100 Posts in 100 Days
I know it’s not good etiquette to ask a woman her age. But I am going to share that my lifetime began in 1972. That matters for what I want to share about my last few days.
Thursday I had a day to wander in and around New York City on my own. It was sunny and surprisingly comfortable for June, with warm temperatures and low humidity. I decided to walk in the Greenwich Village neighborhood, specifically to visit the Stonewall National Monument.
It was easy to spot the monument by the many Pride flags adorning the fence that runs the perimeter of this US National park. Also along the fenceline is a photo exhibit, also available virtually, that helps to tell the story of Stonewall. In person, there are additional photos on display right now detailing stories of individuals and places that are significant in securing and supporting rights for the LGBTQIA+ community.
Inside the park are statues of same sex couples and a number of benches where visitors may sit and relax. On Thursday, nearly every seat in the park was occupied by visitors. The surrounding neighborhood was bustling and noisy, as you would expect in New York City. Strangely, though, inside the park it was nearly silent. It felt reverent.
Across the street from the park is the Stonewall Inn, the site of the raid in 1969 that started the riots and protests. On this day, there was a fair amount of activity in front of the Inn. A photo shoot of several drag queens was in progress, a neighborhood walking tour was stopping by and listening to their guide telling the history, and patrons were enjoying beverages at the outdoor tables.
I was taking in the entire scene and thinking about it’s place in time and history with my own place in time and history. This weekend the neighborhood hosts the annual Pride festivities and next Tuesday is the anniversary of the Stonewall riots. I didn’t realize it when I was there on Thursday, but Friday marked the groundbreaking for a new visitor center next door to the Inn that will open in 2024. The timeline from the riots to the regular Pride festivities to the inauguration of the National Monument to the visitor center: that all happened (essentially) within my lifetime. It’s an example of what can be gained for human rights in a lifetime.
Much can also be lost in a lifetime. On Friday, the Supreme Court overturned the 1972 Roe v Wade ruling protecting a pregnant woman’s right to choose to have an abortion. I have never known a life without the ability to make my own health decisions, including reproductive health decisions. I have been privileged enough to have access to healthcare my entire life. As a child, I was on my family’s healthcare plan. In my late teens and early 20s, I went to Planned Parenthood for contraceptives and for care. Just out of college, I got my first full time job with my own insurance and health benefits. I’ve had that ever since.
I’ve never been pregnant. I’ve never been faced with the need to make a choice between continuing or terminating a pregnancy. I don’t pretend to know what that is like or what it would entail. But, until yesterday, I knew that if I was faced with that scenario, I would have the ability to consult with medical professionals and make the best possible decision for my situation. I knew that I had options. But that all seems to be changing.
I watched the “breaking news” of the official Supreme Court decision to overturn Roe v Wade on tv in my hotel room in New York. Even though I knew this was the decision that would come down, it was still shocking to hear. Not shocking in a surprising way, but shocking in a disbelieving way. I felt numb. I spent my whole life thinking that I could make my own decisions about my body and my health and respecting others to do the same. It only took one lifetime for these human rights to be lost.
Time is a funny thing. How does it go slow? How does it go fast? In the span of less than 24 hours, my concept of “lifetime” has been disrupted. The comparison of the length of my life to the arcs of these events in history has been simultaneously uplifting and heartbreaking. I feel hope and acceptance and I feel loss and despair. I don’t quite know how to reconcile it all. The words that keep ringing in my head are from poet Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day”:
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”