When I say I’m trying to take my writing to the next level, I’m not playing – I am going to take this thing as far as I possibly can before I die. That may never be much further than this blog, and I would never presume to know what life has in store for me, least of all career-wise. I do, however, know this: I am not the most talented writer in the world, the U.S., the State of Louisiana or New Orleans – not even the Bywater, probably not even this side of St. Claude. What I am is organized, persistent, efficient and consistent (some would say obsessive, and, at times, that’s not unfair) as well as talented. (If it strikes you as gauche for me to say so, be assured I know what I am and what I am not. I don’t have time for false modesty, and neither do you.) Having righted the ship of my life and especially following the last two and a half years, I can say with confidence that no one will outlast me, and, certainly, no one will ever outwork me.

To that end, I came up with a blog-posting schedule of sorts to keep myself on track, practice making perfect and all that. Today’s post was going to be about how unique my life is in terms of my ancestral lineage – living, as I do, without a man as an out lesbian with a career and a bank account of her own who, most of the time, does not have children to tend has inarguably made me one of one on every branch of my family tree. But then Life reminded me of another of her favorite lessons, which is that none of us, even – gasp – me, can prepare our way out of dealing with her on her own terms.

(Not unrelatedly, she is also QUITE fond of reminding me that I do my best work when it ain’t all about me.)

OK, I’m gonna go around the world a little bit, but stay with me:

Like everyone else on Planet Earth with a phone and functioning eyeballs, I saw Elon Musk give a Nazi salute at the inaugural “festivities,” and, like everyone with the capacity for critical thought, I was appalled.

Since I woke this morning, I’ve been happily and excitedly planning and thinking through the words I wanted to put on the page today, but, once I saw that, it was hard to focus on much else; it felt like my brain was on fire. I couldn’t stop thinking of what my grandfather, a pilot in World War II, would’ve said. But soon (alas, not that soon), it hit me: Goddamnit, this is exactly what they want.

They want us outraged and exhausted and frazzled and unable to function. Too distracted and chronically stressed and marginalized to advocate for yourself, let alone anyone else. Just like…

Wait a minute.

For me, all the things that happened to me (by the way, we need a collective name for this, like The Happening or The Tribulations or something nice and dramatic – ideally, a little Goth-y. Too bad The Crucible is taken. Anyway, as you were) have no meaning beyond cruelty, tragedy and chaos if I can’t somehow use them to make art and/or help other people, especially women.

And one of the things I learned is how to keep peace and joy in your life while living with a daily bombardment of horror.

The good news is they’re doable regardless of your financial situation, physical abilities or any other limitations. The bad news is no one, including me, ever wants to hear, let alone put into practice, what I’m about to say.

Y’all, we gotta unplug from social media. Like, not necessarily entirely, but a LOT.

I know, I hear it; the irony of typing those words in a blog post is not lost on me. Hear me out:

It’s clear the Meta apps, which I think we can all agree now likely includes or will shortly include TikTok, are deeply and permanently compromised. Needless to say, X/Twitter is as well. They are, thus, useless for organizing. I completely understand the decision to keep your accounts; I definitely am, because I have older friends/family for whom Facebook is, by far, the easiest way for them to stay connected. But, if I want to play the long game, and I do, I can only engage with social media, particularly the Meta apps, as long as I have the self-discipline to keep front of mind that anything I do on there beyond that is engineered and manipulated to make me as outraged/upset/resigned/exhausted/etc. as possible, because people don’t click obsessively when they feel calm and empowered. Bluesky and rednote, among others, seem to be good alternatives, but we all know better than to put our trust in apps.

Charlotte and I stood in the kitchen talking last night, and I pointed out that, in the mid- to late ’90s and early 2000s, we had no difficulty whatsoever communicating with and locating each other instantly. Believe me, a sorority girl circa 1998 who wanted to find her wayward boyfriend at 3 a.m. didn’t need him to drop his location. Social media and the ubiquitousness of phones overlayed all other electronic communication and cranked up the speed, of course, but, in terms of their function in society, they built on systems and processes that already existed among people. In other words, social media didn’t invent the wheel, it made a super-fast, incredibly shiny and sparkly wheel that’s crazy-addictive and has turned out to be absolutely terrible for our brains (not to mention our lives). I don’t think anyone besides a Russian bot would try to make the argument that social media hasn’t broken far more things than it could ever possibly fix.

