And I Think to Myself, “What a Tumultuous World.”

Back again, back again. We’re now 29 days out from the wedding and I’m spinning tiny plates on top of other spinning plates. I have to write two Climate Corner articles before we wed (as I can only imagine I won’t have the bandwidth to crank out an article over our celebratory weekend) and I also volunteered to write a brief article on local food security for SAFE (Safe Alternative for our Forest Environment). Oh, and I’m choreographing three separate dance pieces for the showcase in June! I like to stay busy.

I suppose I should start by saying a tentative peace has been agreed upon by all parties and that my parents will be in attendance for the wedding. Last weekend my mother asked me what I thought about the war in Ukraine and, as almost always happens, the conversation devolved. She called Biden weak, demented, and disappointing (I agree with the last adjective) and defended Trump’s “Putin is a genius” comment by insisting he meant, “Strategic genius.” To that, I simply said, “Why couldn’t Trump just call Putin ‘strategic’? It is a neutral term, one that doesn’t imply admiration the way ‘genius’ does.” She called me a fascist when I pointed out that the GOP is being pulled further and further to the right by (mostly) white men chanting things like, “Jews will not replace us!” in Charlottesville, and “Hang Mike Pence!” during the violent Capitol insurrection. Then, the cherry on top, she told me to “Move away” if I didn’t like receiving death threats from Truth First. That last comment pushed me over the edge. Rather than condemn the bad behavior of an adult man threatening to shoot me, she victim-blamed me and suggested I up-end my entire life to flee from the deranged monster.

For full transparency, I reacted as badly as I possibly could. She went low and I took it to the floor. I (verbally) punched back as hard as I could, with every bit of frustration and vitriol I could muster. I told her to never call me a fascist again, that I displayed no militant, hyper nationalist behavior, and that I didn’t think her aging brain was as rational as it used to be. To add insult to injury, I linked to a study that ties leaded gasoline exposure to loss of IQ in older generations. It was only a 1-3 points, on average, but for some specific populations, was as high as a 7-point IQ drop. In response, she threatened to skip the wedding. We spent six days in silence, and she has since reneged on the threat. As unwise as it was, I threw that vicious grenade in an attempt to explain away my parents insistence on defending what I believe to be the worst president in history, because without a clear reason for their behavior, the only other conclusion I can draw is that they are choosing to act like this. Choosing to defend a child rapist. Choosing to defend people like “Truth First” who can’t use their first amendment well enough to sway people into seeing their perspective and who resort to threatening people who challenge them with death by the second amendment. People in this nation disown their own children for things that can’t be helped, traits that one is born with, like being gay or transgender. I, by contrast, am absolutely enraged, utterly livid, that my parents choose to cling to a party that is being overrun by flat-out violent, dangerous extremists. Why can they not change their minds? Why can they not shift their loyalties to a third party, since they loathe and despise Democrats more than any other group in the nation?

In that moment, I was a cruel bitch to my own mother, I’ll be the first to openly admit it. But only because I felt attacked by the person who gave me life, the person I always thought I could count on to protect me from the dangers of this trigger-happy country. Oh, how wrong I was and still am. It’s an ugly, brutal task to realize that my parents aren’t nearly as deserving of my unquestioning adoration as I had always believed growing up, and then to have them demand that I still love them unconditionally, despite repeatedly making what I believe to be very bad, damaging choices. The more I challenge them, the more our collective resentment grows. And yet, here we are, all planning to see each other in April to celebrate my commitment to Jack and his commitment to me. Alls well that ends well? Jack recently said, “It’s not a true wedding without some drama.” And now I realize, the drama is coming from my own nuclear family. At least we’re all hard-headed enough to keep talking to each other. None of us are estranged, even though we’ve said things that cut right down to the heart of who each of us are. We’re hard-headed, not hard-hearted. And what we say hurts, deeply. But somehow, we’re still here, still on speaking terms, still usually able to converse about most topics in a civil, productive manner. I think, unfortunately, we will never be able to discuss politics. Ever. Never ever. Never again, never in the future. The gulf between us is too wide and that entire sphere of discussion is closed to us. It could be much, much worse. I will take what I can get. Many families have fully imploded from all of this. It’s a miracle we’re still talking. Regularly. Go figure.

I wish I could understand the appeal of Trump if only to understand my own father, and by extension, my mother who defends his choices… and Trump’s choices. It seems like there is no line that Trump can cross that would change their minds, convince them to back-track, convince them to step away from the lying, stealing, grifting, raping demon. If I spend too long dwelling on it (yes, I recognize the irony of writing this all out), I become consumed with grief and a sense of betrayal. It feels like they’re siding with Truth First, like they believe he has a senior right to be heard, like his freedom of speech, however violent and inciting, is more important than mine. My parents call me intolerant. I agree only to the extent that I am intolerant of hate speech, and even more intolerant of hateful acts and policies that oppress and brutalize marginalized populations. But yeah, let’s just call me the intolerant fascist. It makes my parents feel better knowing how shitty I turned out to be. It frees them of their guilt. “We’re good people and we can think whatever we want!” That’s the best understanding I can reach.

