Being a "Hippie Chick"

A decade or so ago I was a self described 'Hippy Chick'.

Yeah, something like this. 

This was the nineties, not the sixties, but I was in my twenties. It seemed important to Change The World.

I wore colourful sweaters from Ecuador and birkenstock sandals (with and without socks). I believed in International Development and signing petitions. I attended Take Back the Night rallies and took Women's Studies courses. I went to Gay Pride Parades and volunteered at a GLBT library.

I got my astrological chart done. I got my tarot cards read.

I bought Utne Reader and Adbusters and Out Magazine. I wrote essays exploring feminist interpretations of Gothic/Romantic literature. I ate at vegetarian restaurants and went to 'alternative' bookstores.  I explored world music.

A source of epiphany and discovery. 

For a time, I joined the International Socialists (and I have the button-pin to prove it). I also tried to get a job at Greenpeace because I couldn't stand the idea of 'having to go corporate with my English degree' (but I just didn't have enough fire in the belly to sell GP memberships door to door).

I started meditating, doing yoga and reading up on paganism/Buddhism. I delved deeper into other -ism's, too: like capitalism, feminism, socialism, racism, classism, environmentalism, activism.

I realized far too many things that I took for granted as hard truth and essential reality (like economics, poverty, the news, and American hegemony) were actually human constructs. They were the result of human choices; choices that could be 'un made'. My mind boggled at the possibility of alternate choices, shifted constructs, shifted consciousness.

Imagine there's no countries! It's easy, if you try!

Things could change.

Couldn't they?

Have they?

I'm not entirely sure what happened to me once the nineties came to a close.

Worker Bee

I left university. I had to get a full time job. I ended up in a series of office positions--the exact kind I didn't want, real soul-suckers. You'd think that would have gotten me all riled up, eager to take on the stultifying Conformity of Corporate Culture. But all I got was tired.

Once away from the campus and the city centres, I eased the pedal off the metal. I even wore business suits! A sort of masquerade, right? I was a sheep in wolf's clothing, right? Or was I transforming? Was I becoming one of them?

No no no, I assured myself. That couldn't be. So maybe I gave up the itchy Central American sweaters. But I still made conscious choices. I had my own kind of micro-activism. Teaching career! Organic produce! Hybrid car! Pro-Breastfeeding!

Be a Drop in the Bucket! I would console myself. Every Drop Counts! Don't you remember the starfish story? "It made a difference to that one."

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

No jaded eyerolls allowed! There's meaning behind these bumper sticker-like sayings. Profound meaning. And there is a need for that profundity. A desperate need.

It's not like the issues have all magically resolved. There is still disparity, cruelty, prejudice, devastation. Compassion is necessary. Action is necessary. Voice is necessary.

It seems messier to me now, though. Messy, overwhelming and complicated.

It was dark and the restaurant was brightly lit.
The patrons inside saw us and looked...defiant? chagrined?

Here's a wistful memory: pausing at the intersection of Robson and Bute in the middle of a Take Back the Night rally with a pack of other women, all of us giving the Hooters restaurant the finger.

How quaint was our impulse! As if our giving Hooters the finger was going to stop the sexual objectification of women.

But who knows? Maybe it did for someone there that night. Maybe that is how it happens. Maybe we can spark consciousness shifts through peaceful protest and giving voice.

Those shifts grow seismic... Equalling personal and individual and then societal progress...

My Hippie Chick eats her tabouli and nods vigorously in agreement.

As for me, I am more ambivalent about the impact of my convictions. I eat my gluten free, Thai chicken pasta in silence, offering her no argument.

I decide to let Hippie Chick win this one.

I think she needs it.