A Different Lens

If you can't change it, choose it

My granddog, Henry, has the best view.

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My mind and body have been overcome since the election—grief, anger, fear, disappointment in humanity and our unwillingness to learn from our mistakes—or to even consider learning something new in general. Uneducated and disinformed voters who elected a snake oil salesman have me teetering on the edge of rage, sometimes even falling face-first into it. The cloud of discontent has been hovering over my head, dripping its incessant sadness into my hair and onto my face and making my mascara run (when I choose to wear mascara, that is).

I am drenched in tears and disdain.

It’s not sustainable, this feeling, this existence.

I’ve been thinking lately about how to reframe this entire human experience in order to survive it. How to turn my rage into something that aligns more with my true heart and personality. How to regain my positivity and kick the negative to the curb more often than not. And at the same time, how to redefine the things that I once assigned arbitrary meaning to so I can let go of the disappointments and insecurities that have plagued me in the past.

I used to say to my kids (much to their eye-rolling chagrin): If you can’t change it, choose it.

So, I’m choosing it.

For example, I’ve been walking around on this earth in a body that’s a few sizes bigger than the ones you see on TV and in magazines, and I’ve been haunted by it my entire life. Fifty-four years is a long time to loathe the skin you’re in. So, now I’m choosing to walk with a little more sass and spirit. I’m choosing to celebrate my jiggle and my and rolls. I mean, why is a fat body seen as undesirable, anyway? Maybe I was just born during the wrong time period. If I had been a Renaissance woman, I would have been revered for my beauty and fertility. And if a big, fluffy sofa is seen as soft and comfy and worth a high price tag, why isn’t a big, fluffy butt viewed the same way?

Get your Double Fluff Monster here.

How about the wealthy versus poor conundrum? The sacrifice of the middle class so the rich can get richer? Sure, having a healthy bank account would make everything feel a bit less daunting—especially with this new administration moving into the White House—but on the flip side, I don’t fear losing everything because I have next to nothing to lose in the way of money or material things. I mean, would I love to be able to pay for my healthcare AND my kids’ student loans AND food AND lodging? Sure. Maybe travel every once in a while? Absolutely. But America is a capitalistic society, and the billionaires just keep billionairing while the rest of us struggle to survive.

And while we’re talking about billionaires, why are they so opposed to paying their fair share in taxes? Because it might affect their net worth? And why is the Social Security tax capped at $168,600? So those who make $169,000 or more don’t have to be burdened with more taxes? Those poor six-figure income earners must really be struggling. My kid who makes $35,000 a year TEACHING AMERICA’S YOUTH HOW TO READ should definitely help them out. (Insert all the eye-rolling emojis.)

But I’m trying to look at it this way: When your net worth is measured in love and chosen family and friends, money doesn’t seem to matter as much. When the amount I pay in taxes could be the difference between getting to visit my kids or not, my net worth doesn’t mean shit. When for others, it could be the difference between electricity and darkness or food and an aching belly, does the concept of a net worth even exist?

Okay, I’m still obviously REALLY struggling with American wealth disparity right now. I’ll keep trying to look at the bright side of things, but when the world’s richest man says homelessness is a “lie” and “propaganda” and then funnels $250M into a Presidential campaign for a rapist, I can’t get myself to climb over to the optimistic side of that mountain. Especially when he can now invest just one of his 400+ billion dollars into the United States and bypass any environmental regulations. The next headline will read: World’s Richest Man Singlehandedly Destroys the Planet.

Obscene wealth and uneducated, completely disconnected denial is never attractive.

“Let them eat cake!”

But on a much more personal level, I’m reveling in my small living situation right now. Over the past ten years, I’ve gone from a 5,000 square foot house to a 300 square foot fifth wheel. Because I grew up so poor, when my own kids were little, I thought it was vital for them to each have their own rooms. So a five-bedroom house, it was. That outwardly beautiful house eventually dragged us into a financial abyss when the housing market crashed and we had to sell due to a job change that came at the worst possible time. Now that I’m older and hopefully a bit wiser, I wish my kids had experienced sharing rooms like Carrie and I had when we were young; learning to compromise, giggling together into the wee hours of the night, swapping stories, squarely marking our sides of the room with lines of masking tape stuck to worn carpet.

And while we’re looking at the bright side of things, I’m rethinking how I’ve always felt about landing a traditional publishing deal with one of the Big Five. If Substack has taught me anything, it’s that there are some amazing wordsmiths out there that have never and will never land a Big Five deal. But being able to read those writers here? To witness them telling stories straight from their hearts and trusting they’ll land with the people that are meant to hear them? To participate in taking the power away from the gatekeepers and putting it back into our own pockets?

That’s pretty magical.

I haven’t yet figured out how to make this whole election thing look better. My rose-colored glasses aren’t working in that regard. But I’m starting by pulling away from the news, by selectively reading and listening to those who align with my own beliefs. Not because I want to live in an echo chamber, but because I’m saving my energy for the battles to come. I’m arming myself with education and knowledge and like-minded individuals who will stand with me arm-in-arm to face whatever is next.

And that kind of of solidarity feels pretty damn good right now.

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P.S.

You may have noticed that I missed an “Earth Experiences” post Thursday. Why? Because I’m overwhelmed with a new job, I was sick, I was whiny, and I went to bed instead. I gave myself permission to let it go. In fact, I’m letting Earth Experiences go altogether. It was a cute little idea that kept me posting at least once a week, but overall, those posts weren’t my favorite. My own little marketing experiment often left me feeling pressured to come up with something to write even when I had nothing of value to say. So, I’m going to just continue to post when my heart says so. And hopefully, her words will be more inspiring than an arbitrary date hanging over my head.

If you need permission to let something go, too, here it is.

Let it go. Love you. Mean it. <3