History, many say, is nothing but violence, war, death …
Yes, because men write it.
If women wrote history, maybe we’d put something else center stage. Maybe themselves.
And maybe if all that violence didn’t make the front page, there’d be less of it.
And if men became unimportant, then what they did would become unimportant.
But pain, death—it can’t help but be important.
Yes, but there’s been more birth than death.
More joy than pain?
Perhaps. What I feel when I’m out paddling, the sparkles on the lake, the music in my headphones, it’ll never make the news. For others, it’s the delight of a child’s giggle. For others still, the swell of new knowledge gained or an antique restored. These things do not make the news.
(But how powerful a new car is? That makes the news. Every fucking day.)