On the Other Side of the Window

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

This first day of 2019, I sit in my dining room after a long run with a warm cup of tea in the sunshine, not far from our dog, who has also found comfort and post-holiday solace in a beam of sun.

Across the room are two potted plants I purchased this past spring. They are geraniums mixed with a few other plantings. They very happily lived on the front porch for the spring, summer, and early fall. As they began to die off when the weather cooled, I just happened to be reading a book where a woman in England talked about having her geranium plant for 13 years. She would bring it indoors each fall and back outside each spring. Instead of emptying the containers in the woods behind our home, as I normally would have done with these plants, I decided to try my hand at keeping these two lovelies alive through the winter.

This morning, when I opened the blinds to the new day and new year, I happened to see a little red bud on one of the plants. While I don’t believe the plant should be blooming, I was excited to see that my efforts are taking effect.

However, this afternoon while sitting in the same room I noticed the rose bush just on the other side of the window. It’s dead/hibernating in every way. There is also a little red bud on it that stopped growing mid-bloom during the first frost, and will never open to what would have been its full potential as a rose flower.
A close-up of green plant leaves with a blurred background featuring a small, reddish flower bud.
A potted plant with lush greenery sits on a wooden table near a window, with sunlight illuminating the leaves. A candle is placed on the windowsill, and a car is visible outside.

However, this afternoon, while sitting in the same room, I noticed the rose bush just on the other side of the window. It’s dead—hibernating in every way. There is also a little red bud on it that stopped growing mid-bloom during the first frost and will never open to what would have been its full potential as a rose flower.

The difference is the warmth, care, and attention I’m giving the geraniums. They get monthly plant food. They are shielded from the cold, just on the other side of the window. They have a fighting chance at survival. How is this not different from the way we treat others in the world?

Folks on the other side of the tracks. The homeless on the other side of the window from our homes, jobs, and businesses we frequent. The children who do not have the same opportunities to thrive to their fullest potential as many of their classmates, due to their home environment and lack of warmth and nurturing.

Last Thursday I drove down to Branford during rush hour. There was an accident on I-95 North at the ramp, and the signs on the highway suggested finding an alternate route. I followed my GPS, and a few turns later I didn’t recognize where I was or fathom how just a few turns away things were so different.

Suddenly there were really busted-up houses, apartments, and abandoned buildings. Check-cashing stores, pawn shops, rough-looking package stores, and one too many convenience merchants advertising the sins of the world. Folks were walking around hunched over with old clothes and hardly any outerwear. Drunken people around my age just wandering the streets alone or with another counterpart, barely aware enough to pay attention to oncoming traffic.

Just on the other side of town… as the rose bush is just on the other side of the window.

If the rose bush were also potted and brought in, the flowers would continue to thrive through the winter, just as they bloom nonstop in the warmer months.

I am fully aware that I’m not comparing apples to apples. The rose bush outside is a perennial and will resume its cycle in the spring. The geranium would not be alive next year if it were left out all winter.

But people are not flowers. We are born the same, not with such different gene sets like these two flowering plants. However, our circumstances often decide if we thrive or not. It’s the warmth and caring of our environment, town, parents, and community that determine if we bloom to our fullest potential or spend our lives just trying to stay alive.

It’s not fair.

Just on the other side of the window, the ones who are safe and warm have a duty to do something—simply because they have the power, energy, and stamina to do so. Because they can, I humbly believe that they should.

Peace ☮️

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On the Tangled web we weave 

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Where to begin?

Daren and I have been in Africa for the past week. We started out in South Africa and are currently in Zimbabwe. The economic disparity between the first world and third world is almost inconceivable. The modern-day effects of corruption and apartheid are prevalent with just a glance out the window. How can such an atrocity exist in the year 2017?

It’s so complicated. We have been having conversations with one another, friends, and locals about this very topic for the past week. I think we were both surprised at how much the lower-paid locals know about the US political system and how thoughtfully they have considered ways to remedy situations created by governments and history. There isn’t an easy answer.

What has also surprised me is seeing firsthand what South Africa looks like today and reading older materials about apartheid. From a brief glance, the population of mixed race did not appear enraged or agitated with one another; it seemed to be something the government enforced. Many citizens were recorded to have said that even though apartheid laws were proposed, they didn’t think they would pass. Then when they did, they thought there was no way they could be enforced in a modern society—until people of non-white descent were suddenly removed from their homes. That was only 50–70 years ago, after WWII and all we learned as a human race. Something similar happened in Zimbabwe, though in that case whites were forced off the land.

Then, interestingly, I heard a different perspective from the “white” side. We have friends from the states who have been living here for the past nine months and have met many locals. They shared perspectives from people of Dutch descent that I had not considered. One idea presented was that when groups with very different ways of living are forced together, conflict can arise. For example, if one group values certain systems like schooling, taxation, and land management and another does not, it can create tension.

From that perspective, apartheid was seen by some as a way to separate groups by how they chose to live. Again, I don’t know all the facts of the Dutch settlers specifically, and we know displacement did occur in many places, but hearing this perspective made me pause. Over time, cultural differences remained, and instead of blending, separation was enforced. Since European settlers built much of the infrastructure, some believed they had the right to maintain those areas while others lived differently elsewhere.

Wow… on a much smaller scale within my own home, having a blended family, I understand how difficult it can be to merge different backgrounds into one living situation. And in my family, we are very similar in many ways—yet it is still challenging. How can entire communities, countries, and cultures with hundreds of years of history be expected to suddenly align?

I know apartheid wasn’t the answer, just as creating separate rules or divisions within my own family wasn’t the answer either.

