Earlier this year I lost the love of my life in the form of a 15 pound terrier mix named Petey who was my constant companion for so many years. The loss was devastating even though I knew it was coming because he had a progressive condition common to his breed(collapsed trachea). Petey was a lost dog wandering the streets when a friend found him and I ended up adopting him. We were instantly in love. I’ve never trusted another creature as much as I trusted him. We knew each other’s hearts completely.

It took me awhile to adopt another pack member for our pack of four, but this summer my husband’s constant needling about wanting another dog (he wanted a husky, but that’s a dog whose breed traits would never fit in with our current dogs I think) wore me down. I agreed to go see who was at the rescue. I sent hubby ahead to try to field it out, pick a few that he thought would be a good fit and then I’d come in and we’d drill down further. He sent me a video of the first time he saw who is now our adopted child, Chunk. He sounded amazed and said “you’re so beautiful!” Chunk is a catahoula leopard dog mix. His markings are very unique but not unique to that breed. He has soulful eyes that when he is sad or bored look devastated and when he’s happy are like a lantern of joy.

It took awhile once we brought him home to figure out that we had adopted 70 pounds of unbridled, wild, powerful energy. A tornado with four legs and a snout that seems to go everywhere it shouldn’t. He is 100% love, but obnoxious, over the top, boundary-free love.

Our other dogs had no idea what to do with him. They have since adjusted for the most part. In fact, our lab mix who is about 1/3 of Chunk’s size and he are best buddies now and the Chihuahua and my elderly Pyrenees mix have decided they can deal with him. At least most of the time.

But he has too much energy and need for stimulation for a work at home lawyer to handle. We took him first to doggie daycare but he got kicked out of GenPop for not respecting the boundaries of other dogs because he just wants to play play play now now now. He goes two days a week but he has to be separated out and just play with the ladies in the daycare, who absolutely adore him and I know give him special attention - but it made me so sad that he couldn’t play with the other kids.

So I vowed to get him the training he would need to better socialize. Today I took him to a training camp where he is going to be spending two days a week learning skills and how to interact more appropriately. While there for the initial evaluation session I realized that the skills the trainer used are applicable to my own career, and probably to most careers.

1. The trainer took the time to get to know him and me and our pack. He was interested in the wholistic view of Chunk’s life. In my practice, this is a reminder to not isolate problems and instead to look at the whole picture, to ask the questions that may not seem relevant but often really are.

2. The trainer focused on all the good things while still acknowledging the trouble areas. He ran through some tests with Chunk and said he was the most confident dog he’d seen in a long time, and very smart! He didn’t focus on the 3,000,000 times that Chunk jumped up and nearly knocked him or someone else over. He barely seemed bothered by that honestly. This gave me such a sense of confidence that he could handle my warts and all cyclone dog. In my own practice, I need to help people see the bright side more and acknowledge the problems but demonstrate my ability to manage them.

3. The trainer helped make me feel like help was on the way for something that’s been troubling me. The problem: My baby’s impulse control has made it so he can’t always have the fun he wants. The solution, he made me feel, could be found in those walls and he fully understood the problem. I can do that!

I imagine in situations where the dog is much more troubled, aggressive or out of control this must be such a huge relief to pet moms and dads. Chunk is a lovely dog, just needs a little help managing his intellect and energy. But there’s lots of dogs out there who have either been hurt and are therefore aggressive, or sometimes dogs are just bred into a meanness. When I was growing up we always had dobermans, some of whom were the sweetest dogs I’ve ever met. But we did have one dog who we had from a puppy, treated with the same spoiling and love as all the others, who was just naturally mean all his life. It’s a hard lesson I had to learn at a very young age that some people just can’t be fixed, that’s just who they are. Not the majority, but some. And all the love in the world isn’t going to flip the chemical switches in their brain.

But this is not Chunk. Chunk is more inclined to kiss and hug you to death (unless you’re a tiny animal like a bird or a squirrel then I’d move on out cause he IS a hunter breed).

So, we will work out the issues.

I sometimes think Petey sent this dog to me to keep me on my toes. He knows I love a challenge.

But also, he knows I need a powerful love like his always on my heels.

Yesterday I began to think about all the different messages I broadcast to myself all day long and how exhausting being a STRIVER is. I am always striving for better. For more. To be better. I have always been like this.To that end I kept a running tab of the messages my brain fired off to me in just one day.

What’s your list look like? Here’s mine for just the 3 hours I kept track.

I feel bloated.

I’m fat.

It’s okay that I am fat though.

I should exercise more, my knee is only going to get worse.

Plus there’s the fear of bone loss, remember that’s already happening.

I am not sure I should continue HRT.

But bone loss.

I drink too much.

I should join a wine club though. Like one where you test taste really high quality stuff.

I should have more friends.

But ew, people.

I need to take the dogs to the groomer.

I wish my husband would clean up the backyard.

Maybe I'll do it my damn self.

I need to clean the studio closet out

I have too many cloth bags.

My closet is overstuffed and disorganized.

I don’t have enough nice clothes for fall.

Nothing fits.

I hate this skirt.

I should never wear skirts again.
I need new shoes

But why is my foot always hurting.

I should see the podiatrist again.

He won’t help though.

I should eat better.

I should eat more protein.

I should just put tofu in everything.

I don’t drink enough water.

Is there a supplement you can take to bruise less?

I need to spend time actively training the puppy.

The puppy’s behaviors are my fault.

The puppy is an asshole.

No the Chihuahua is .

I am an asshole.

I am killing it today at work.

I need to schedule a nail appointment.

Why is this guy asking stupid questions

Why dont I have the answers to these stupid questions?
I am doing some amazing writing here.

People are going to think this is AI.

Should I not be using AI at all? Data centers are bad.

But I mean you can’t avoid it, not and do research.

I should learn more about AI

I don’t know who these politicians are winning these primaries or why the news is so excited about them.

I should do more protests.

I should sign up to do something with the vote in November.

I need to get all my lectures done for the next month in advance.

I should be using more video

I need to start making videos for the office.

I need to do staff meetings.

I wish I liked Matcha everyone on TikTok who likes it seems so together

I don’t like Macha.Why does it taste like grass caught fire?

I wish I tanned instead of whatever this is in the sun.

I need a better face cream.

I feel bloated.

I feel bloated.

I should drink more water.

Oh my goodness.

I have to stop this.

Internal Lynda, can we make a deal? Can we just shut up for a minute? Can we just live our lives and appreciate our accomplishments and our pleasures and stop constantly trying to do better, be better, criticize, optimize, improve, expand and yet simultaneously disappear? Can we change the dialogue?

Fall is coming. I know it’s hot, and don’t even come at me with that “we still have some summer weekends.” I have tried. I really tried to be a summer girl but two weeks ago I already was Halloween shopping and every week I check the grocery store for the plethora of pumpkin products to be rolled out.

Fall makes me want school supplies and new clothes no matter how old I get.

