Everything is A LOT right now

How to survive when life feels insurmountable

I am tired.

Tired of grocery shopping.

Meal planning.

Driving.

Tired of my toddler’s inability to perform a task when I ask him the second, third, fourth, or ninth time.

Tired of how little sleep I’m getting.

Exhausted by the fucking executive powers of the presidency.

I wake up cursing Thomas Jefferson— Really, guy…? What were you thinking? That you could build a political system that would induce men not to give in to their inherent drive for more power? Pa-lease

Is any of this real?

I understand in my mind that an executive order isn’t real in the same way my kid’s naptime or family dinner is real. It’s real in the sense that it’s one man’s Santa Claus wish list.

But ICE agents are real. And layoffs are real. Stevie Miller is, unfortunately, all too real.

Water rolls downhill unless there’s something stopping it.

We’re entering an era that will be defined by who each of us is as individuals far more than by the systems and institutions our forebears built to guide, control, and govern us. Whether you were raised to believe that “no human is illegal” or “the illegals are invading our homeland” will contribute greatly to how you show up in this moment.

Of course, there are shades of racism and xenophobia in between. If the BLM-George Floyd-induced moment of “awokening” that is now being condemned and discarded taught me anything, it is that way too many white people have been raised without a clear understanding of how little right we have to the space we occupy — physically, emotionally, managerially, even artistically. And yet it is also true that there is a kind of valid unfairness in the expectation that white people will learn to keep quiet so that others may be heard. As my toddler is teaching me, most of us don’t like to be told to keep our voice down. We just learn how under threat of punitive action.

Maybe that sounds ominous, and I guess it is.

I haul my son off to “spend time by himself” in his room when he disrespects me or our dog, when he fails for the tenth time to do what I have asked, when I told him what the consequence will be the ninth time. Perhaps I am too heavy-handed. But again, I am tired. Tired of the demands of life on earth. Tired of the demands created by death. Tired of work, of parenting, of parenting while working. I understand that This Is It. This is human existence in the year 2025. And that means I will be tired and I will grow short with my son and I will “punish” with an act that feels like a consequence when he doesn’t do what he is told because I want him to learn as early as possible:

ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES.

AND INACTION, is STILL AN ACTION, y’all!

I want my son to grow up to be a man who will stop for more than one second, before he throws an object, to make sure he’s not about to hurt someone. I want him to be someone who doesn’t do the opposite of what someone asks because he thinks it’s funny. Sure, some of these behaviors are the tender age of defiance, when the human mind is learning what Right and Wrong means and How to Be Good. But it is also the age in which the ethical compass is formed.

You can bet no one dragged Mr Goldfinger off to his room with a warning because he was sassing off. No, that man surely learned early he could get away with whatever the fuck he wanted. And here we are, the American people, paying the price for Mary and Fred’s absentee parenting.

There is a lot to distract from what actually matters in a moment like this. It’s possible to inhale a whole lot of unnecessary oxygen hyperventilating about what will or won’t happen next. Your eyeballs will dry out (maybe permanently) in the time it takes to actually read the news.

My commitment to myself is to tend to what I can control: parenting my children, getting more sleep, doing my job, building a real-life community, making friends, connecting with people. Because when the ICE agents come knocking — and they will — it is not ink on paper that will lead to the deportation of millions of people. It is human beings. And under our current courts, the ink on paper won’t protect them, either. Human beings will.

A year ago, I ran for Vestry, the governing body responsible for the budget and operations of my local church. I am not particularly proud of what I accomplished, though that dereliction of duty was surely justified by the hellscape ravaging the rest of my life. Still, that responsibility brought me closer to my faith and those I practice it with. It constantly reminded me that it is “we” who are in this together, not just “I” who must go this alone.

I was proud this week to be a practicing Episcopalian as I watched Bishop Mariann Budde gently but firmly parent the president on live TV.

“Have mercy on the people who are scared now,” she said in a gentle and loving voice, enumerating the vast array of vital functions undocumented workers perform in the American economy.

I could tell by watching his face as he listened that as a child, he didn’t get that talk often enough.

Bishop Budde asked Donald Trump to show mercy, knowing full well he has no intention of doing so. But her words are an invitation to each of us to act as Jesus might have done.

“Our God teaches us,” Rev. Budde said, “that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were all once strangers in this land. May God grant us the strength and courage to honor the dignity of every human being, to speak the truth to one another in love, and walk humbly with each other and our God, for the good of all people… in this nation and the world.”

In a world that has grown perhaps all too secular, it is refreshing to hear a faith leader speak truth to power with such kind and pointed moral instruction.

What does it mean to show mercy, not just to the stranger, but to ourselves?

In 2017, a certain subset of Americans tried to form a mighty howl of Resistance, to show the displeasure they felt with their new president. But he ate that serving of negative energy for breakfast.

If I have learned anything as a parent, it is that my emotional response to wrongdoing has the potential to only feed my child’s appetite to transgress again. Yelling gets me nowhere. The clear, firm, and calm explanation and enforcement of boundaries and consequences helps him understand what behavior I expect from him, and what will and won’t be tolerated.

I’d like to suggest that in 2025 we consider an alternative: a Great Insistence. What if we each individually assert who we will and won’t be to each other? What if we come together in community to articulate our shared values and the behavior we will and won’t tolerate? What if we insist on what it actually means to be an American in our actions and expectations of each other? Not on the pages of an executive order, but in real life.

Am I naive to think that this is a real and available antidote to an egregious situation? Maybe. But it’s what we’ve got.

As the Cars Sheriff grunts at a speeding Lighting McQueen:

“Not in my town, you don’t.”

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Of course, in this case it’s not the law that needs enforcing but the ethical code by which we intend to live.

Linden B Johnson wanted government to care for its people in their moments of injury and trial, but the makers and executors of this new world order are on a mission to deconstruct that government one executive order at a time. We can’t demand different. But we can insist, at a community level, on living differently. We can show up in new and bold ways for each other. We can find ways to serve and support our fellow community members, to protect each other from the fallout of the destruction, and compensate for the absence of those supports that have previously provided necessary protections from hardship for many. Community-based mutual aid is the best protection we have against the worst-case scenario.

In this moment, we are all our principles, whether our parents lovingly disciplined them into us or we arrived at them of our own accord.

We are all the Gies family, and if that means nothing to you, Google it.

I have resigned myself to the fact that I am unlikely to be less tired at any point in the next four years. My son will hopefully grow more responsive and responsible, though the news cycle is unlikely to improve. But the difference between A LOT and TOO MUCH is measured not by the power of the individual but in the combined force and capacity of the group. To whom will we show mercy and loving kindness? To those most at risk of harm, I hope. But also, to each other. Community is the power to keep the fire burning when each of us is too tired to do so alone.

At the end of the 2016 campaign, our team all signed the same placard for each member of our team:

Do The Most Good, it said.

To my mind, the Most Good means maximizing kindness and care. It means holding space in my heart and my life for the immigrants who are at risk now. It also means seeking to love — yes love — the people who were resentful and pained enough to cast a vote for the man who now helms this destruction.

Martin Luther King Jr. famously said it best:

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.

Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

Is it within my grasp to love our President? I’m not sure. But a true commitment to show mercy to the stranger means I have to try.

I haven’t stayed in touch with most of the people I worked with that summer, an indicator of how brittle that campaign organization was.

But that placard still sits in my office, reminding me: every day is a choice.

While I may depend on the loving kindness of others to survive, all I can control is me.

And I, like you, am a vessel for a great deal of good.

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What is keeping you going in this moment? What communities are you counting on to keep you strong?