My parents are good people. As are other folks I personally know who voted for Trump. My parents worked in healthcare, my dad a surgeon, my mother a medical social worker. It is grueling, emotionally, mentally laborious work. It requires compassion, intense focus, and unwavering commitment and dedication. They volunteered time, money, and resources to numerous community projects, from musical concerts to art shows. They are good parents who give their best advice, their fullest energy, their fiercest love. Which is why this schism, this yawning maw of a chasm, is all the more confusing and upsetting.

I know I’m not the only person who feels this way. I don't see my parents or any Trump voter as the enemy, but I do believe the policies of the GOP are insidious. I think the enslavement of female bodies is sickening. I think the scheme to cut Medicare and Social Security is evil and going to hurt the very constituents who vote for the GOP, just as ignoring COVID wiped out a lot of older, white, conservative Americans. The lack of self-preservation, the unwillingness to face our very real problems (climate change, the wealth gap, civil unrest, political violence and extremism) and the eagerness to substitute fake problems (Q-Anon is a bullshit factory) to whip up mass hysteria is going to kill all of us, for generations to come. And yet we all have a burning desire to survive, a flame that compels us to keep moving in the darkest of times. My parents aren’t my enemy, but they most assuredly are not fighting alongside me against very real, very angry men who would shoot me without hesitation or remorse. It is for that very reason I look beyond my blood family to find allies, and I count myself among the very fortunate to have found extended family wherever Jack and I go, wherever we live. It’s unfair to my parents to spend so much time airing out these conversations, but this is the way these discussions are unfolding. These are the things being said. This is what’s happening in my personal life during an unprecendented historical period of time. It’s exhausting living through all of these monumental events. Everyone my age is ready for something resembling stability, something resembling peace. But as long as our elders cling to the beliefs that have led us into the lion’s mouth of this unsustainable society, we will only suffer the consequences of its collapse. Things are bad now. They’re going to get a lot worse.

Whatever it takes to maintain the spark of life, the flame of survival, I hope we’re all taking those necessary steps. We need good, nonviolent people to continue living. We need peace-makers and creators to make it to the next generation. We need to stand up against violence and injustice lest it consume every single person in the final apocalypse of this species.

New Year, Same Crippling Anxieties!

Happy 2022! Or is it 2020, too? The years really do zip by faster the more years lived, a smaller percentage of the whole. I can barely keep up with it all.

As this beautiful blue marble orbits the sun once more, I’m more aware of the immoveable burden resting on my heart than ever before. It has been sitting on my chest for quite some time, and I am making peace with the fact that it will most likely stay with me for all of my years, however many they may be. As long as I am conscious, I will be pondering the ethical questions surrounding motherhood and childbirth in a time when we are working too far slowly to change our disastrous planetary trajectory.

The fact remains that I am selfish. I have to repeat that fact to myself every time I feel the baby fever rise and imagine Jack and I welcoming a new soul into our lives, a tiny baby bundle of joy, the living embodiment of a love and a soul-bond that I know will never die. “I want to be a mother.” What a weak, selfish justification. Frankly, I don’t know that my child would want to live on this dying planet. And even if there were more reasons to be optimistic about the future, like the advent of safe nuclear fusion (check out MIT’s most recent work using super magnets to contain a nuclear fusion reaction), or the widespread rebuilding of our electrical grid so that it is thoroughly decarbonized, the fact remains that no one is born with consent. The fact remains that, even though I fruitlessly engage with climate deniers and try to get my message of action and collaboration out to as many people as possible, I am not making any headway and I probably never will. And even if I were successful, that doesn’t mean I’m at all worthy of propagating my genes to the next generation. There is nothing particularly special about me. I would simply be contributing to overpopulation.

I sit in an interesting position where most of my female friends and acquaintances either do not want to procreate, or are undecided. Of my six bridesmaids, four definitively do NOT want children (not even to adopt), one is on the fence, and one definitely does want to give birth. If I take a more expansive look at my friend circle, this ratio evens out a bit, but more people still skew toward the childless lifestyle. There are plenty more years ahead for the future to be remade, but looking at this current assemblage of people closest to me, it seems we’ll be aging out quietly, with no noise or chaos of small humans growing to adulthood and fulfilling the important roles we will grow too old to continue carrying out. It makes me sad to think about it, but it makes me guilty for wanting to bring in children of my own just to assuage my generational loneliness. I am selfish, I am selfish, I am selfish.