But Fall this year is going to be extra busy for me and I am spending my time right now trying very hard to

• Organize

  • Physical spaces like closets, drawers, location of supplies

  • Digital filing systems

• Create Systems

  • Mechanizing things where possible

  • Daily checklists

  • Weekly planning systems

  • Breaking down big projects into small steps and scheduling them

• Formulate plans

  • Put things on the calendar including the fun stuff and deadlines for projects

  • Create meal plans that can rotate through along with new ideas

  • Making the big goals and the little goals

This is a lot of work, but it’s important work and it will allow me to slide through the rest of the year with a plan. I have rewarded myself along the way with new clothes and bags and supplies.

But I also have been more than ever keenly aware that I need to build rest into the plan, and that without that the entire system will fail.

If you’re feeling the fall itch to organize let me give you a few of my favorite tips:

1. Have an admin day. Schedule a whole day to make appointments for months, block time for friend dates even if you haven’t got a specific plan with a specific friend, you can fill that part in later but if you don’t make time for it maybe it won’t happen. Clean up your phone apps and contacts and all the million little administrative things we always mean to do and never get to.

2. Look closely at how you spend your time. I am realizing that I watch some shows that I don’t even care about because I want to turn my brain off, and I think I can find a better way to do that when it’s necessary and perhaps do that less because I am going to need this brain working on all cylinders.

3. Prune. Get rid of things you don’t need, don’t use, don’t wear, don’t eat - make space for the things that you are missing.

4. BUY. If you can. It can be something little. But something silly that motivates you - a new notebook, a new pen, a work bag. Whatever price range just any small thing or things that makes you feel fresh and excited about your work.

5. Read. Go to the library and browse for a book or books on a topic that excites you. Maybe even some things on organizing or cooking or whatever areas in your life you want to improve

6. Luxuriate. Fully enjoy these last weeks of summer. Eat some fresh corn. Have a tomato sandwich. Sit in the sun (with sunscreen). Do that one thing you kept meaning to get to this summer. But also go ahead and hit those stores to look at the Halloween merch.

Happy Fall!

When I was a little girl my parents thought I was painfully shy. The truth is, I wasn’t actually afraid like they thought. I remember very clearly choosing not to speak. I didn’t want to talk to people who I didn’t want to talk to and I wasn’t going to. And the more people would be trying to force me to smile, to talk, the more determined I was that it wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t speak to my nursery school teacher the whole year (the doctor made my parents send me to become socialized and no longer feral but I resisted). On the last day I walked up to her and whispered thank you in her ear. She told this story to people for years apparently.

But also I listened. When you are a quiet little fat girl with curly hair and a refusal to speak you become largely invisible in adult spaces. I got to hear all the things they normally would not say in front of children because they assumed, I guess, that I was either dumb or uninterested.

But I heard it all. I didn’t know what gay was, but the hair dresser with the open shirt and chest hair and the big gold necklaces that called my mom Doll, well I knew he was not like the other men I knew. And even though I wouldn’t “smile for me, doll” at his command, I secretly approved of him.

When my trans cousin (I didn’t know what trans was I just know that one day she came to the door in a dress and my father was upset as I hid under the table where I liked to hide when any human was around that I wasn’t sure I was prepared to speak to). I watched him tell her to leave but I didn’t understand why, I just felt the tension. I knew it was the same person that I had seen at family events. I was only 5 and I am not sure I even knew what a cousin was let alone transgender. But it occurred to me in watching the scene that it must be the yellow floral dress that was the issue, that my father had different tastes in dresses and to be honest I wasn’t a fan of that particular dress either, preferring even then more a dark fairy princess kind of vibe. I had no other understanding of the situation until I was a pre-teen and when the realization dawned on me I was profoundly annoyed at my father for worrying about the wrong problem. It was the ugly dress that was the only issue.

Honestly, that cousin’s taste in clothing never improved. And what’s more she wasn’t always a very nice person. Just because I fully accept people for who they are does not mean I don’t have to notice when they are an a-hole, I realized early on.

And yet, I went to her funeral (she was much much older than me) and I acknowledged her as she even though I didn’t see too many people doing that, and I was sorry that she never got to be fully accepted by the people who should have loved her most (even in spite of herself sometimes). It wasn’t like we didn’t have other a-holes in the family that everyone was okay with, after all.

Perhaps myself included. Because all these years I’ve done what I wanted to do and been who I wanted to be just like that little girl. I still will frequently disappear from social situations where I just don’t want to be there, still will just not talk to people if I don’t have to and don't want to.

But I have also learned to use my voice. The first time I spoke up loudly was to tell someone off in a grocery store around age 10. My parents were stunned that their silent little cherub had it in her. They did not realize that I was actually really very prickly in my way, and although I had a high tolerance for nonsense when I was done I was truly quite done.

Again, not much has changed.

Sometimes I find myself surprised though at how much I speak, interject, run my mouth. It isn’t my natural inclination. I could probably sit silently in a forest without speaking to anyone for years and be absolutely fine.

It suited me to be invisible when I weighed 60 pounds and could easily be taken down, but now I am more of a tree trunk and kidnapping me would be a workout I doubt most people want to undertake, so I can say what I have to say.

But my childhood silence gave me a lot of wisdom. I knew early what motivated and frightened adults. I knew early what they would say when they thought no one was listening but people who wouldn’t understand.

I also knew early that I only have to smile if I want to. And I only have to speak if I have something to say.

When I was in my twenties there was a period of time where I stopped eating everything but bagels. I had been fat all my life and put through the traditional paces of how wrong I was fundamentally because my body was large. It made me a target for harassment and threat. It made my mother uncomfortable and constantly trying to feed me melba toast and get me to do calisthenics (despite the fact that she and everyone in my family? Also fat.) It made doctors and schools and random strangers on the street feel like they could whittle down who I was to a number on a scale.

I internalized it. I fought the battles, went to the gyms, read the Richard Simmons book and tried to drink my lemon water in the morning, I sweated to the Oldies. I tried.

But nothing ever changed.

When I got to college, which I was good at, I developed this romantic attachment to hunger. I felt like I was virtuous if I was hungry. On warm days I walked around in my big bulky sweater, shivering because I had not eaten and had only consumed a ton of coffee. I was a poet. It was romantic. It certainly wasn’t an eating disorder.

Except food increasingly became gross looking to me. One food that I had formerly liked after another became uncomfortable even to look at. Eventually I was eating nothing but a couple bagels a day and endless coffee.

Mind you, I was still fat. So this was certainly not an eating disorder.

Until one day I woke up and the bagel looked gross. Panic flooded my body. I suddenly realized that I had talked myself out of the means of survival. That I was not going to be able to survive if all food looked horrifying to me.

I was reading A Handmaid’s Tale at the time, ironically.

A day passed of my bagel hatred and I sat myself down for a heart to heart. I looked in the mirror and months of not even eating that much I WAS STILL FAT.