The truth is, there is no easy answer. Some might point to education, but education doesn’t necessarily make someone right about how life should be lived. What is wrong with living simply, connected to the land? Is the ultimate goal to keep building and advancing, or is there value in simply being present and living fully in the moment?

Does striving to improve the future make someone more important than someone who is content with the present? And if someone believes that, does it give them the authority to decide for others?

We also can’t forget the people who were enslaved, displaced, or killed. These realities are not just part of history—they still exist in different forms. For those who were freed, how do they catch up in a system that requires education and resources they may not have access to? It becomes a cycle that is incredibly difficult to break.

Their cultures may not have required these systems originally, yet they are now expected to function within them. In some ways, that can feel like a continuation of the same struggle, just in a different form.

Affirmative action is one possible approach, but it comes with its own complexities and challenges.

These are difficult questions—ones we don’t often consider in our daily lives. It’s easier to focus on our own routines and responsibilities, which is important too. We need to take care of our own lives to have any chance at contributing positively to the world around us.

One of the most unsettling thoughts I had this week was hearing how much trust people had in their government when apartheid was introduced. Many didn’t believe something unjust could happen in a modern society. It made me reflect on how fragile systems can be if we stop questioning them.

I wouldn’t want to be in a position of making decisions for millions of people. The complexity is enormous.

It can feel overwhelming, but maybe the question isn’t how to solve everything—it’s how we show up individually.

Perhaps it starts with something simple:

  • Be kind to others.
  • Don’t take more than you need.
  • Treat people equally.
  • Think critically.
  • Stay informed and participate as a citizen.
  • Make decisions in your own life that contribute to something larger than yourself.
  • Take care of your health so you can show up fully.
  • Make time to rest and enjoy life.
  • And find one or two things you genuinely care about and focus your energy there.
  • Even small, thoughtful actions can create change over time.

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On International Women’s Day

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

If you aren’t outraged, you aren’t paying attention.

I have to admit—I had never really heard of International Women’s Day either. My initial reaction wasn’t great, but I started looking into it. It’s been around since 1909. Really? It was first celebrated in New York City, and the date later moved to March 8th when it was recognized more broadly. It’s been around for over 100 years and somehow never fully caught on here. Maybe it’s about time.

When I thought about it beyond that first reaction, I started to feel something closer to outrage. To everyone who made fun of the day or felt the need to post something snarky—have you ever stopped to consider why it exists?

In the United States, we still lag behind many developed countries in policies that support families. Paid maternity leave is limited. Paid paternal leave is not standard. Many women still earn less than men in similar roles. Representation in leadership and government positions remains uneven. And culturally, women are still often portrayed in narrow ways that shape expectations from a very young age.

Globally, the gaps are even more striking. Women make up half the population, yet hold a much smaller percentage of leadership roles. Many still face violence, limited access to education, and restrictions on basic freedoms. These realities are not abstract—they affect real people, every day.

So when people dismiss something like International Women’s Day, it makes me pause.

Why is this acceptable?

Why are these things normalized?

Some might say women make different choices—that they step away from careers, take fewer risks, or prioritize family. But why is that the structure we’ve accepted? Why does raising children—future members of society—come at such a high personal and financial cost?

Most families I know didn’t choose daycare because they preferred it. They chose it because they had to. To pay bills. To survive. And for those who stay home, there are tradeoffs too—financial, professional, long-term.

This isn’t just a personal issue. It’s a societal one.

You would think the federal government might set a stronger example. On paper, it often does. In practice, that hasn’t been my experience.

I’ve worked for the federal government for over two decades—active duty, reserve, and civilian. When I got pregnant in 2006 while in the military, I applied for what was described as a generous unpaid leave program. My situation was straightforward—we had no childcare support, and both my husband and I had schedules that made coverage nearly impossible.

It was denied.

No real explanation beyond “I was needed.”

I returned to work after six weeks. There was no place to pump, so I didn’t breastfeed. A coworker’s wife helped watch my son. People were shocked the request had been denied. It worked out—but it easily could have not.

A few years later, when it came time to reenlist, I wanted to stay in. I had strong performance reviews and had advanced quickly. We asked for a reasonable accommodation—one of us needed to be stationed somewhere that didn’t require overnight duty so we could care for our child.

It wasn’t considered.

I was told it was my turn for ship duty. End of discussion.

I left active duty.

Another motivated woman out of the workforce.

Years later, in my civilian role, I saw similar patterns. Flexible schedules, job sharing, alternative work arrangements—all things that exist on paper. In practice, they were rare.

After 22 years of consistent, high-level performance, I asked for an alternative schedule to manage burnout and maintain balance.

The answer was no.

No clear explanation. No real discussion. Just… no.

When I pushed for clarity, the response wasn’t transparency—it was subtle resistance. Enough to feel it, not enough to prove it.

Eventually, I left that role.

Another motivated employee gone.

This isn’t just about me. It’s about a pattern.

At some point, you start to ask—where is the accountability? Why don’t these issues feel more visible, more urgent?

Why aren’t we talking about them more openly?

Why aren’t we asking for better?

And beyond our own borders—why aren’t we paying more attention to the realities women face in other parts of the world?

This isn’t about comparison or competition. It’s about awareness.

Because inequality isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet. Built into systems. Accepted over time.

So maybe International Women’s Day isn’t something to dismiss.

Maybe it’s simply a reminder.

To pause.

To notice.

To ask better questions.

To consider what still needs to change.

Because if we don’t, it’s very easy to assume everything is fine.

And often, it isn’t.

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