, it seems like everyone loves to rip on Millennials. We're lazy, entitled, ruining the housing economy by renting instead of buying, obsessed with instant gratification and image, and constantly comparing ourselves to everyone else on social media. We present bite-sized pieces of ourselves to the world, trying to make our lives look perfect and fulfilling. We broadcast our lives to the world, and try to gloss over the failures that led us to where we ended up. The struggles and failures aren't mentioned until they've been overcome. We're all about lessons learned and being an inspiration. 

Let's get one thing straight: Millennials are not lazy or entitled, we just refuse to work for free and strive to have something resembling a work-life balance (something I'm admittedly terrible at). We've born the brunt of the 2008 financial crash and broader trends in the workforce that result in a generation projected to make less than our parents. We buy fewer homes and do so later in life due in part to the migration to cities and crippling student debt. Although we actually have less debt than previous generations. Go figure. I could go off on this extensively, but, let's be honest, other people have and much more eloquently than I can. So I won't. 
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So back to failing.

I'm really good at failing. 

Seriously. I fail a lot. I joke that I try to be wrong at least once a day, and that I actually have no idea what I'm talking about but get away with it by saying it with confidence. The first part isn't intentional but happens anyway, but the second part seems to happen a lot. 

I pride myself of working hard and being willing to put in extra time to do it right. Of course, that doesn't always work. I studied for months for the professional engineering exam last fall, and still managed to fail it. This surprised most of the people around me, since apparently I project a sense of competence or whatever. Despite the fact that I wasn't super surprised about failing something I thought I'd prepared for, it shook my confidence in my abilities more than I was willing to admit. So for round 2 I started studying earlier, put in more hours, brought study material to the field (cuz what kind of geotechnical engineer would I be if I didn't spend a couple weeks in the middle of nowhere right before an exam?), and managed to pass. 

Full disclosure? I don't know if I'd have been able to deal with failing the PE a second time. I felt okay about it after sitting in April, but was afraid to say with any degree of certainty that I'd pulled it off. Studying took over my life for a solid 3 months (twice!), on top of work deadlines and a vague attempt to have a personal life and maintain my relationship. It was a strain on several levels and I truly don't think it would have been worth studying and sitting for the exam a third time. I'm not sure my sanity or relationship would have survived it. So I put a lot of pressure of myself to study better and pass the damn exam. 

Wanna know something else? I think I'm a better engineer for having failed that stupid exam. 

Maybe another word for "failure" is "trauma". It's more... positive (hah, there's the Millennial in me trying to put a spin on it). After all, we remember our really shitty experiences for what feels like forever, while the wins fade into the background. But being forced to persevere, learn, and move on? Those are results of failure. 

I failed epically at ice climbing and destroyed my ankle. There was serious talk about amputation and uncertainty if I would ever be able to run on it again. Major trauma, both physical and psychological. 5 years later, I still have my foot, still run, and have a constant dull ache and tightness in my ankle that will probably never go away. One poorly thought out decision changed my life and forced me to assess my priorities and learn to power through. I'm a better, stronger person because I really, really suck at ice climbing. 

See? Failing can be a net positive. And I'm really good at failing. Maybe because I'm less afraid of it than I used to be. 

05 January 2018

2017: A year in review

2017 was a weird year, and I'm not referring to the crazy politics and general state of the world. Weird isn't the right word for that. 

For starters, new job, new city, new climbing gym, running routes, and whatnot. 

Luckily, it turns out that I really like my job, the climbing gym is pretty good, and we're living a mile and a half away from some really nice running trails. So although 2017 kinda felt like a year in flux, it was, all in all, a pretty good year.

Granted, there were some bad spots. My grandmother passed away, Ev had a kidney stone epic, and I messed up my thumb/wrist climbing. 

But the year ended on a high note: while in Dillingham over Christmas, Ev asked me to marry him. Apparently if you adopt a panther for a guy, he has to marry you. (Backstory: Ev loves big cats and talks nonstop about wanting one, so I 'adopted' one in his name at a big cat rescue. Then I gave him a framed picture of his new black panther, Amos, for Christmas.)


So that's a thing. Details will probably not follow. 



Anyways, I briefly considered doing an actual blog post, then decided to just get this up so Lorraine stops bugging me. So this is for you, sweetie.