This, I told myself, is just the way it is. This is who you are. This isn’t going to change. And you can either destroy yourself or accept yourself.

So I went to a bakery.

I bought myself a vanilla buttercream birthday cake.

I came home. I sat down. I told myself “This is it. From now on, screw everyone else’s opinion of your body. This is the end of this.”

And I ate the cake out of the box with a fork. Not the whole thing. But an awful lot of it.

After that, I began adding back foods into my diet and within a month was eating like a normal person again.

I would like to say that’s the last time I cared about what people thought about my size. It wasn’t. I struggled with the oppression people drop on you over their judgment for decades.

But I never punished myself again.

And now, in my 50’s I am sitting here at 5:45am eating a huge delicious vegan breakfast - avocado toast on 21 seed/grain bread with cucumbers, vegan eggs with corn and kale and tomato. Well seasoned, delicious. I cook for myself every day, cook for my husband. I eat a 100% vegan diet but I shoot for 40 plus different plants in my diet every week and every day I eat a minimum of 10-15 servings of plants. I am not really into sweets usually but if I get a craving, I indulge it. My relationship with food is incredibly positive - I love it and it loves me. It keeps me healthy, it heals. It strengthens. It brings joy.

But I am still fat. A fat vegan.

I also am beginning to learn to like moving my body - a pre-osteroperosis diagnosis made me start doing some light strength training a few times a week and upping my steps/cardio to keep myself strong.

But this is who I am. As a menopausal woman I am not sure my body is going to let go of any weight, but if it does it sure won’t be a ton. I am never going to weight 120lbs like I thought was ideal as a teenager. Maybe as a corpse, that’s about it.

And I am okay with this. I am focused 100% on being healthy, on strengthening my body so we can be in harmony. For the first time in my life I fully and 100% do not care what ANYONE thinks except my doctor, who is incredibly size positive and also entirely focused on how my systems work and how to make them work better. For the first time in my life I am fully embracing the joy of having a body and being human and loving food, and the sensation of movement, the pleasure of just being grounded as a soul fully in a body.

I wish I could go back to my younger self and tell her to eat lavishly. To love herself absolutely. To ignore the haters.

But all I can do for her is thank her for eventually eating that cake. And starting to heal.

Much has been said about this season of Euphoria, and I am going to add my opinion here but please, don’t read it if you can’t deal with spoilers. Really. Go.

Okay, if you are still here I need to first say that in the beginning, the early seasons of Euphoria, I was hooked. Like many, this season I often felt like watching an episode was more administering a medication than a pleasure. In fact, it was a bit like the fetanyl laced drugs that finally took Rue our beloved anti-hero. It wasn’t really healthy for me, but I kept taking it.

First off, the absolute disdain that this season shows for all women isn’t even pretending to hide. Previously, the female characters were certainly not always admirable but at least they had a depth. In this season the only two females that weren’t straight up sex workers whose entire purpose on screen was their degradation were Rue and Maddie — and both of them only escaped that fate because they themselves were the degraders, using other women to avoid being used themselves in a similar fashion. Rue is less guilty than Maddie in this regard, but let’s be real - she positions herself as superior to the strippers but is just as much a commodity in Alamo’s world, and her fate no different than the countless sex workers he has disappeared when they no longer serve his interests.

But if exploiting women weren’t enough, a show that up until now really kind of glorified drug use, then trots out one of it’s now in real life deceased from a drug overdose actors, Angus Cloud, who played Rue’s close friend Fez, in order to moralize about the exploitation of users with fetanyl laced drugs. I suppose they meant it to be a tribute, but to me it felt much more like they were using his death to grasp at some kind of likability in a season where little likability was to be had.

Throughout the season we have the never ending string of reading the Bible, seeking meaning. And I had to wonder what on earth the writers were doing. First, we get the already suspect Sydney Sweeney as an only fans porn star with very few boundaries admitting to her MAGA-esque leanings - though of course she is positioned as a tragic idiot so despite so many critics thinking this was an homage to MAGA I have to say if anything the point was to call them unintelligent opportunists. Then having accepted this, we are treated to a series of monologues on Bible reading and we end with a prayer by Ali that almost seems TO Rue as opposed to God. And Cassie’s sister tells us all about how the Bible is full of sex and violence "(to which ever the idiot Cassie replies “oh is there a new one?”. But also how she’s read it but it doesn’t change her behavior, but it also creeps her out.

So who finds salvation in this (hopefully) last season of Euphoria? Probably really only Ali who has decided to give up on helping people, blows away Alamo the drug kingpin, and then goes and lives with weird traditional Christians on a ranch.

Are we to believe that the solution is to destroy the systems of drug production and return to traditional values? Would Rue have survived if she had just stayed there and had a simple life in a prairie gown? Would that have been enough for her? Will it, in the long run, be enough for Ali?

We were treated in one episode to Rue buried up to her neck with Alamo on a horse rushing toward her to play polo with her head. We also got to see Nate’s character get buried and then killed by a snake before he could be rescued. We got to see a thousand humiliations and soul destructions including watching the sensitive beautiful Jules be nothing more than a kept woman painting pictures in a wealthy man’s apartment so he can travel between his wife and she.

It was as though the writers just wanted to say LIFE SUCKS in the most dramatic possible ways. And I get it, these are dark times, but….

Exploitation isn’t fun anymore, read the room.

If it ever was.

And this entire season was exploitation and manipulation of the audience.

I am glad it’s over. And in a way I am glad I watched it because now I can be curmudgeonly angry about it.

But I also wanted so much more for the characters I came to love in the first season. The emotional depth they once had - gone. The hope - gone. The energy - gone. The point——

Gone.

Over the weekend I radically organized and customized my MacBook and iPhone and iPad. I cleared my back log of “continue watching” and “watchlist” on all the streaming services. I made lists. I really tried to get my act together.

In between I scrolled TikTok and watched countless 20 and 30 something women doing the same, making perfect journal systems and technologically advanced organization strategies, spinning lovelorn lives on pastel tech plates like whirling dervishes.

I am not them. I no longer believe that the perfect journal or organization system is going to save me. I guess I could objectively say I am not working toward a dream, because I kind of already got it. I set it out to have a successful business and a good, comfortable life. I have those things. I am more in the “maintain” part of life, leading to the inevitable “slowly reduce your needs and retire” part.

But the allure of fresh school supplies in fall, the softly bitter scent of number 2 pencils and crisp plastic sheened notebook covers, the crunch of a brand new bag and the hopefulness of a new planner….they remain forever a reminder of the striving and the beauty of that striving.

I strive, don’t get me wrong. I work for things, and I work hard. But I will admit without reluctance that the point is to do the thing now not to get somewhere else. The point is that this is the game I have chosen and so I play my cards, making safe soft bets of money I can afford to lose and time I can’t afford to spend. But spend anyway.

But what do I really want at this point in my life? Nothing money can buy. Nothing worldly success can muster. I want love and peace, I want to see justice. I want moments of joy. I want meaning. I want the health to live as long as possible with my independence.

