When I write, I usually choose my words wisely and carefully, curating each syllable to best represent my intentions. I’m grateful that such a skill was instilled in my upbringing. It’s time-consuming to write like that, though, and unfortunately, we live in a time of urgency. Also, perhaps unfortunately, honesty can be unpleasant and un-careful. But it’s time to unmask for a moment. Feel free to meet me where I’m at. So…
On November 13, 2019, two people offered food for thought in a now-dead YouTube video: “We live our lives taking each second for granted, but what would you do if you knew how much time you had left?” And since then, I’ve thought hard and frequently about how I want to be spending my precious seconds. I can’t read the numbers on my personal countdown clock the way I thought I could before Tuesday. Yet, this uncertainty has borne in me the strongest clarity and conviction I’ve felt in a long time. Here’s what I know:
I’ve been taking my seconds for granted. I’ve disregarded the locker-room-turned-podcast-bros and foolishly hoped that the radicalization pipeline would weaken on its own. I’ve become half-numbed at seeing images of dismembered infants from oceans and nations away, compartmentalized the demise until it became just another imported good I can swipe off my screen. I’ve been quick to condemn or discount opinions from the uneducated, forgetting that my education is a privilege and a constant work in progress.
I’ve donated to causes when I could, sobbed on my bedroom floor, and signed plenty of petitions, sure, but I’ve ultimately stagnated under four stable-ish years of Blue. (We are none of us immune to propaganda.) And now that everything will be decidedly Red for the foreseeable future, unabashedly placing human rights on the chopping block at home and abroad, NOW I’m feeling called to action. That’s to be expected of a person unwilling to fully address their privilege. I thought I was better than I am, and I condemn my own hubris.
I want to beat myself up for not doing more. The reason why I’m holding back is because I also know my own limits: as an immunocompromised person; as a queer person; as a mentally ill person (let’s call depression and anxiety what it really is). But these hurdles aren’t excuses for my silence. Each of these marginalizing aspects about me is a megaphone I could have been using all along.
So, I’m starting small with sharing inspirational and helpful and sometimes meme-y posts on my Instagram story, like I used to more often, circa 2020 (Black lives will always matter, by the way). And for some people, I’m sure it can be annoying to see these constant reposts demanding a better future for us underlings. Fine. I can’t afford to care anymore. I’ve avoided being annoying my whole life because I fear rejection more than I hope for acceptance. But rejection is a natural part of life. And I’m sure I annoy people regardless.
If I’ve learned one thing from my time at college, it’s that you will not always get what you want — in fact, you will often get less than what you believe you deserve, if you’re not following the institution’s specific standards. You must prove yourself *in the way they want to see proof* before you are given the good stuff. Either obediently jump through the hoops and wait for the good stuff to pile into your food bowl, or make the good stuff on your own, without permission from the institution. And frankly, I’m sick of hoop-jumping. I have weak ankles.
On November 6, 2024, while venting to myself before work, I said something that struck me before I could properly process its magnitude, to the tune of: “I would gladly sacrifice my aspirations if it means protecting the well-being of others.” Truly — how CAN I care about my own personal “success” if the way I get there is by stepping on the corpses of my friends? (I’m blurring the line between catastrophe and reality here. Give me grace.) My silence as I’ve tried assimilating to fit The Industry Mindset the last couple years is embarrassing and irreversible. Luckily, I’ve discovered I’m not really built to conform.
So, while I may not be financially able to assist people whose lives will actively worsen under the Red Regime, I will lend an ear. I will keep educating myself. I will offer kind words to those who need them and advice to those who care for it. I will encourage and defend critical thinking. I will admit when I’m wrong. I will share resources and knowledge when I find them. I will stand with you when I can stand, and cheer you on when I need to sit.
Also, I’ve been selfishly safeguarding my words — my own spiritual and artistic lifeblood — rather than setting them free for others to read, use, be inspired by. (I think the pen was mightier than the sword for several centuries, until the sword turned into tanks and nukes and machine guns. I’ve thus backed away from my responsibility to use my pen, messily, imperfectly, annoyingly. It’s a greater challenge, but I can’t back down from it.) So, I will be sharing my words more, too, when I’m able. But what speaks louder than words?
Circumstances dictate that my personal ambitions be less influential on my life choices while the well-being of my fellow humans remains set for execution. I am committing myself to action, however that ends up looking for me. Even if you don’t want me to have my human rights, I want you to have yours.
And if I’m rejected by the industry for writing all this, fine. Corporate-owned media is part of the reason we’re in this mess, anyway. (Is Führer Drumpf a SAG member? He was in “Home Alone 2” after all.) We can make our own good stuff without ever needing to look at a hoop to jump through again.
So, you don’t have to read my words or view my posts. You can tune me out. Ignore the waste around you; prioritize your own ambitions; carve out a quiet life for yourself without input from annoying people like me. But I’ll be here anyway, putting whatever good I can into the world with however many seconds I have left. If you’re not already with me, I invite you to come along when you’re ready.