I see your skepticism about Gen X’s ability to communicate (organize) rapidly and raise you emails, instant messages, pagers, PHONE CALLS, blogs, newsletters, notes, flyers, zines, posters and personal invitations – all forms of communication that are still easy, cheap, efficient, effective and much more difficult to disrupt than ANY app.

But I have to go outside! And talk to people! And be awkward! And take chances, and get messy and all the things Ms. Frizzle wanted for us! That’s the point, mes amis – we gotta make real-life connections. It’s Harlem Renaissance Time, Black Panthers Time, Freedom Riders and French Resistance Time. It is now time, to paraphrase our Most Holy Daddy, Henry Rollins, to stand up, put some pants on, get outside and fucking GO. This is what punk rock’s been training you for this whole time. The revolution will not be live-streamed on Instagram.

You can’t be a pussy and part of The Resistance. ANY resistance. It doesn’t work that way. Ask me how I know.

Y’all, we gotta get stubborn as hell. The only reason I’ve survived since June of 2022 with my sanity intact (and, yes, it is very much intact; I am more terrifying, indestructible and sane than ever) is I finally figured out that, if I want peace, no one is going to give it to me, and it definitely isn’t going to happen on its own. I had reach out, take it by force and then guard it like a mean dog with a really good bone. Mostly, what that involves is flatly refusing to engage unless absolutely necessary (in my case, unless it involves one or both of the kids). Anything else is none of my business. Early on, it became perfectly clear my kids would never grow up in the home I wanted for them; there’s nothing I can do about that. All I can control in this situation – nay, in any situation – is my boundaries and my actions.

At first, my boundaries were far too broad – I still thought it was possible, through hard work and sheer force of will, to give my kids the childhoods I envisioned for them. Eventually, I had to lock into what I believe really, truly matters in life and focus on those things. If I continued to rain down the forces of hell upon my ex-husband over the kids’ meals, bedtimes and table manners, I wouldn’t have the resources available to battle when it objectively mattered, like making sure he took them to school both every day and on time. Does that mean those other things are meaningless to me now? Not in the slightest, but the name of the game is picking your battles, also known as deploying your resources strategically. To use a phrase of which I’m particularly fond, be the lightning bolt, not the hurricane.

Choosing not to engage doesn’t mean you’re not listening and learning useful information. You will learn more in silence than you will ever, EVER learn asking the cleverest questions. This has proven true in every situation I’ve ever been in as a journalist, embattled ex-spouse, co-parent, daughter, sister, friend and, perhaps most germanely, adversary. Listen, watch, take notes, get receipts and give nothing away. That’s where the REAL power is.

It’s ironic and a little embarrassing that I planned to write today about what an individual I am (how American) when what we actually need to talk about is how very closely, in times like these, our responsibilities as serious, empathetic people of conscience resemble those of the folks who found themselves in the endless, unbroken line of human-rights warriors who’ve come before us. Nothing asked of us in these times is unprecedented or impossible. Everything we must do now has, unfortunately, been done before. Much to my family’s chagrin, many of the Civil Rights and feminist leaders of the 1960s and beyond were my girlhood idols, and I’m going to let Angela Davis, Ruby Bridges, Rosa Parks, Coretta Scott King, Nelson Mandela and Gloria Steinem tell me what to do now. The heroes who’ve slain these foul, oily, bloated, belching, deformed dragons before left books, speeches, letters, photos, films and artwork telling us exactly how they did it. They’re much more valuable and reliable allies than the algorithm.

Over the next four-plus years, politicians, tech oligarchs and legacy media, to name only three, will give you every reason you can think of (and many you can’t) why the fight is fruitless and change is impossible. And, truthfully, we know some bad stuff is going to happen to people we love. Therefore, joy is a an act of radical resistance. When you have enemies who are hell-bent on destroying you, one of the most torturous things for them is seeing you joyful. Notice I’m not using the words “happy” or “happiness”; happiness is fleeting and subject to the whims of life because it’s not rooted in anything except circumstance or blind faith. Joy is soul-deep, something you find once you’ve faced and made peace with the darkest parts of life and yourself. No one can take away or even disturb joy, because it’s rooted in your soul, your very essence as a person. Cultivate joy with everything you have every day; it’s the elixir that gives your mind and spirit the longevity and endurance needed for the work before us.

We’re experiencing the death throes of an ugly, backward, barbaric, self-serving way of life so a new way can emerge. But we already know death and birth won’t ever be pretty, peaceful or enjoyable, so it’s time to lock in. Put it down, turn it off, get up, go out, talk to people, do things, make changes, create solutions.

Just GO.