But the joy of just getting all these things in order, it’s an itch I have always loved to scratch. So I type to you on my now very organized MacBook and say — whatever stage of life you’re in, even if the planner isn’t going to do anything for you and you’ll abandon it a couple months in —

Just buy the planner and smile.

The older I get the more radical I become in some ways, but also the smaller my world gets. I don’t need the huge adventures – to me an afternoon in the pool, locking eyes with a bird outside, seeing a majestic deer family stride across my lawn, a juicy bite into a cob of corn, the sweet liquor of a fresh plum, the first delicious taste of cold water in the morning, the anticipation of a film or book you look forward to, falling asleep cuddled with a book or a dog, up late past your bedtime on a Friday night watching movies, the bridge in a song you really love, the crinkle of paper opening a candy you like, the tender laugh you have with someone you know and love very well, the way the sun peeks through the trees at sunrise – the billion little joys of every single day seem so overwhelmingly luxurious I do not long for more.

I worry about when health robs some of them from me some day and I try to treasure each one.

I was driving to a dinner reservation last evening and contemplating all of this. How fortunate I am for every one of these special things and even more so that I fully understand now how important they are. I did not always know. I think it takes aging and spiritual lack to be able to take the temperature of true abundance. It’s not a bank account brimming with bills – that’s great if you can get it but if the cost of it is that you don’t notice the birdsongs at dawn, you’re not living in abundance you’re living in tremendous lack. I have lived in that lack. I also have lived in a lack of cash so don’t think I romanticize that either – one must have enough both of money and time (a room of one’s own, to steal from Virginia Woolf, means so much more than just four walls and a table and chair set – it means freedom and freedom requires a certain financial and chronological commitment). But to be without any money is no worse than to be without any time to enjoy the money you have.

Want to be wealthy? Make a list of 20 things that would give you joy and indulge in them liberally. When I say joy I don’t mean temporary pleasure. I mean soul food. It’s different for everyone but there are some fundamental things that fill the cup of most humans – beauty, love, intellectual stimulation, flavor, joyful movement, connection, nature.

Want to be wealthier still? Find a way to share these things with someone else or to make it possible for them to have them independently of you. Creating an oasis of peace and joy for another person is even more rewarding than when we do it for ourselves.

Whatever you do, have an abundant day – even if that just means 10 minutes in the fresh air listening to the rain coming down.

I think it’s very bold to go out there and say with a full chest that this is your summer. It’s risky. We plan, God laughs. But that being said I have big plans for this summer. They aren’t the usual things. I think I have realized this is not the summer nor is the summer or other season ever coming where I am going to be come a hot girl, nor have a hot girl summer. My joints ache, I have a whole husband, and even worse a whole job.

But here are the things I have promised myself for this summer and have already begun doing so I can at least have a Lukewarm, Cozy Girl Summer

1. Go outside every single blessed day even if it’s not nice out. Now, this has been kind of easy with the nice weather lately and I am not saying I’m going to sit outside in the rain weeping softly just to prove a point. I plan to head out to work outside sometimes in the morning when it isn’t scorching hot yet, take my breaks for a dip in the pool – and on bad weather days park myself on the front porch where there’s weather protection just to get a few deep breaths in.

2. Eat all the produce. Becoming vegan has really opened my eyes to the wonder of fruits and vegetable especially and the excitement I had when I got my first, albeit early and not fully phenomenal but still very good ear of corn was not dissimilar to the way a 23 year old man feels when walking down the boardwalk when the bikinis come out.

3. Do fun things. I forgot to do this several summers. Fun things for me are probably not the same as you. I’d sooner slice my fingernails diagonally then sit in shore traffic for hours to go to the beach. But, for example, my hubby and I went to pet and hug baby goats at an Animal Sanctuary the other week. That was way fun.

4. Do what I have to do but don’t always add to the pile. I have a tendency to be a bit ambitious and when there’s not enough on my plate I pile on and on and on. For this summer, just for this summer, I am going to do what I have to do without deciding to challenge myself to add 35 additional wrinkles to that.

5. Stop and look. The other day I was working away at my desk and looked up to see a beautiful bluejay in the tree in front of me. I realized I don’t look up enough. I’m missing out. Of course, this is the same bluejay who I have found multiple times eating out of the cat food bowl I leave outside for the strays, I think. But we’re not going to talk about that.

6. Last but not least, self care. Use the expensive sunscreen. Moisturize. Meditate. Everything that makes you feel loved and cared for feels just a little bit more amazing still when the sun is shining.

Hope this is YOUR summer. Say it with your full chest!

I used to worry about everything. Honestly. Everything.

I am the sort of person who can see the speck of dust in the cleanest room. Who can look out at a beautiful landscape and notice the rotting tree. Who can be laying in bed with a remote in hand and snacks at the bedside and be worried about tomorrow’s work meeting. In short, I am an attorney.

I find liability traps in all things.

This is not to say I do not take risks nor to say that I do not live amongst the dust. Having 3 dogs I have come to expect a level of imperfection in my home that inwardly could easily drive me absolutely insane were it not for a good cause. I could spend 17 hours wiping every surface and within 2 seconds tiny white hairs would fill the room like marshmallow in a s’more.

Life is messy.

Politics are messy.

Human relationships are messy.

And there are so many videos, books, short pithy blog articles, and inspirational TikTok’s out there who are begging us to crawl out of our gross imperfections and rise to a level beyond imagination, to ascend to a state of frozen perfection where we wash every surface nightly and again on Sundays and everything is organized and clean and often blindingly white.

It all sounds lovely. But my DNA test showed despite my skin color I am not entirely white. And though I am married to a man I am not entirely straight. And although I spend money hiring cleaners and wipe, wipe, wash and pick up daily, I am not entirely clean. And though I am constantly working at it I have never yet been entirely organized.

In college a good friend of mine and I used to sit in diners drinking copious amounts of coffee and talking about what it would take to get our lives together. When we reached that apex we were going to have a “life together party.” It is now 30 years later, we are still friends, and this party has never happened. We’ve been married, had or loved children, had careers and left careers and started new careers, moved houses, challenged assumptions, dealt with aging parents (or in my case their loss), had dalliances and countless beauty products delivered and surgeries and procedures and appointments and disappointments.

And yet.

We never got our lives together. And I think we both understand we never will. We as humans are always in stasis, always moving toward decay or growth but never actually getting to either until that great and terrible day when decay gets us once and for all. My spiritual practice tells me even THAT isn’t the end of all this constant movement and change. We are, as humans, built for rebuilding. Structured for restructuring. We’re never done.

So it’s okay if our houses are a little messy, our bodies a little wrinkled or banged up, our souls a bit crusty with a cynical edge. It’s fine.

Stop worrying.

Because in the end we are constantly at war with nothing and everything but also simultaneously always winning and losing at the same time.

Might as well just ride the wave of that and reach for the shore.

Spring is the air.

