Invisible. Silent. Planning.

Well, on the bright side, I did receive a proposal of marriage last week. The offer came from one of my beloved Englishmen friends, he wondering if I might be ready to swap out my passport for something a little less unstable. Not to say that England has its shit together, but still there was the appeal of putting an ocean between myself and The Might Orange Asshole. 

Ultimately, I cheerfully declined, despite the temptation to say yes, because though the offer was made by one who understands me better than most, I knew he would draw a line at the goats. Or, even if he did find it in his heart to allow me to bring my herd with me, I have a pretty good hunch that I couldn’t afford a flat large enough for all of us. 

Having ruled out my best, quickest chance for escape, I settled in for some of that observation stuff I’m always banging on about. Noticing how violently ill I felt upon hearing the election results, teetering there on the brink of a massive, protracted four-year (at least) panic attack, I made myself be very still and just break it down. 

What was my most pressing fear? That one’s easy. Wednesday morning, having been absolutely whipped into a terror frenzy by the left-leaning media that I consume, I fully expected to find the Proud Boys heading through the ranch gate, semi-automatics blazing, telling me I had five minutes to vacate the property, that it was theirs now. A glance out the window revealed they were not there, at least not yet. I didn’t exactly exhale, but used the newfound time I had planned to dedicate to cleaning my shotguns to dig further, analyze my fear some more. 

I remembered a meme I’d seen long ago. The gist of the meme was about acceptance and pertained to rain. The idea is, you can look outside the window and see that it is raining and you can say, “It can’t be raining! Not today!” Or “But I don’t want it to be raining!” Or you can just see what’s in front of your face and say, “Well fuck, not at all what I wanted, but I see it is, in fact, raining. Guess I better get out my umbrella.”

This helped me get very quickly to accepting the election results. Which in turn led me to think a lot about the word acceptance. Acceptance is not the same as embracing, concurring with, or acquiescence. Acceptance is about facing facts in order to proceed accordingly. 

It’s getting easier for me, the older I get, to accept facts the first time around. This has taken decades of therapy, self-help, cultivating discipline, and plenty of learning the hardest way as I dealt with the fallout all the times I refused to accept facts. (I explored this topic last week when I sadly noted what I have, in the past, had in common with the MAGA people—namely a bad pattern of blind allegiance to narcissistic violent bullies.)

Accepting that no matter whether or not I like it, fascism has come for “my” country, is helpful. It allows me to move my focus away from my pre-election wondering what would happen to understanding the worst has, in fact, happened and we are so very fucked. Of course we don’t yet know the size and shape of this being fucked. But at least we do know it is time to steel ourselves. 

My very first really horrible boyfriend—who, despite having been banished from my life nearly forty years ago, does every now and again send me a letter apparently inspired by Making Amends for Dummies telling me he just wants me to know he forgives me—once said something that really stuck. He suggested I would be shit in an emergency. 

As it turns out, this was another thing he got totally wrong about me. I am excellent in emergencies. Using my PTSD super power of dissociation, when I am faced with a crisis, a big chunk of myself checks out entirely. I set all emotions aside and get to the work of triage, of seeing who or what can be saved or salvaged. Sure, there’s a real risk that somewhere down the line all the emotions will eventually catch up with me, at which point a crash is not unheard of. But in the actual moment of crisis? I am wonderfully no nonsense. I am terrifically get ‘er done. 

I barely spoke on Wednesday or Thursday, too overcome with grief to conduct anything like a conversation. I commenced to wearing all black—thank you Johnny Cash—which I currently plan to continue until (at least) 2029. I felt the head-on impact of millions of people begging for their abuser to abuse them some more. And then, by Friday, I emerged from the rubble of panic, noted the Proud Boys still hadn’t arrived to piss on the Tiny Chapel, and I resolved to get to work. 

I have been politically active since I was a teenager. I raised my son on the grounds of the Texas State Capitol protesting the bullshit wars of George W. Bush who, despite the blood still dripping from his war criminal hands, suddenly seems like Tinkerbell. I have ranted—in my writing, in the posters held high above my head, in the words coming out of my piehole at events great and small. But looking around at this current train wreck, I recognize that the near total silence I experienced in the immediate aftermath also offers a bit of a roadmap. 

ACT UP made the slogan Silence = Death into a powerful campaign to fight against AIDS. It’s a motto I have always appreciated and it applies more broadly to many areas. However, I find that for the moment, still I need some more silence. This is not complacency. This is not surrender.

The silence is temporary. It provides me space for a kind of Emotional Mise En Place. I have to gather all of my available ingredients—compassion, empathy, wisdom, strategy and, yes, disgust, dismay and outrage. I have to take in the whole of these things available to me and figure out the correct measurements before I start mixing shit up. Two cups of compassion and a pinch of outrage? A gallon of outrage and a dash of compassion? 

I’m still mulling this. I am resting up now. I am watching. I am deciding. I’m grateful for everyone who still has the stamina to do the marches, hold up the signs, utilize the legal system to fight fight fight. But I’m an old woman now, invisible for the most part, my invisibility a different sort of super power. I’m going to get shit done on the downlow. Just because all of us got royally fucked doesn’t mean I have to sleep in the cold wet spot of Trump spooge. There are workarounds. 

For starters, consider this. In these times of ramped up hostility, the easiest way to rebel is through kindness. Seriously. These days every single act of kindness great or small is more than a gift. It’s a cheerful fuck you to the powers that be that want you to live in a sustained state of fear and drown in a sea of vitriol, because it’s easier to manipulate you.

To calm my panic further, I look at some personal facts. I am a white, uterus-free senior citizen. I own a significant piece of land in one of the most expensive real estate markets in the country. I am single. I do not have to worry about an unwanted pregnancy. There will likely be at least a little bit of money left in the social security coffers when it’s my turn to take a dip. And while I would prefer not to give up my home, in a pinch, it’s a financial security option I have that not everyone does. In short, though I will suffer along with everyone else, it seems like I will very likely suffer less than others. A privilege indeed.

I am gathering my strength now. I am watching and waiting. Keeping an eye out on ways I can be most useful to those who will suffer even more. I will, of course, continue to aid and abet abortion. I will continue to feed the homeless. I will continue to foster community. I will redouble my efforts to see and appreciate the comfort and beauty that still exists in my life. 

Most importantly, I will refuse to be consumed by the hate. That was a mistake I made when I lived in Shitville, when the Trumpers came for me and threatened me and broke me. How much energy I wasted wrestling with those pigs, getting so much mud in my own eyes I could not see in the moment how I was allowing their cruelty to poison my mind. No more. I can see clearly now, even as the reign continues. Those days were training for these days. I will not repeat the errors I made then. I will stay focused this time and I will strive to put my energy toward positive change. 

What are you going to do? 

NOTES:

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