Out of the Middle to Try Something New

Hello, lovely readers!

The past week has been bananapants—largely due to political actions and decisions affecting me and mine. I’ve learned, the hard way, that getting through the next four years is a marathon and not a race. Last week it felt like a sprint, because every time another Executive Action, appointee, or “think tank” broadcast across the web at large, I pivoted to figure out how I’d be affected and, perhaps, most importantly? What to do next. To remain healthy. To continue pursuing my dreams.

I was extremely grateful to connect with friends, family, peers who have responded to the zeitgeist in different ways. Everyone I know has a handful of things they’re either dealing with or are seeking solutions for. Sometimes, those things don’t even overlap. And, I had a deeper, very disturbing conversation about the erosion of middle ground. How compromise is no longer a bad word or a sign of weakness. It is now pure fantasy.

Perhaps it’s been that way for a while. I don’t know. I do know that this depresses me so, so much, because I have a lot of experience with people who don’t believe in compromise. Who think that “my way or the highway” is a sign of strength rather than emotional immaturity. Who believe that the slightest accommodation for other people is a sign of weakness. Who want others to suffer, because they feel that anyone who doesn’t share their views of the world should be punished.

I don’t choose “my way or the highway.” At least, not anymore. I had to grow up, you see. Sometimes, I “let” the bully think they’ve won, because it was the only way to get the work done. Compromise is what grown-ass adults do. Compromise is how all creators share in credit for a project. Compromise is knowing when to shutteth thy lipeth, how to use disagreements as a learning tool, how to not be an asshole so the team wins. So yes, I can and do compromise on many things depending on my goal—which may or may not be opaque to said asshats. Middle finger to them.

I digress. I believe that’s what you might call a Chef’s Salad of words. The silly thing is, I can compromise whether or not we should use Arial or Times New Roman, but some things shouldn’t be a topic of discussion for compromise in the first place. Purple or orange? Okay. Don’t care. It’s not winning or losing if you don’t give a shit. I do care, however, about the personal. You see, as a human being on planet Earth—and a writer to boot—I have observed how we are all connected. When society dictates that some human beings have rights while others don’t, and prioritize making everyone but the marginalized feel comfortable? That doesn’t sit well with me. It spirals into hate. Hate leads to horrific violence.* And, if we’re not careful, horrific violence simply leads to more horrific violence because someone said: “Yeah, torture’s okay.”

I know, full well, that when people are happy and healthy all of the lifestyle indicators skyrocket. Happy, healthy people produce more for themselves and for society than a group of unhappy, overworked, stressed people do. All boats float, not just the yachts. Full stop.

Another thing I find difficult to compromise on is this fanciful notion called “The Scientific Method.” I don’t know if you were alive and kicking in the mid-1800s, but if you were, you’d hit a mid-life crisis at twenty. Life expectancy, on average, was around forty years of age—and not just because people drank a lot more than they do now. Turns out, space isn’t the only thing that wants to murder and maim you. There are many, many things on Planet Earth that can and do, from foodborne illnesses to polio and so much more.

But then, snake oil and magical tinctures began to fall by the wayside when The Scientific Method was fully embraced and voila! Life expectancy began to rise. By 1900, it rose to 47. By 2000? 77. In 100 years, the average person’s life doubled thanks to vaccines, food and water safety, and advances in medicine and healthcare.

The curse of this knowledge, of course, is knowing what happens when these advances are eliminated because someone’s gut feeling told them vaccines cause autism. (Spoiler alert: this links highlights how that is wrong.) What happens when you or someone in your family is immuno-compromised? What happens when you or someone in your family isn’t immuno-compromised now, but believes leadership? Contracts a preventable disease? And dies? And why, pray tell, have you embraced what your emotions are telling you in the first place? Lizard brain says: I want chocolate cake for breakfast. Do you have chocolate cake for breakfast? Or do you take that feeling under advisement and make a better choice.

This one goes out to alllllll the smart people who’ve read and researched the subject thoroughly, and still believe they cause autism. Two things can be true: you can be the smartest person in the world, but that doesn’t mean you’re always right.

Pausing here, to point out… Well, you can see how dark it got in my mind. With or without the cobwebs.

Why am I telling you any of this? For two reasons: One, if you agree with my sentiment, then please know you are not alone. Also: I don’t laugh or condemn anyone for finding out the lessons I learned the hard way, either. Maybe you’re not quite there yet. I don’t blame you. I don’t think anyone truly understands how easy it is for our minds and hearts to be manipulated until you realize how, when, and why that happened. (There was a time when subliminal advertising was regulated by the FCC. Algorithms and manipulative content should be, too, but they’re not because the law hasn’t caught up to the Internet yet and never will.) Your path is your path, but please consider the people around you. Germs aren’t magnets. They don’t just stick to you and viola! Your health is affected. They are what happens if Tribbles were invisible, microscopic honey badgers. They truly do not give a fuck.**

Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, I am trying something new with my newsletter. I’ll be switching to a more predictable bi-monthly format, and will include more recommendations for stuff I’ve tried or liked*** or supported. Those things that bring me peace of mind, or joy, or some other emotion that isn’t doom-badda-doom. When I have something to announce, it’ll go in the mix, but I am going to do away with stand-alone announcements unless I am automagically whisked away to a set where I’ll be filmed in a Star Trek show/movie. More on that hilarious-to-me pipe dream and my rekindled fandom, later.

For now, though… Look, it is very easy to dive into a rabbit hole and posture: “What next? What now?” Pace yourself. As my family reminded me, the next four years will be a marathon. Not a race.

And there are 1,433 days to go.

*I cannot link to the article, because the violence against a transgender man is so unbelievably horrific I still have nightmares. Whether you’re an ally or trans, here are some transgender resources.

**I am keeping the occasional swear word and I don’t even feel bad about that.

***Some items will be affiliated-linked. Some not. The newsletter will continue to be free, but, just like you, every little bit helps.