And I am finding myself with very little to say. I spend a long time sitting in front of blank screens unable to produce — even things that I usually find easy to write I have been prying from my fingers like splinters.

The crocuses are rising from the ground. Outside the hum of the landscaper’s big form lawnmower and the smell of mulch as they prep my lawn for the gleeful return of ants. So many ants. Soon the pool will open. I have heard the frogs in the woods demanding that happen right away. In time, fellas, I will be outside trying to shoo you away while my dogs stand impotent in a circle around you, barking at your impudence.

This quarter has been extraordinarily busy in some ways and extraordinarily quiet in others. Work bloomed, so many opportunities and things to do. But on the same token I spent so many quiet nights just me and the flicker of the fireplace - reading, watching movies, watching shows, consuming. I am a blood filled tick of pop culture waiting to burst.

But ….I have nothing much to say. And when I think about it I think the reason this is true is because I have been leaning into the idea that humans aren’t made to produce so much as to be. To connect. To feed self and others and then lay back down for a rest.

I spent much of the first half of my life striving but now, in my 50’s, I am far less interested in that — I achieve so I can remain stable. I work so I can eat. I don’t really want to do the things that I don’t really want to do anymore.

I haven’t had a problem with saying no in some time. No flows off my tongue. My problem is that sometimes I say yes and later realize that my yes was temporary. In the moment yes I wanted to do this thing. But when the time comes to do the thing NO. I walk the line between responsibility and consideration of others and the need to retreat — sometimes because my body requires it (like a few times this winter when illness or the possibility of illness made me do so) and sometimes because my mind needs rest and the idea of striving, connecting when my soul is longing for aloneness is too much to bear.

But Spring, it is in the air. And this sallow period of rest perhaps is coming to an end. The summer is loaded with activity. The Spring is a launch.

I need to emerge from the chrysalis.

When the landscapers are done mulching. And the frogs are sunning themselves by the pool.

But maybe for one or two more weeks….I will rest.

Over the weekend I had the stomach flu. I felt terrible. I had a fever. I couldn’t read even, and I took a day off work which I never do.

But it was….actually a really good experience.

I laid in bed. I watched movies into the wee hours of the night, my husband and dogs asleep beside me but me feeling like I was living outside of the world they inhabited, a world where time was fairly meaningless and moments were knitted together by hot tea and a complete lack of caring about my every day responsibilities.

The dishes formed an army in the sink. The trash stacked up. I didn’t do the myriad of daily tasks that I perform daily to make sure that life continues moving forward in a positive way. The lack of caring about all that was a gift.

Now, this is not a way I would choose to live all the time. I do not want to spend my life being irresponsible. I have seen plenty of people behave that way in my life and I find it abhorrent. To me, keeping a relatively clean house (it is never perfect in a house with dogs) and structuring your life in a way that promotes mental and physical health is a non-negotiable. But sometimes…

It’s good to let it go. It’s good to just lay there.

I am reminded of times in my life when I had no choice - illness times, times in hospital, times recovering from surgeries. Times when my body would not allow anything more productive than maybe basic hygiene.

I do not want to live that way but I am grateful for those times because when you are that far down you know what matters.

Being happy matters. Sustenance matters. Connection matters. Intellectual stimulation matters.

Today is the first day since I have been sick that I have gotten up at my normal hour and felt like my normal productive self. It’s 5am. I’ve already read a lot, done a lot, and am now writing to you.

I walked around and saw the mess on Tuesday and was suitably disturbed, began the process of digging out and the house is back to baseline. Now that I am back in the world, I need to implement what I learned while lying in bed which was

• From the Netflix series Dinosaurs I was reminded of the inevitability of extinction and that the key purpose in living isn’t to avoid that but to enjoy the time you have.

• Watching 80’s nuclear war and disaster films, which I am oddly finding comforting, reminds me of the young me and what my anticipation was of what life would be like - in many ways I am living a life I would have been thrilled to foresee as a young person - unlimited access to knowledge and movies and books thanks to the internet, dogs all around, a man who loves me but doesn’t smother me, a house with a fireplace and a pool and deer frolicking outside, autonomy in my business and what my father described wealth to be “if your refrigerator breaks you can go right out and get another one and not worry about it.” In the 80’s I thought by now perhaps we’d all be living like Mad Max. So even though our current President seems to be putting us back on that track I am happy for all these years where I didn’t look like Mel Gibson.

• Remembering that we are kind of making time up. And following my natural physical cycles (which aren’t like everyone else in terms of when I sleep).

• It’s okay to sometimes not care about everything so much. And I think that’s how we survive the current hot mess of a world - we have to ration our caring out, select what is most urgent in the current moment to care about and not try to care about everything equally all at once or we’ll explode.

So, it’s Thursday and I have a busy work day ahead. But I am going to care about one thing at a time, and enjoy the day - grateful for the laying still, grateful for the moving forward, grateful.

Black History Month is about to come to a close. Women’s History Month is about to begin. I don’t think that either designation is doing better in the United States than they were 10 years ago. Neither are LGBTQ. Or any POC. We are moving away from civil rights at a rapid clip. Every day a new erosion, a new encroachment.

Here’s a reason to hope. But each one depended on regular people standing up and demanding change. So that’s reason to act.

Historical Examples of Contraction Preceding Expansion:

The American Revolution and the Bill of Rights (1791): Prior to the adoption of the Constitution, the British government committed acts of aggression and violated the rights of American colonists (e.g., quartering troops, search and seizure). These infringements led to the demand for explicit protections, resulting in the Bill of Rights (1791) to limit the new federal government’s power.

The Antebellum Era and the 14th Amendment (1868): The period before the Civil War was marked by severe restrictions on rights, including the protection of slavery and the Fugitive Slave Act, which forced the return of freedom seekers. In response, the post-war Reconstruction era brought about the 14th Amendment, which drastically expanded civil rights by preventing states from violating citizens’ rights and guaranteeing “equal protection of the laws”.

The Petition Gag Rule and the First Amendment (1830s-1840s): When citizens petitioned against slavery, Congress imposed a “gag rule” to suppress these petitions. The resulting backlash against this suppression of speech strengthened the eventual application of the First Amendment rights.

Civil Rights Movement and Legislation (1960s): Before the 1960s, segregation and voter disenfranchisement were legally enforced in many states. This severe restriction led to the “rights revolution” of the 1960s and 1970s, resulting in the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Labor Rights and the New Deal (1930s): The pre-1930s era was largely characterized by limited protection for labor, with courts often favoring management. Economic crises (the Great Depression) led to the New Deal era, which brought major expansions in labor rights, including the right to organize and form unions.

Tonight, Congressional lawmakers who are not fans of the alleged President, have invited survivors of Jeffrey Epstein to try to unnerve the Brain Decayed Prince of Gaslighting. It is unlikely that he, or any of the people who continue to support him despite mounting evidence that he’s an unrepentant narcissist who doesn’t care about them (- minimally - and quite possibly far, far worse) are going to start caring about victims now. It does not fit their modus operandi.

