The journey to hope: a completely different kind of story

I apologize to my many readers for not writing again sooner about the issues of the millennial generation. First, my sheep were in labor during this busy season, and then of course our village had to fight against the marauding Parisis. Don’t worry, though—we have finally beaten them back, and they shan't intrude again!

I don’t mind telling you, dear readers, that there was a time when I looked around at my generation and felt nothing but contempt for their frivolous ways. It’s ironic that on this, a blog that’s supposed to be about my generation, I find myself writing about how much I used to hate my generation! But no, seriously, I spent my early teens birthing children—many of whom died directly upon leaving my womb, if not while still floating within the briny sea of my insides—and nursing my neighbor-women through their labors. Of course, I was married when I was 9, and went to live with my husband—who had been a prosperous merchant at the time of our engagement, when I was two, but by the time of our marriage had had his fleet either stolen outright or sunk by pirates and thieves, leaving him shekelless—in my twelfth year, after my menarche. When I wasn’t hiding from my husband, being raped, or begging for scraps of food in the street, I saw villagers, neighbors, relatives, dying in the street. Some from hunger, others from plague, childbirth, decapitation, chariot accidents, and whatnot. I had to learn to deal with death before I even knew what life really was!

During this time, I fell away from my family and childhood friends. I was more than a two days’ walk from my old village. And when I did get occasional word from my childhood friend, it was always something about how, as her husband’s third wife, she had gotten beaten by one senior wife or the other. I’m like, Oh, wow, Mehetabel, that must suck so much to have slaves and food and a husband who can afford three wives. If only a tiny little beating by a weak woman were my biggest worry! I never got to live for myself, and for some reason I despised my generation for that.

For my whole adult life, and most of my childhood as well, I worked in service to others. Finally, one of my children survived past infancy. My ninth, Hepzibah. And life started to get more normal. The plague moved to another village. The sheep-plague took its place. My husband died. I wore the robes of a priestess of Eris. I began to accept life as it was. Whether you believe in Eris or not, I believe that every person is put on this earth to serve others.

I have incredible hope for our generation. We stand for hope. We stand for change. We stand for something bigger than ourselves. I don’t know how I’ve gotten to this belief, actually, but here I am. And here you are. And together, somehow, we will save the world.