Hoping Machine is Down for Maintenance
I'm not thrilled with anything I've written in the past week and I almost decided not to write this at all, but I've committed to it and you pay money for it, so here it is. Messy and inadequate as I am, as everything is right now. Next week will be better, or, if not, at least it will be different. That's something.
Do you ever feel exhausted by the business of existence? Like you could just lay down and give up at the mere thought of having to do one more task, or make one more call, or take one more breath? And do you ever feel a band constricting around your chest and a stone in your stomach when you realize that this is just life, just the way it goes? Do you ever struggle to know how to cope with the helpless hopeless overwhelm of personhood? And do you ever try to turn your mind to the world, to zoom out instead of zooming in, only to feel a scream building and building when you're met with everything that's going on out there?
Of course you do, because you occupy the same world as me and you live with the same existential dread and you share the same worries and burdens. There's something comforting in that, in the knowledge that whatever you're going through, you're not alone. You're connected to a whole web of other people who are trying to navigate these things just as you are. It's bleak, too, but it's something to hold onto when it seems like there's nothing else. It very often seems like there's nothing else and I don't know what to do about that. I don't know how to live with it, how to hold it in my body and my brain and keep moving forward. It's hard when it sometimes doesn't feel like there's much to move forward to.
This newsletter is about hope. It's about clawing it from the dirt and it's about fighting for every scrap of it we can get and it's about making it out of nothing when it doesn't exist. And I promise I'm going to get there, back to that place of defiant optimism. I just need to sit with the anxiety for a minute first, and maybe you do too, because the world is awful and we're all so small and if you're anything like me, you're feeling an increasing desperation for someone to hold you and shush you and assure you that it's going to be okay, somehow, eventually. It is, you know. It's going to be okay. I'll be the one to say that for you and for myself, and maybe I'll even find it convincing someday soon.
I know I'm feeling anxious when I revert back to my old impulse shopping days. It's so dumb, the worst coping mechanism imaginable, because one of the primary things that triggers my anxiety is money and my lack of it. It's a constant, neverending, life-draining worry. I used to regularly overdraw my bank account, partially as a result of ADHD and partially as a result of just being so miserably, impossibly poor. Life costs so much money and the powers that be don't want us to have enough of it to survive. And even if we find a way to survive, we're never meant to thrive.
I want my little luxuries. It's the Amy March in me. And, just like Amy, I firmly believe I deserve them. Not because I've done anything amazing or contributed to the world in any significant way that makes me worthy, but simply because I'm human and I'm alive and little luxuries make being alive infinitely easier. I recently bought myself this Yes To Avocado hand cream on the recommendation of a friend because hydrating is hard and my skin is as dehydrated as the rest of me, and I got it yesterday, along with this floral silicone watch band for the Apple watch I was finally able to afford to own. It was only through the kindness of a friend who was selling one at a heavily discounted price and agreed that I could pay her for it in installments. Sometimes people are good and sometimes I can allow myself to have a nice thing.
Speaking of nice things, I'm on the hunt for new underwear. Is this too personal? If it is, at least you know what you're in for, because "Is This Too Personal" could be an alternative title for this newsletter. The point is that Aerie is having a sale right now and everything I want is more affordable than it normally would be, and while unfortunately a lot of it doesn't seem quite right for me, this bra does and so I'm getting it in lavender. I'm also eyeing these high-waisted lace-trimmed bikini underwear from Old Navy, also on sale, but I haven't decided yet. I'm very picky and I like lace and bows and other frilly, pretty things, something my mom makes fun of me for because she doesn't understand why it matters when no one even sees it. If I can't be happy with the state of my life right now, I can at least try to be happier with my body, and one of the things that makes me feel good about myself is unnecessarily fancy lingerie that no one, including me, will see.
None of this is going to fix anything. Spending money on pretty and comforting things won't change the situation in Gaza or the way trans people are treated in this country and this state or the pointless cruelty of politicians in general. It won't divert the climate catastrophe we're living through. It won't dilute the longing I feel for a friend who isn't longing for me in the same way and who couldn't be my person even if they were, a situation which makes me feel absolutely crazy and unreasonable and contributes in a not small way to my general state. It won't help me figure out how to force myself to talk to my family about changing my name and it won't make it easier when I finally do. It certainly won't magically put a winfall into my bank account and in fact has the exact opposite effect.
But do you know what it will do? It will make me feel capable of going on. It will put just enough of a spring in my step to carry me through to the next struggle. It will give me something to focus on, even if only for a little while, that doesn't make me feel like absolutely everything is poison. We can't suffer ceaselessly until a better world is created, because in order to create it, we need to experience joy, and peace, and love, and, yes, hope.
Is feeding into the capitalist system the ideal way to do this? No. But it's what I've got right now. You have to find what works for you, what lightens your load just enough to keep it from crushing you. You have to look around at the people alongside you in this fight, at the things they're doing, at the things you could do together, and make a way to convince yourself it's enough. This is worth it. We're worth it. We have to be. Take some deep breaths, unclench your fists and shake out your hands, stare it all directly in the face, and keep going. Nothing changes if nothing changes, and the fight needs you, and me, and all of us. It needs us to show up as the versions of ourselves who can make them afraid and take them down.
For me, I can only be that person when I feel good about who I am, which is such a lofty goal that I need all the help I can get. I need to collect shiny things and hoard them around me like a magpie, but it's not the only thing I need to do. I also need to be outside in the sunshine, and I need to talk to friends and remember I'm not alone, and I need to hold my own hand and be my own comfort, and I need to reach out with words to say this. That it's hard and heavy and too much, that I need more than just myself. That I know we got this as long as we keep showing up for each other and we keep trying and we keep resisting and we keep screaming and we keep loving and we keep believing in our ability to fuck shit up and rebuild it better. This is how I keep hoping machine running. What's your way?