An alternative “People’s State of the Union” is also going to be held by Democrats and liberal leaning media folks who just can’t stomach it.

But the true alternative state of the union is taking place in the hearts and homes of the actual American people.

For me, the constant barrage of immorality and defiance of basic principles of justice and decency have done the following to me in the last year:

• Radicalized me. I used to consider myself a moderate. I am now more of the “burn it down and start over” camp.

• Made me a vegetarian. The continued viewing human bodies being commodified for the consumption of others made me look at the ugliness of the assumption that we should have DOMINION over any flesh that cannot fight back. And this woke me up to the impact of meat eating both on the world and on my own spirit.

• Made me intensely focused on morality. I am continually looking at how I can improve my own moral compass, become a better person — which to me is about working to continually opening up opportunities for justice and compassion for people.

• Made me think a lot about religion. I was raised Christian, I also have a deep interest in nature religion and its application to Christian ideology. I am re-reading the Bible daily, trying to reclaim its view from the gross Christian nationalism in my own mind. It is a highly flawed, human document — the Word was never meant to be a book. I read the Bible as a work of literature that points to inner truths and also to cultural decisions about how to interact in community and with nature. I woke up in the middle of the night the other night thinking about the complicated rules of Exodus and how important it is to understand the health and safety considerations that went into decisions about how to eat, bathe, and interact. These were not rules meant to be forever, they were about the needs of the community. Later, when Jesus says he has come to fulfill the law he is trying to tell us to stop clinging to rules not made for us. The rules in an increasingly scientifically advanced world don’t need to be baseline about survival any longer — we’re risen up above the Maslow’s Pyramid’s lower end to a place where we are supposed to be working on greater developments as a human race towards justice and compassion. But boy howdy, have we messed that one up.

• Made me intensely committed to education - my own, and sharing knowledge where I can with others. Because ignorance is an open door for despots to enter through.

What is the state of your union? Where are you headed? What are you doing to create a better world? We don’t need, and in fact we are usually hampered by, government to create the world we want to live in. We need each other.

Learning doesn’t stop. It’s like breathing. But sometimes the lessons that life brings you are hard won. A few that I have picked up in the last 6-9 months.

1. Don’t let yourself be used for revenge. This is recent. I am an attorney. I feel that my role is to try to make arguments to help judges make decisions that are within the law but on the more favorable end for my clients. Unfortunately, some people want to use the system to hurt the person that has hurt them or that they feel has hurt them and the system isn’t built for that. I like representing reasonable people who understand this. I don’t mind representing people who are dealing with trauma but willing to listen to someone not in the midst of their trauma about their long term best interests. I don’t like representing people who just want the system to be an instrument of revenge. I am sure that this can be applied to so many areas of life beyond just my career. For example - don’t be that rebound.

2. Death isn’t that big a deal. I mean it is. But it isn’t. When I lost my soul dog Petey earlier this year I felt so grateful that we were able to manage his transition in a way that worked for both of us - with me there, with us together, before it got so bad that he was terrified. I think a lot about the end of my own life. At this point although there are people and dogs that I love I feel like I don’t technically HAVE to be here for them to be okay. My husband is younger than me, and it’s always been in our implied contract that I would be gone before him. I feel that if I died tomorrow there would be a moment of fear but not really regret. I have lived, dear lord have I lived. A couple weeks ago someone died that I was very close to in my twenties, was even a roommate for some time. He suffered a lot over the last few years of his life, was in the hospital. I am sad about what things he may have missed out on but I am not sad that he no longer has to live a life less than what he wanted. It’s horrible when people die unexpectedly or when they aren’t ready. But maybe it’s not so horrible if they are ready — like my Dad who explicitly informed me he was done hours before he was. That was a choice. I respected it.

3. Ethics and morals are everything. Look at what’s going on in this country. Ethics and morals are about being honest, being honorable, being trustworthy, being committed to justice for all people, being kind. It’s not about judgment and it’s not about hate. There is nothing uglier than people without ethics and morals. Pam Bondi, I’m looking at you today. But so many more. All the people she is protecting. My God and Goddess, the shame and the blood on the hands of this land.

4. Joy is the antidote to darkness. Bad Bunny I am looking at you! The Super Bowl halftime shone a light on the beauty of community and culture even when under attack. Please don’t lose your light, every one of you. Please don’t not do and consume art and don’t stop laughing and singing and enjoying a good meal - this is the way out.

5. Rest is okay. I was always a go go go go go gal. But I am finding that I need more rest lately and that’s alright. I need more time to sit and do nothing or to feel unencumbered. I still do more in an average week than most people do. But it’s okay to follow my natural flow of energy. It’s okay to be not always all things.

6. Success isn’t what I thought it was. It was never money. It was freedom. It was always freedom.

Football has always been such a symbol of the masculine. Even though women watch it and like it we aren’t allowed to play in it and we are deeply sidelined both literally (cheerleaders who are 98% female) and figuratively. In so many ways it has represented the continued acceptance of separation of the sexes. Unquestionably, however, football has always been a melting pot of race and ethnicity - though one could argue the exploitative elements incorporated within it.

But that’s not what I am here to talk about today. No, I am here to talk about how the right is being so singularly toddler like about the fact that a Latino man is headlining the half time show.

So much so that they feel it’s necessary to take their bat and ball and go home and play their own absurdist parody of a half time show headlining the mentally unhinged antics of Bud Light shooter, Kid Rock.

I am incapable of seeing a single post about that show without imagining all these red hatted children running around sobbing, red faced, fists balled up in rage at the big scary Latino man stealing what they felt was theirs but——what never truly was.

The Super Bowl has a somewhat fraught history. Conflicting research acknowledges the presence of significant human trafficking and even underaged children being prostituted in whatever city the event takes place annually (some suggest that the increase in law enforcement attention significantly skews the statistics demonstrating an increase in trafficking as opposed to there being more than usual). There’s certainly a rise in DUI and domestic violence and other bad behavior when people are told it’s a great idea to spend the day imbibing as much alcohol as they can hold to celebrate their team, or any team.

But likewise, as a cultural phenomenon the halftime show has often been a significant and sweeping cultural moment - none so much as last year’s over-meme’d and breathtakingly political and talented performance by Kendrick Lamar. It is an opportunity for an artist to take a GIANT stage of people they don’t normally get to reach and say something — or nothing — in as stylish a way as their imagination permits. What a gift to the musical arts that stage provides, a gift that is sometimes used for good and sometimes for ill (I point to what I consider one of the weakest half time shows of my lifetime, the dreadfully weird and un-amusing to me at least performance of The Weekend in 2021). The half time show and the commercials are talked about more by most people nation-wide than the game itself which is usually only vehemently discussed by the fan base of the two lucky teams participating.