What can I possibly do to make the world more livable, more cooperative, and more sustainable? I write, I volunteer, I work a position that actively tries to safeguard the environment and the natural resources we need most: water, clean air, biomass in all its many forms. My professional life is dedicated to the cause as is my spare time, my personal choices, and my private internal struggles. And it really doesn’t matter how much effort I put into serving other people today and serving future generations tomorrow. I am selfish at the root of it all. I want to carry Jack’s children in my womb, birth them and meet them Earth-side, watch them grow, give them guidance, love, and affection. But there will be no guarantee of safety, or even a guarantee of access to drinkable water come 2050, especially if we’re still living in the arid west. I can willingly give my life over to my offspring, but I cannot give them an entirely new planet, one undamaged by extractive capitalism and overconsumption. Biosphere 2 demonstrated that the extent of human ingenuity is limited, and that we are too unsophisticated to reproduce something as complex as Earth. We are killing our only home, spreading and consuming like locusts. It’s hypocritical for me to want to continue populating a system that cannot provide for all of us, especially since I very well know better.

I recently re-watched Titanic. Wow, what a film. I personally love it and think it held up quite impressively in the 25 years since its release in 1997. It hit especially hard this time, comparing the disaster to climate change. Our Earth ship is sinking and there are still so many loud, violent, obnoxious (in my personal experience) MEN who are clinging to the railing as the icy water washes over the deck screaming that it’s a pleasant voyage and that everyone trying to avoid a watery grave is a brainwashed idiot. There is no convincing them to be a part of the solution. There is no releasing them of their own fear and emotional immaturity. They staunchly insist they are correct in the face of the very real, overwhelming evidence unfolding before our eyes that no, Earth is not okay. Species are dying orders of magnitude faster than the normal background extinction rate documented in the geologic record. But sure, go off on how I’m a demonic liberal (haha) for daring to use the phrase “climate change denier”. I think “ecocidal future-child murderer” is more accurate. It is significantly more harsh, sure, but drives the point home that their factual incorrectness is costing the lives of all humans who will inherit an overheated, utterly cooked planet. Their decision to repeatedly, shamelessly lie is morally reprehensible. Lying is a choice, not a personality trait, and certainly not a birth defect. I have zero qualms about verbally lambasting these liars. If they don’t want to help bail water, fine. But the least they can do is stand off to the side out of everyone’s way.

These posts really are just an opportunity for me to shout into the void and to vocalize my existential dread. I cry at the drop of a hat. These first three weeks of 2022 have been especially rough for my mental health and even though I show up to work every day, even though I teach my dance classes at night, and volunteer at the fire department, and most recently appeared as a guest speaker on The Everything Else Show with Martin Willis to discuss my message of climate action (while we still have time to act), I feel like none of it matters. None of it amounts to the changes we so desperately need to make as a species. I believe in ripple effects, absolutely, but I am a weak, limited, emotionally fragile woman who will likely worry herself to an early grave. Perhaps I will survive longer than I give myself credit for. It is, after all, written into our very DNA as living creatures that we strive to survive for as long as possible. The ship is sinking, but we’re still trying to avoid the water at all costs, to avoid slipping into the freezing North Atlantic. Refusing to live in the face of certain devastation is not the answer. The answer is to alter the way in which we produce energy. And even though it’s a simple answer, there is no political will or emotional fortitude to accomplish such a change. Any attempt made to alter viewpoints is met with hostility and vitriol, even as the threat looms right in our faces. We cannot work together even to defeat a common enemy. It breaks my heart. It breaks my brain. It saps my energy. I give and give and somehow my cup refills enough for me to make it through the day over and over, but it accomplishes nothing. I accomplish next to nothing.

I suppose it’s unfair to title this post “New Year, Same Crippling Anxieties!” I am not crippled. I still function. I have a support network where many people have no one and nothing to lean on. It is, once again, my privilege that allows me to take time out of my schedule to write these pointless posts. My words convince no one and largely go unread, but here I am, back on my bullshit, talking about my feelings to no one but a glowing computer screen. And even that’s not true. Jack listens to my dread and my anger, holds me when I cry, kisses away the rage and despair. I often pick up my phone and am able to call any number of my closest friends, and always they open their heart to me and lend their undistracted ears. Even though my very worth as a human feels tenuous at best, I have so many people that I love who love me right back. I live for them, I live for my two dogs, I live for the hope of a brighter day when we take longer, stronger strides toward solutions that benefit the greatest number of people in a time when severe weather events become more frequent and destructive. If everyone took it upon themselves to relentlessly speak up about the greatest threat to our existence, perhaps we might have a shot at reversing our actions and stabilizing the atmosphere. We each hold the agency needed to choose a decarbonized lifestyle and work toward passing down this beautiful home to our children and grandchildren. Every voice matters, no matter how small or timid, no matter how broken and raw. I am largely useless in the face of it all, but I will roar (or perhaps I’m just screaming) until I draw my last breath.