Grief

What do you do when they kill everything you believe in?

Photo by Wolf Zimmermann on Unsplash

It is the early morning of November 6, and I am hiding from my daughter.

Not from her, exactly. I listen to her sounds outside my office door—the feeding of dogs and the cleaning out of yesterday’s lunch box—and I delay the inevitable time when I will have to discuss this unthinkable yet bleakly, stupidly predictable moment in history. The proof that we live in a country whose hatred of women runs so deep, and the reality that she will have to grow into one of those women here. One thing I know about myself is that when I get upset I go quiet. But in this instance, silence will not be a comfort. So I gather myself to reassure my daughter that things aren’t that bad, that we will be okay. This is maybe a lie but also a wish, a spell. We balance our longing to protect our children with the need to prepare them.

This election feels similar to a natural disaster. Like a hurricane, the incoming regime will inflict far more destruction on the vulnerable than the privileged, but everyone will suffer the effects: even those who welcomed it, who made it happen. Because like climate change, this disaster has been wrought by humans. Each half of the United (ha!) States knew exactly what they were voting for. 

Knowing this is difficult. Seeing the futility, laid bare, of trying to change hearts and minds that are implacably set against everything I believe. The riptide urge to turn inward, to gather my family and friends to myself and say fuck everyone else. From everything I’ve seen and heard, this is not an uncommon emotion, and I will not minimize or belittle it. The feeling of betrayal is valid, and almost made worse by the fact that we had real hope. We have both failed and been failed.

At some point, however, we will have to pick ourselves up and move onward, joining together as much as possible. We will tell our stories and support people with less privilege and power telling their own. Resist the oppression and gaslighting to come, and renew our belief that we can make a world that is better for more people. Maintain our sense of humor, since there’s nothing a narcissistic windbag hates more than being laughed at. I’ve already started my listicle of things that would make a better president¹ though I’m not sure we’re there yet. 

Tomorrow I’ll reach out to my community, donate to progressive causes, and work on my book again. I’m taking today to grieve what could have been. It wouldn’t have been perfect, but it would have been better.

Reading/watching/listening

Because art is comfort, inspiration, and sometimes a needed kick in the pants.

Nightwatching by Tracy Sierra

Damn this book is stressful, in the best way. Shout-out to PRESENT TENSE: Suspense Fiction and More for bringing this masterful debut to my attention.

Slight spoilers: structurally it reminds me a bit of Room, and thematically it has a lot to say about the perils of not believing women (that ending is really satisfying, is all I’m saying).

2024 election returns

I hate it here.

Warriors by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Eisa Davis

A musical, a concept album, a gender-bent adaptation of the 1979 cult film about street gangs in New York, and the source of this issue’s subtitle. Fierce, queer, and addictive. NPR’s review

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It feels weird to be shilling my books right now, but they offer 1) excellent temporary distractions and 2) sharp takes on toxic masculinity and abuses of power…topics that seem very relevant in these times!

The Other Me, which PopSugar called a “Black Mirror-esque rabbit hole,” is an inventive page-turner about the choices we make and the ones made for us.

When I’m Her asks the question: How far would you go to get even with the woman who ruined your life?

1. A rotting pumpkin; a tube of Bioré Watery Essence sunscreen (seriously, that shit will change your life); the overflowing dog waste bin on the trail near my house.