The selection of Bad Bunny for this year’s halftime was a completely unsubtle nod by the NFL to the continuing contributions of the latino/a community to sports in general but also to culture, and, if we’re honest, there is no way it wasn’t also an intentional snub to those who wish to view all people who speak Spanish as an existential threat.

But Bad Bunny has plenty of not-political songs he can use to focus his show on just cultural contribution, and it will be interesting to see if he leans into the Lothario type love songs that dominate his catalog or take giant risks swings to further torture the petulant Kid Rockers who, I have no doubt, may not be watching BUT WILL BE WATCHING if you know what I mean.

It will be interesting, no matter what.

I hope he called Kendrick Lamar for advice.

I hope every white American who has little exposure to Puerto Rican culture takes a moment to eat some mofongo and pasteles, or read a little about Puerto Rican history as they wait for Bad Bunny to take the stage. I hope this is an opportunity for those among us who are perhaps not among those who see Latin culture as a threat or a problem but also don’t SEE Latin culture to open our eyes to our neighbors rich history and cultural importance.

This is such an opportunity not to waste.

I have been thinking a lot about the collective and individual impact of the mass of horrible details currently available to us in the Epstein files. I don’t think any sane person can look at the mass of accusations and evidence and over such a length of time without concluding that horrors have committed - we can argue about who did what, who knew what - but we simply cannot credibly argue that countless children of a range of ages beginning at infants were not hurt and quite likely killed. We can ABSOLUTELY know that Epstein himself and Ghislaine Maxwell had this blood on their hands and we can certainly speculate as to countless men of power who either participated or turned a blind eye to what was going on.

How much more do we have to know and see?

I do not think it is healthy for us as a collective or as individuals to get mired down in the details and the horrors now that we know they exist.

Christian (not Christian national but actual Christian) theology brings us these words from Jesus: “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy,^[a]your whole body will be full of light. ²³ But if your eyes are unhealthy,^[b] your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness! - Matthew 6:22-23.

What we view through our eyes infects our souls.

People have used this for centuries to try to censor art but I don’t believe that is what was intended. Jesus was warning us that we can’t stare into the void perpetually and not be empty.

Rene Descartes said the famous “I think, therefore I am.” To him, it was the processing of that which the senses perceived through thought that formed the basis of the person. But I have always resonated with Ralph Waldo Emerson’s concept of the Transparent Eyeball in his essay “Nature”:

There I feel that nothing can befall me in life—no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground—my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent Eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.

For Emerson, we are built entirely to take in the glory of nature, of God’s work, and to allow ourselves to become one with it, a reflection of it. We are conduits of spiritual plenty meant to reflect back the glory of eternal beauty.

I found myself wondering what the Transendentalists would have done with the Epstein files. They grappled with another grave evil on our nation’s soul, slavery. They were abolitionists, but I would argue that most were not activists (at least the men). Emerson, Thoreau spoke out against slavery and believed it to be morally wrong, but Emerson was an academic. Thoreau was more of an American John the Baptist, wandering about in the woods engaged in civil disobedience that was mostly based in being personally authentic and not paying taxes. Branson Alcott, another significant Transendentalist (and the father of Louisa May Alcott of Little Women fame) was more of an activist, actually participating in the Underground Railroad an active resistance organization. But in none of the writings of transcendentalism is there the graphic torture porn we see in current arguments against abuse.

Let me say clearly I am not suggesting we turn a blind eye. To the contrary, I think we’re just focused on the wrong thing. The horrific details must be sorted through by some - especially those who may be capable of prosecuting. But personally, I think I have seen enough to know that the only healthy response to millions of pages of children being abused is not to sit sorting through it like the Mrs. Whistledowns of horror, but to acknowledge that the problem is bigger than anything we even imagined and….

To do something.

I promise you that every detail of the abuse of children will not heal your soul, nor will it help a single survivor. To know that it has happened is sufficient to turn your eye to a greater work - reflecting back not the horrors but the light that does still exist in humanity and is desperately needed by those who have known nothing but darkness and pain.

It is time to start figuring out how to help.

How to build systems of rescue as a culture. How to individually develop whatever talents we are blessed with to serve in creating safe and healing spaces. How to demand systemic change of how we handle child abuse, child endangerment. The entire system failed each of these children - their parents, the government, sometimes the systems built to allegedly protect them, law enforcement — all of us. And the only way to create fundamental change is to rebuild these systems to accommodate their safety. Because if you think that the abuse of children ended with the death of Jeffrey Epstein you’re fooling yourself. It’s happening right now while we scroll millions of documents in horror — and there are children out there right now that need us to focus not just on determining who did what (there are people who need to focus on that but not all of us, so don’t come for me with the critique that we have to look at it in order to prosecute unless you’re an actual prosecutor) but on how to heal those who are out and how to save those still in.

Can we start please by acknowledging that there’s a reason we are the only member of the United Nations that has not ratified the United Nations Declaration of the Rights of the Child? And that reason is that we have consistently de-priortized children’s rights, children’s voices, children’s autonomy and children’s protection despite our endless chatter about our love of them?

But there’s so much work to do if we’re ever going to see a culture of true protection of children, and we collectively need to take a deep breath and get our eyeballs off their degradation and on to their protection.

I am seeing a lot of concern about censorship on TikTok. Firstly, probably some of it is true and probably some of it is not. However, I think we can confidently say the new ownership has an agenda and that agenda is that they want to make money and not deal with any regulatory issues with a censoring government. As such, their interests are not always going to align with ours. I don’t think those who have built a presence and supported protests should leave - I think they should fight. My presence is wee tiny and useless, but I take in the content and support aligned creators.

But like any investment, diversify. And that should have been your guide all along. If you are primarily on social media to make money (and hey, no criticism it works for some people) it was always foolish to rely on a single platform that controls your content. Ultimately you should use a source you can control and push content onto these monetized platforms and have a variety of them with different audiences you can move along to new platforms when needed. I don’t see content creators on Tik Tok and Instagram with newsletters - why not? You control that and you can move people with a push of a button if you have the influence.

Platforms do come and go. There once was no Facebook. Instagram was for a few weirdos. AOL Chat used to be a big deal. So did Myspace. Let’s not even get into the complex melodramas around Twitter/X/Truthsocial/Etc. The platforms will change over time. Including Substack. The markets they are selling to will also change.

And don’t get it twisted, Substack was born with obvious monetization structures meant to encourage commerce…so it too will go through the machinations everything touched by capitalism goes through. It’s destiny is unclear — we all have a part in creating that.

But for now, know that your voice is needed. Keep shouting out your message in any platform you can be heard in. If you’re arguing for free speech, especially.

Because these are dangerous times for free speech.

However, let me put on my lawyer hat and remind you that free speech is violated when an arm of the government stifles…that doesn’t mean that in every case private industries can’t stifle free speech in their privately owned products.

