November 16, 2024

A writer without words might as well be a bird with laryngitis. But here I am, sitting here, not really knowing what to say not even two weeks post-election, so I’ll keep it short. My hopes for an Autumn Joy have been dashed. I’m dismayed, dejected, and frankly, disgusted. This country has shown its ugly underbelly; and racism, misogyny, and bigotry won through fear-mongering and raw, unfiltered hatred. As a Black Latina, I’m afraid for my son, I’m afraid for my stepdaughter, I’m afraid for my partner, I’m afraid for the future for anyone who’s not a white cis hetero man. An evil cloud hangs over us and is morphing into a tornado threatening to land on us with furious anger, ready to destroy everything in its path.

However, we have to soldier on, right? We are now part of the Resistance; and yet, we have to tread lightly and wait to see how severe the storm will become. Fortunately, I live in a sanctuary state that just codified abortion in our state’s constitution and elected a Black female senator, so while it’s no guarantee, it’s providing me with some solace that not all is lost.

Is it worth playing music while the Titanic sinks? I say yes. The arts will always be necessary–they are a mirror reflecting our humanity, a reminder of how beautiful things could be, even if it’s just ephemeral. So I will continue to write—for the culture.

I don’t have any answers. All I know is that we need to connect to what makes us happy and the people we love. Hold on and don’t let go.

So, listen to a long playlist. Go to a museum. Read a book. Relish nature. Walk with your dog while the sun still shines. Hug your child. Hold a baby. Tell someone you love them. Buy something out-of-the-ordinary, like the hot pink coat I ordered to buoy my spirits. No one can take these morsels of joy away from you.

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