A raw, honest reflection on processing Trump’s re-election, finding hope through authentic resistance, and choosing defiant joy in the face of political despair.
I have been waiting for permission. Waiting for the universe to hand me what I want. I’m old enough to know better.
I am reluctant to write about Chinese anymore. The reasons why I chose to walk away range from the wildly mundane to the deeply rage-inducing. Here are a few.
This is my reminder that I can just be. I don’t need to turn everything into a hustle. I don’t even want to turn everything into a hustle.
I used to think that if I could just be paid to read books, watch movies, and listen to music, I would be happy. Get paid for what you love, right? WRONG.
In the end, there wasn’t any one or even multiple tipping points. Just a cavalcade of tiny irritants disguised as the business of keeping three – then four…