The Grief is Powerful and Exhausting

Back again, back again, another month past. I live another ~4 weeks. I often reminisce on the happiest, most gorgeous day (and most fun weekend) of my life and smile, blessed and grateful to have experienced it with my loved ones, but my anxiety and dread inevitably got the better of me, as they always do.

I am exhausted. I know many people are completely burned out, unable to acquire resources, and out of options, and I think it’s a clear indication that our society is sick, rather than individuals being sick. Nothing about how we live our lives in this country is sustainable. We sacrifice our health and leisure for work, we sacrifice our environment for material goods. We cannot carry on like this indefinitely. We are being crushed and flattened by the grind, and when we don’t have enough water to drink, wash, and grow food with, the wars will start. There’s nothing I fear more in the immediate moment than armed Americans. Domestic terrorists slaughter innocents by the dozen every day and we do nothing to prevent mass shootings. Multiple mass extinctions are unfolding and we do nothing to reverse the damage. And by “nothing” I mean “nothing significant”. The Republican party is the party of obstruction, not solutions. They stand in the way of passing legislation that would help Americans every opportunity they get. They exacerbate problems like gun violence, teen pregnancy, and hate crimes. And yet my elders, the people I’m supposed to look to for wisdom and guidance, keep voting for them. It’s soul-crushing. It makes me question the utility of my very existence, the extent to which I can reasonably expect to make any kind of positive impact as the world burns down around us.

I’ve written iterations of this general message many times. I have plenty to live for, but the overwhelming uncertainty of what life will look like in another 10, 20, 40 years saps my emotional strength and intellectual energy. Mark Twain wrote that, “Worrying is like paying a debt you don’t owe.” But at the same time, ignoring the very grim, bleak, deathly trajectory we are on, hurtling toward our doom as a planet, is irresponsible. I can’t feign ignorance. Anyone who is even slightly aware of how deeply fucked we are can’t just unlearn that information. And sticking our heads in the sand will only make it worse, not better. So I write and write and write, other people much smarter than me write and advocate and speak and organize, people much bolder than me engage in civil disobedience and lay their bodies and reputation on the line . . . and nothing happens. The machine is too big to be swayed by scientists, and yet whenever we don’t listen to the scientists we end up maimed or dead. So, with this suffocating grief sitting on my chest, I get up, wash my face, style my hair, and walk myself to work, praying that the tiny stones tumbling trigger an avalanche of technological revolution and sweeping energy reformation.

I, like many others, am literally taking things one day at a time. Sometimes I make plans a few months in advance, but mostly I just struggle and scrabble from one instance to the next, glad to have emerged unscathed for another precious moment. Like-minded people have been protesting, signing, donating, and voting, and yet the game is rigged so that the fewest people who represent the viewpoints of less than half the nation maintain their vice grip on power. Fuck the GOP. I will never grow into a selfish, short-sighted, narrow-minded, anti-intellectual conservative as long as I live. More likely, I’ll grow more radically progressive with my advancing age. The abortion bans have me livid, and I’ve never once been pregnant nor needed to acquire an abortion. But I love many people who have needed or wanted an abortion and it infuriates me that women will have their lives threatened, even ended, for not being able to access safe abortions in instances of medical emergencies, rape, and incest. And abortion should remain legal for any and all reasons because it’s no one’s business what one birth-giver does with their body. Bodily autonomy is the sacred gift, the embodiment of sentience, the God-given right that all other rights and freedoms stem from. If one does not have ownership over oneself, one has ownership of nothing. Women will die from pregnancy complications. Men will murder their pregnant partners, it’s the leading cause of death for pregnant people. It’s happening now and will get worse.

The GOP is particularly sick. They voted against an emergency bill that would increase the infant formula supply, so now we can tack on “Starves Babies” to their list of crimes against humanity, which already includes “Forces Pregnancies” and “Enslaves Female Bodies.” Every argument they have about minimizing government influence is horseshit, as demonstrated by their forced state violence in the private affairs of people with uteri. The GOP is the pro-mass murder party, the bully, lie, steal, and cheat party. They do it openly, without fear of repercussions. Every physical, mental, and emotional abuser I personally know is a Trump supporter, and it’s because they like that he, having raped a child, having raped multiple women, having abused his wives and neglected his children, can still be granted the most power in the country, the highest office in the land. They worship and idolize him because if scum like that can live in the White House, then any dirtbag abuser can also reasonably expect to go on hurting other people without retribution. It’s sickening. Maddening. My rage is the flame that cuts through my exhaustion and depression. It’s not a good way to live. And yet things don’t get better, they get worse, and my rage grows.

I suppose I’ll end things here, since I’ve said it all before. I cling to every instance of beauty, every kind gesture, every small joy and delight that can be found, and there are many. But always there is fear and hurt simmering in my mind, and always there are aggressors who use their ideologies to oppress, enslave, mutilate, maim, and kill. I hope the tides of change are coming. We won’t survive if our predecessors keep voting to kill their own offspring.

A Departure from Social Media is Justified and Imminent

Ah, I’ve made it! Last year I was able to write two posts per month. This year I’ve cut that in half, and here I am, the second-to-last day of February, making my monthly declaration of opinions, airing of anxieties, and display of personal struggles.

