To the World We Live In

Wed, 21 May 2025 11:55:34 -0400
activism, critical-social-justice, feminism, feminist-future, gwst, intersectionality, life, womens-center-staff

Bear with me.

As a self-proclaimed feminist since age 14, it might surprise you that the first time I was actually taught about feminism was at age 22. My first women’s studies course was at CCBC, in the spring of 2022. Near the end of the course, I recall a particular discussion about the feminist future. My classmates were discussing how gradual versus immediate change could mitigate backlash and create permanent change. Feeling bleak about COVID, the lack of interest from the general public in feminist issues, and realizing change takes far longer than I’d ever imagined, I made a (what I believed to be realistic at the time) statement: “We likely won’t live to see that world.”

That belief, that I—and my children, and their children—would not live to see the world I was working towards, followed me to UMBC. Still, I enrolled as a double major (not quite convinced that Gender, Women’s, + Sexuality Studies, or GWST, was my path just yet), and sat myself down in the 10am section of GWST 200: Activism with Dr. Kate.

From the very first assignment, which forced me to confront my own activism and answer honestly if I viewed myself as an activist, I knew I had found my path. None of my biology classes ever asked how we could make transportation easier and more accessible, and then asked students to brainstorm how to actualize that. They certainly never made the biggest project in the class about actual, tangiblechange that could be achieved over the course of a semester.

And, most importantly, no one had ever validated the small acts of activism as actual activism. The phrases “rest is resistance,” and “every act matters, no matter how small,” are now regular members of my repertoire, but I didn’t believe them until GWST 200. Never had I felt like I had actual power—the power to change something, to make a lasting difference. Dr. Kate’s belief that all of us are capable, even in the smallest of acts, was transformational. I find that belief echoed in many GWST professors, in the curriculum, and in the way we interact with each other. All of my professors are activists by virtue of their profession, but many take up the mantle outside of the classroom as well. In GWST, I found professors that practiced what they preach.

Having grown up in a deeply conservative part of Maryland, I was used to being told nothing would change no matter how hard I tried. Every effort in high school to make a difference had been consistently met with, “It won’t matter.” I know now that this attitude was intended to make us feel like our efforts were meaningless, even if they weren’t. If you can convince people that fighting back doesn’t change a thing, then you kill the resistance overnight. To quote my favorite musical, “The ones who tell the lies are the solemnest to swear.”

That musical, Hadestown, has another line I’ve been thinking about: “To the world we dream about, and the one we live in now.” This line, spoken by the ever-hopeful Orpheus, posits the world we live in and the world we want to see as two different worlds.

Well, lately I’ve been dreaming.

Not the kind you need to be unconscious to access, but the waking, living, “I want to see and feel it,” kind of dreaming. But I’ve been doing a lot of that other kind of dreaming, too.

Lately, the world feels heavier. As if the Earth can’t carry all our burdens. As if the top layer of soil is crumbling under our combined grief. As if our planet might implode on itself and become a black hole, like our sun should be doing instead. Lately, I am afraid.

But I don’t bow down to fear. When a spider catches me by surprise, I don’t extend my arm to squash it. I grab a cup and piece of paper and deliver it back outside. When someone swerves at me with their brights on, I don’t panic and crash head on. I check my peripherals and move to the side. When the reigning authority threatens to destroy the joy we’ve dusted off and brought back into the sunlight, I refuse to go quietly into the shadows.

I won’t lie that I want to. I won’t lie that I’ve been terrified of knocks at my door, that I’ve made contingency plans, that I’m stockpiling information in case I need it sooner. I’ve been considering removing the flags from my bios, asking my partner not to leave the house without me—but that’s not how I want to live. I have a duty to myself to live my life authentically. Life is too short to live in fear.

So, I’ve taken up dreaming.

I’ve been dreaming of a world where I can step outside and not worry about what I’m wearing. I’ve been dreaming about a world where my partner doesn’t feel the need to make himself inconspicuous. I’ve been dreaming about a world where the people who make my clothes work a living wage, or don’t require a wage, because we live in a world of abundance and there are enough resources to go around. I’ve been salivating over a sustainable, borderless world, where conversations about whether or not the cars we drive, the food we eat, or the hobbies we enjoy are world-ending are conversations of generations past.

I’ve been dreaming of a world where I live to see the change—that could be this world. I am leaving behind the idea that I won’t live to see the change. I will make the change.

As I hurtle closer to graduation, I’ve been thinking about what I’m leaving behind at UMBC. In my time at the Women’s, Gender, & Equity Center, I’ve created programs and events that helped to fill gaps in providing what the campus needed. I’ve tried to help peers and provide resources wherever I can. I’ve made connections, learned the true value of community, and how freeing it can be to be honest in a group of like-minded people. I’ve brought lessons learned home, changed the worldview of those around me, and began to start changing my own.

My whole life has been entrenched in academia. I have spent more of my life in school than out of it, and, for a long time, that meant that the only way I envisioned change was through books and other people.

I am other people now.

The world we dream about doesn’t have to be separate from the world we live in, but it starts small. It starts with us—with me, with you. Just as in Hadestown, there will be failures and setbacks along the way. But if STEM taught me anything, it’s that a failure isn’t the same as a setback, it’s just a part of the process—and we try again.