When my browser opens, I get a countdown of the days, hours, minutes, seconds until Trump’s presidential term ends. It’s a little thing, but it’s hopeful to me. A reminder that we have done this before and can do it again. That, right now–assuming the house legislation introduced by a Republican Representative to allow for a third, nonconsecutive presidential term, doesn’t pass–Trump and his house of cards has an expiration date.
I’m baffled that we’re here again, and I alternate between frantically clinging to whatever joy and beauty I can find and feeling absolutely despondent. I dip low, but I know that I cannot live in the low places. I know that the best way for me to show up is with my joy and my whole self.
These first two weeks have given me whiplash. An EO intending to end birthright citizenship. Exiting the Paris Accords and the World Health Organization. Slashing Federal funding to basically everything including Medicare and Medicaid, Headstart, Meals on Wheels. Ending NIH research, including active trials.
ICE raids. Gitmo being reopened to house immigrants. Talks to send US citizens to internment in El Salvador.
Discussions related to ethnic cleansing in Gaza that would turn the nation into a US territory and displace the current occupants.
Meanwhile, several states have drafted legislation to classify abortion as murder and a few of them offer up the death penalty as the punishment. Idaho drafted legislation that would push the issue of same-sex marriage, legal at the Federal level in the US since 2014, back to the Supreme Court who will as likely as not use the same justification they used to overturn Roe to push the issue back to the states. Legislation is pending vote for a bill that would severely restrict voting rights, especially for women. More legislation is pending that would codify a national abortion ban.
Trump wants to withhold Federal Disaster Relief to blue states, and he seems to believe water flows from the top of the map to the bottom of it.
The tax plan Trump just released means my taxes are going up, so, likely, are yours. But at least the millionaires and billionaires are getting a tax break.
It all feels very dark and sticky.
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Last week, while journaling, I realized that my body had shifted into fight or flight mode. The barrage of bad news was being interpreted by my body as a physical threat.
I’ve felt scattered. Anxious.
I feel overwhelmed. Tired. Already tired.
And yet, we all know that this was the plan, and that, if they overwhelm us, if they can exhaust us into not paying attention, they will win.
So what’s next? How do we do this?
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I spent the early part of the morning looking into a piece of House legislation that is getting noticed on social media. H.R. 8281, introduced by a Republican in Texas and also known as the SAVE Act, introduces new rules to govern voter registration. Specifically, this law would require proof of citizenship when voting. Driver’s Licenses would not suffice. Instead, voters would be required to provide a US Passport or a birth certificate with the name matching the voter’s current name. This legislation is part of a response to the myth of voter fraud, which MAGA conservatives have long championed, but it also is part of a long-standing republican tradition of disenfranchising voters.
H.R. 8281 would disenfranchise thousands upon thousands. Anyone without a passport (which cost hundreds of dollars and require months of processing) and anyone whose name doesn’t match their birth certificate would be disallowed from voting. This includes all of the women who changed their names after marriage.
One of the posts I saw pointed me to an app called “5 Calls” that connects you to your representatives and legislators. Input your zip code, and it allows you to call them directly from the app. It gives you a script if you want it, and it also provides a list of pending legislation that you might want your voice to be heard on.
I called my representative today about H.R. 8281.
Tomorrow, I will call about H.R. 722, a national abortion ban proposed by a Missouri Representative.
I told my friends about the app. Some of them told their friends. Several of them have also made calls today.
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Trying to stay fully informed right now can feel like trying to drink directly from a firehose. Social media convinces us to keep our attention glued to it as headlines speed past like the broken lines between lanes on the interstate.
We get dizzy and overwhelmed with the trying.
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I found myself in the barn for an hour and a half as it snowed today, grateful that a friend had come out yesterday to help me put coats on everyone before the weather turned. Grateful that I had the hay in the barn to fill nets. Grateful for the eggs I collected from my chicken coop, even as I worried about the sparrows who keep getting in the coop amidst concerns over the spread of bird flu.
I noticed the soft hums of the llamas, the almost muted nickers from the horses, the definitely not muted squealing from the pigs and piglets. Those are the grounding sounds of my very present life. And, in a world and with a news cycle demanding my attention, I deliberately shifted my attention to them.
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This year, I made a resolution to pay closer attention to my life as I live it. To my time, my energy. To the way I spend my money and the way I engage with the people around me. It’s so easy to make our way through life on autopilot. To numb ourselves to the heartbreak that feels sometimes like it’s pressing in from all sides. To bypass feeling.
But you can’t selectively numb, and a heart guarded against heartbreak and disappointment will try and protect you from love and joy as well. So we do our best. We feel the heartbreak and let it propel us into real actions, however small, instead of despair.
As Joseph Campbell, in “A Hero with a Thousand Faces,” wrote “We save the world by being alive ourselves.”
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Almost everyone I know is talking about living in tension between staying informed and staying sane. I’m navigating it myself. I think we will be navigating it for a while.
But here’s what I’m learning:
First, action doesn’t always look like you will expect. It’s not necessarily the stuff of heroics. It’s mundane. It’s calling your representatives and asking your friends to do the same. It’s paying attention to where you’re spending your money. It’s maybe spending less or buying less. It’s supporting local organizations who are already doing the work.
Maybe it’s voting in your local elections coming up. If you’re Peoria, IL resident–some of you are– please plan to vote in the local mayoral election coming up. (Incidentally, three House seats are up for grabs, which would shift power in the House of Representatives and shift the entire narrative here; if you’re in Florida or New York, pay attention.)
Second, it’s important to recognize where and how we can act. That is to say, I cannot control NIH funding or do much about USAID being locked out of their good work (aside, of course, from contacting my elected officials). Rather than despair over what we can’t do, we have to act in all the ways that we can. Donate food to your local food pantry. Visit local business that proudly support equal rights. Spend your money, time, and emotional energy in ways that maximize your impact.
Third, community acts faster than government. Show up for it. Reach out to your friends. Meet with them in person. Stand alongside the people in your community that are already doing good work. We do not have to reinvent the wheel; we just have to offer what we can to the people who already loaded up the cart.
Fourth, take care of yourself and those you love. Sometimes, that has to start with disconnecting with the chaos and reconnecting to what you need. Take walks. Make art. Dance. Eat a beautiful meal. Do yoga. (I moved my own body out of fight or flight mode with very intentional yoga practice.) I know it’s repeated enough to be cliché, but you cannot pour from an empty cup. Refill it, and come back around.
Art and movement have always been our quiet saviors in moments of historical darkness.
When I was going through my divorce I stumbled on a quote by Najwa Zebian that I committed to memory: “These mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb.”
Sometimes, I remind myself not to try and carry mountains.
Sometimes, I remind myself that I am simply meant to climb.
Sometimes, I remind myself that I am not alone in the climbing.
If you are climbing right now, know that I am with you. And if you are trying to carry the mountain, know that I have tried it before as well. Take a seat. Take a moment. We’ll be here when you’re ready to start climbing.
One step at a time.
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I saw a poem today that I will leave with you to hold close.
The plot has not yet twisted, but we already know the ending.
Almost Farmgirl 