The biggest development to share is that, after Jack and I celebrate our wedding in April, I’m going to delete my social media apps (just Facebook and Instagram, as I don’t use TikTok or Snapchat or any of the rest of them). I just can’t fucking hack it anymore. It is my belief that the human mind was not meant to consume this level of content, and all of it is a never-ending, constant stream that goes on forever. I look forward to the opportunity to focus my attention elsewhere, without the temptation to doom-scroll ceaselessly. I’ve been working on my first novel (“Daylight Fading”) for more than seven years at this point, and if I don’t do a better job managing my time, I’ll be in my 50s before I finally publish it. I hope that this is a successful experiment, where I fill the free time between my obligations and responsibilities with more reading, writing, and editing. And perhaps choreography, too. I have a sequel in the works (titled “Beneath the Mountain’s Gaze” which is currently just over 30,000 words), and frankly, a lot more I want to say as a climate activist beyond my fictional work. Something’s gotta give and I think the best thing for my mental health right now is to scrap social media.

This decision was spurred on by increasingly hostile behavior exhibited toward me in the form of an anonymous madman using the pseudonym “Truth First” to harass and threaten me in the comments section of the Trinity Journal. I’ve felt for years as though I’ve exhausted my usefulness on social media platforms, and the fact that I put myself out in the real world on a regular basis in a dangerous environment, makes me feel the distinct need to minimize my online presence beyond what is strictly necessary to promote my work. Truth First has written things like, “If you’re not on the Trump Train, you’ll be a bloody body on the tracks.” And, “Climate cannabis activists are not welcome in Trinity County. It’s time we start our own revolution. Unite.” This, after threatening to open fire against his cannabis-growing neighbors, after threatening to flame-throw and Paraquat their garden. Right-wing extremists are real, they are domestic terrorists, and they behave in dangerous and irrational ways. They are the scariest element of Trinity County, and of the United States more broadly.

I’m so tired. I shouldn’t have to be fighting this fight, arguing with people who cannot accept the physical and chemical consequences of our actions, the resulting death of the planet. We are an Icarus society, unwilling to see that the wax has melted, our feathers are flying off, and we are plunging toward our doom. Icarus fell into water. We won’t be so lucky. All of this is made worse knowing that some of my predecessors and ancestors and elders are STILL, after everything, still willing to vote for Donald Trump, the child-raping, serial-raping, lying, cheating, tax-dodging, grifting, abusive conman. How can I reason with people who, even with many children and grandchildren to think of, are doing everything they can to hasten our demise and make the future unlivable? Why, even as history repeats itself, are they standing firmly on the wrong side, on every issue?

These are questions I won’t get an answer to, especially not here. And that is by design. I don’t permit commenting on this blog because I don’t want to provide a platform for discussion here. That’s not what this is. I am conscientiously trying to retreat from online “discourse” because it is often abusive and fruitless. This is an open journal chronicling my struggles as a climate activist in the prime of my child-bearing years grappling with the grief and pain of knowing this way of societal living was always unsustainable and is unraveling underneath all of us. I just don’t even want to bother opening the doors to threats, violence, and cruelty. I want to create content in a space free of unsolicited input. I don’t care that my writing won’t travel far. This website exists on my terms and that’s the best anyone can ask for in a world where free will feels more like a faith-based illusion than a tangible result of our own choices.

I have hope that “retiring” from social media will bring more stillness to my mind, more quiet, less buzzing. In many things I am fairly disciplined, but in social media, I just scroll because it’s easy. It’s something to do, something passive, a tick to pass the time. It’s always there, ready and available. A cold-turkey strategy will be shocking, but perhaps the only one that can re-set my central nervous system. In the meantime, I’m still using Instagram and Facebook to communicate with distant friends, especially wedding guests, as it’s easier to reach out via multiple messaging apps. If one doesn’t work, another usually does. Wedding planning is both fun and stressful, and I’m definitely using all the tools at my disposal to share messages and information with as many people as possible until the big day arrives. It will be good, I think, to end my online tenure on a “high note” of love, hope, and friendship shared between the most important people in my life, Jack’s life, and our shared life.

It feels bittersweet, walking away from a technology I’ve used for nearly 14 years. But I know a good number of people who aren’t on Facebook or Instagram and they seem very happy with their decision. I admire them. Each one is an exceptionally great human. Sure, there are other factors at play, but I think they’ve definitely served themselves well by not getting suckered into scrounging about Zuckerberg’s attractive and never-ending rat maze. Ideally, I’ll have more time to catch up with my friends in a more in-depth manner: phone calls and video calls. Hopefully I’ll experience growth pursuing my favorite hobbies. Maybe I’ll even pick up a new hobby. It would be stellar to learn to make focaccia bread. Biscuits. Anything baked, really. I’m . . . not a gifted food-maker in any sense of the word. There’s much room for improvement.

I can’t imagine much more than maybe 10 people end up checking this website out. And again, that’s not a disappointment or a blow to my ego, but rather a relief knowing I can document my messy, frazzled brain, and not feel self-conscious about any of it. The world is so fucked up and scary right now. Russia invaded Ukraine. Thirteen million people in Yemen are heading toward starvation. Shasta and Trinity Lakes are dangerously low right now, so low we might reach “dead pool” and be unable to generate hydroelectricity from lack of water. I’m so tired and angry that this is the planet our forebears have left for us to inherit, but I can’t change the trajectory we’re on by myself. I can only keep on keepin’ on until tragedy or nature strike me dead. And while I still have the energy to wake up and be alert and conscious, I’m going to fight. I’m going to fight to survive, even as we humans welcome Hell on Earth as the inexorable force it is.