“At the heart of the First Amendment lies the principle

that each person should decide for himself or herself the

ideas and beliefs deserving of expression, consideration,

and adherence.” Turner Broadcasting System, Inc. v. FCC,

512 U. S. 622, 641 (1994) (Turner I). Government action

that suppresses speech because of its message “contravenes

this essential right.” - SCOTUS

Tik Tok, however, is not governmental. They can censor content on their platform because you do not have a fundamental right to have free speech in a private space controlled by others.

You also sacrifice a lot of privacy rights when you opt in to social media platforms and consent to having some control over the delivery of your content removed from you, by it’s very nature.

It is unreasonable to simply put your faith in the fundamental fairness of a computerized entity whose sole goal is to make money off of you.

But I understand, I do, why you thought you could trust them for a moment. They made you feel safe, they made you feel heard. They gave you opportunity.

But they also can take it away, arbitrarily, in a heart beat. So don’t trust the platforms- trust your audience.

Make sure you capture them and they know how to find you wherever you move.

Make sure you respect them and are honorable in how you present content.

Make sure you are authentic and if your goal is also to make money, don’t try to pretend you aren’t (nothing is more jarring than those obvious commercials delivered by people mirroring their usual interesting content but randomly holding up a sponsored jar).

And realize the most important principle of change that weaves through all aspects of our lives — everything changes, everything changes back, everything changes again.

Ride the wave.

We have all watched the videos. Over and over. It’s all over our social media feeds, television screens. You CAN look away but it seems difficult, almost impossible to do so without feeling ashamed, as though at least in the witness you are DOING something, when it feels like there is nothing you can do.

But don’t kid yourself. No matter how hardened a person you think you are what you are experiencing is vicarious trauma and it’s real and it’s impactful and it has long lasting effects. You cannot watch a woman murdered in the streets, a man murdered in the streets — particularly by those who allegedly are supposed to protect — without trauma.

Not that long ago I wrote a piece about Self Care in Violent Times. But you can’t access care until you acknowledge the harm.So take a deep breath and let’s do it together.

It is not normal to see people slaughtered.

It is not normal to see innocent people slaughtered.

It is not normal to see innocent people slaughtered by people imbued with power by the government.

It is not normal to see those murders then covered up by that government.

It is not normal to feel like all the societal functions and protections you had come to rely on have been stripped away.

It is not normal to feel unsafe because of the government’s corruption.

And yet here we are. And yet this is a place many have been for a long time. And yet this is a place that we cannot currently easily escape.

And it is more than okay to grieve any and all of that. It is okay to sleep a little more and eat a little more junk food, okay to cry about it or about nothing, okay to watch innocuous things that take your mind off of it, or to let some social obligations slide because you just aren’t up to it.

It’s okay to be in this moment and show up with real feelings.

Grieve.

And then get up and get back to the work of resistance.

So we don’t have to grieve as much in the future.

“Principles are like prayers; noble, of course, but awkward at a party.”
— Violet, Dowager Countess, Downton Abbey, Season 5

I have been binging Downton Abbey episodes because, honestly, I am late to the party and have never watched a show that for all intents and purposes should have been my jam when it came out but I missed it somehow. It’s delightful.

And in these times where the concepts of principle and duty and morality feel perhaps a bit dated and dirtied by a certain political party who shall remain nameless (GOP) who believed it was the MORAL MAJORITY and co-opted the concept of morality for it’s own cementing of white male power….

But I digress….

Or do I? In reality, as a child of the 80’s morality was already not cool when I was coming up. It felt stodgy and seemed to be centered around not listening to things that upset Tipper Gore, not having agency over one’s body if in any way it might disturb Jerry Falwell and for God’s sake not being one’s self if one’s self was…..GASP….not in lockstep with the heteronormative, (but woman degrading is fine) , drug free (unless you were a cocaine fueled stock broker), white, wealthy and blissfully ignorant Ken and Barbie replica of the day.

But I was a weird child. And I obsessed over books on moral hygiene from the 1940’s and 1950’s, I collected the dusty and mold scented tomes in my pink bedroom closet. I watched Davey and Goliath, the claymation put out by the Lutheran church where every episode was a gentle lesson in moral correctness and American values. I read Ben Franklin’s 13 Virtues and wondered if I could pull off that kind of discipline …one day!

And now in my 50’s I am back to basics, finding myself once again watching those old filmstrip style films about how to be a good, polite member of society, re-reading old Ben Franklin (but also deeply engrossed in the Transcendentalists with their intellectual morality), and secretly wishing I could pull morality like flowers out of the dust bin (“we’re the future…you’re future…”) and repackage it in a new way.

My new, dream morality would bring back the idea of duty, integrity, and honor. But also, would be rainbow washed in appreciation for all types of people. It would decenter control of bodies and sexual pleasure or gender/sexual judgment and would focus instead on teaching people to use sexuality with respect for self and others, boundaries and permission but honestly also minding one’s own business and not worrying one bit what other folks are doing — eyes on your own paper, kids. Eyes on your own genitalia. My dream morality would cause people to once more think not just about what’s right for them but also what’s right for their community, their family, their friends, their neighbors — and not just the people who in some way contribute to their financial or other gain, ALL people. My dream morality would be soooooo cool and people would go around writing substack after substack about moral codes and how to just be so darn good and loving and fair and just. It would cause the regaining of SHOCK when people behave in ways that are beastly — but beastly would be mistreating other people, being prejudice, being unjust — LYING would once again be an unimaginable wrong with social consequences.

But what would NOT have social consequences? Disagreement about issues or approaches. Intellectual growth and change (Emerson - “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” Whitman: “Do I contradict myself? Very well let me contradict myself - I am large, I contain multitudes!”). Oh, just imagine a world where people thought it was safe to say oh you know I’ve considered it and you’re right without having been disenfranchised for minor disagreements while we allow absolute beasts of moral turpitude have all the resources because we’re so busy fighting over which shade of honest attempt to mete out what’s right is correct? Also, there would be zero social consequences for being WHO YOU ARE whoever that is unless who you are is….

Well, immoral.

As defined as follows: Acting contrary to justice and love of one’s neighbor.

Well, it’s a pipe dream of course. No society has ever pulled off this kind of morality. No society has ever been built fully around - “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.” Oh, why yes we tried and failed, didn’t we? We never pulled it off not at all.

But…remember when we tried to pretend like those were our values? Can we try that again only…harder? Better? More equitably?

Can we make equality, rights, liberty, justice…..morality….cool again?

Because making America great again should never have been the goal. We were never great. We were always convicted of our immorality toward so many. We were always unjust. And we were never doing anything but faking greatness (well the faking part we were doing pretty well in the 80’s but over the backs of our dying communities we turned our back on in the AIDS crisis, while trampling on the rights of women and minorities and generally being so morally repugnant that we had everything from Iran/Contra to the crap John Hughes got away with calling entertainment in Sixteen Candles and we all bought it that date r**e was funny).

I don’t want to be great.

I want to be moral.
I want to be just.

I want to be the dream Martin Luther King, Jr. had just begun to imagine.

But for the moment, I’d settle for just making lying NOT cool again.