I can buy myself flowers

There is a Reductress headline that I’ve been thinking about lately, because of, you know, everything, “Joy is an Act of Resistance Says White Woman Who Engages in No Other Acts of Resistance.”  Most days I feel like I’m not doing enough to make a difference. Sure, I call my representatives regularly, leaving borderline unhinged messages on Senator Chuck Schumer’s voice mail. I donate to mutual aid groups. I fuck with capitalism, trying not to buy too many things in general, and have cut back or stopped purchasing things from some businesses altogether. It’s not much, all added up, and I recognize that. But none of that would be possible without finding those kernels of joy here and there to keep the hope alive and make me feel that yes, even something as calling my dumb ass senator CAN make a difference! (Well, maybe not mine, but potentially yours.)

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In the past few years, the idea of joy as resistance has been talked a lot about. It’s not a new idea, but as conditions in the country and the world have uh…deteriorated…it’s something that a lot of people, myself included, have taken some slight solace in. Finding moments of happiness and togetherness is absolutely imperative in a world that is purposely trying to desensitize us to the horrors that play across our screens –distracting us with one major event after another so that our brains feel the need to look away – or become paralyzed by inaction. Some days the only moments of levity I experience come from looking at one of my favorite pieces of art, this drawing print of 2 pigeons kissing with  a condom over their heads. 

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Four or five summers ago, I joined a flower CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). You pay in advance for a season, receiving a weekly bunch of flowers through the Fall, which supports some local farmers. It’s less useful than a produce CSA, but those came with more vegetables than I could finish before they would go bad (I’m not big on cooking). I honestly don’t remember when I first joined (it can’t be more than five years, or really where has the time gone), or what made me sign up for it (a promise of peonies, undoubtedly), but at this time, I’ve been getting a bouquet of flowers once a week, for 30 weeks. Once a week for 30 weeks I stop by at a neighborhood business, chat with the people running the CSA, maybe some other members, and gush over our bouquets. It is a highlight of my week. I miss it during the winter months. 

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I know buying flowers doesn’t seem like it is in any way an act of resistance – it certainly wasn’t something that occurred to me when I first joined, but in a small way, it is. Being a part of this flower CSA helps me connect with people in my community, it introduces me to my neighbors, and is creating a small support group for its members. I pick up the flowers at a local business, one in which I have been a patron frequently. The flowers come from a small family owned farm, meaning my purchase supports independent farmers. And yes, the flowers themselves provide me with a few moments of joy and beauty, no matter how ephemeral. They bring pleasure to my day and provide my cat with a pre-dinner snack (we all need to eat more greens). They are  a reminder of how the small things in life can, and more often than not do, make me happy, and that I have most of what I want and need out of life. It is a weekly shift in perspective that highlights how privileged I am to treat myself to this weekly pilgrimage, and I am grateful for that. It reinforces my ideals that everyone should be able to have their basic needs met in life so they can enjoy their wants, that a better life and a better world is worth fighting for – whatever form that may take. 

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Kerry is a new writer who loves to watch tv and then read about the tv she just watched. She is excited to expand her creative endeavors by partnering with Gal Pal. She is based in Queens, NY, the world’s borough, and lives with her husband and their two jerk cat sons.