I have so many Gimmes Schalter to write for you all, so many essays dying to get from my fingers to your inbox. I’m itching to write a follow-up to a FiveThirtyEight article that hasn’t even run yet. Substack laid off 1/7th of their entire workforce
. I was voluntold to captain a hastily assembled squad of soccer-playing strangers, and we had an incredible (and incredibly fun) season. I received an absolutely gorgeous hardcover graphic novel for review. Twitter launched incredibly long Tweets as a professional writing platform
(?!?). There’s been a rash of white writers
stepping on the same old rake
: Taking big money from big platforms to write irresponsibly about a hot-button social issue, and getting all mad at the backlash. My kids are doing amazing things (like my youngest, who doesn’t have a public Internet presence yet, whomping up the above image). USC and UCLA somehow joined the Big Ten.
Like, I’m sure, many of you, I’ve spent the last week oscillating between hopeless apathy and feverish action, loudly rejecting this regressive aggression and determinedly carrying on. I’ve wanted to drop all my responsibilities and type for days on end, and I’ve wanted to go HAM on my to-do list so when I do get a chance to write it’s in good health and conscience.
In all of the above, I’ve erred toward the latter: Doing what I’ve needed to do, finishing what I’ve wanted to finish, chored what I’ve needed to chore and self-cared for what’s needed self-caring.
Going into this long weekend, I feel better about the person I am and the space around me than, maybe, I ever have? And yet I know that fascism wins when everyone shuts up, rolls over, pretends there’s just nothing that can be done
and just gets on with it.
So maybe I’m screwing up. But right now, controlling what I can control has put me in a much better place to make the world a better space for everyone else.