We Are Still Here
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
It was a Tuesday. Then Wednesday. Then Thursday. One day at a time.
That's what I've been telling myself the last few months. It's been too overwhelming to try and think any longer than week by week. The days blend together in other people's daily stresses and the catastrophic decisions of world leaders and the moments of sweet but often distant connection between loved ones. As spring arrives, the emergence of the sun makes it easier to live in the moment.
I keep living and existing, partly out of habit and partly out of spite. My very existence is an act of rebellion in today's world.
The headlines don't feel real. They're constant and overwhelming, eager to wear us down into hopelessness.
Trump 2.0 isn't satisfied with the presidency, instead he’s out to conquer the world, like a cartoon villain, or like Hitler and the Romans and the Huns before him. Conquering the world isn't possible, so instead he's destroying what he can't have. Shutting down entire government departments, investing in Bitcoin and AI instead of people, laughing as people struggle to survive. The threat of war in my home country hurts in every way possible, and my chosen country is at a tipping point that will determine how we respond to our neighbor's transgressions.
Investments in retirement plans tank, costs of living rise, healthcare becomes even more expensive, jobs are getting more scarce, information is difficult to obtain or to verify, and climate change threatens to burn what's left. The pandemic broke out 5 years ago and we're still collectively reeling from the losses and frustration of isolation. People are hurt and angry and lonely and stuck. And daily life doesn't slow down, either. None of us are okay as we sit at the cusp of… something. The weight feels unbearable and I struggle to know what to do with it.
So I turn to the page. To write, to draw, to remind my neighbors in the void about how we're still so deeply connected. Those connections are why everything we do matters. Especially when it doesn't seem like it.
I know we will outlast the current regime. We have the means of survival already, and strategies from history. Our support systems shift as funding changes but our communities are still there.
So what matters? What can we do?
Music, art, writing, education, rest, community, honing skills, working locally, thinking of long term effects, and living in the moment.
I take my vitamins and have baths by candlelight and take walks in the sunlight. I pet all the cats I see, and say hi to all the dogs and birds. I try to be more mindful of where I get my news from.
It helps. It gets me to the next day.
Kindness (not to be confused with niceness), empathy, creativity, and literacy are powerful tools of rebellion. There's a reason Trump is targeting education and culture. He doesn't like criticism or critical thinking. He sees “the masses” as numbered resources to control, not people with lives more vicarious than his.
Queer joy isn't just a party, it's also a brick.
We are still here.