We've all been through the wringer the last two years. Some of us, maybe even most of us, have lost contact with each other. Many of my favorite people in the world became lost in the horrible smog of Trump's win--which is now six years ago.
I met that tectonic shift by becoming a super-activist. But time passed, COVID isolated us further, and now most of our family and friends are invisible to us as we've hunkered in separate bunkers for two years.
There's evidence that every single one of us has suffered great losses. Some of us lost our family to Trumpism. Sometimes we lost to the pandemic itself. In my case--and my family's case—Pandemic Year One was weathered relatively quietly, but Year Two rose up to drive me close to the edge. Every event that tested me and my family was compounded by new crises: some comical in hindsight, but many that we haven’t even had time to process yet. Some were so traumatizing that I'm not quite sure how I crawled out from under them.
I know this is true for you too.
If we haven’t spoken in years but you received an email, I feel tender towards you, or thoughtful about our collective past, or just wanted to send up a flare. I didn’t blanket the web with spam; you got an email because in some way, you’re important to me. We were/are co-workers, friends, family, professional allies, writers, artists, peers. Maybe I just like you. Maybe I miss you.
I’m so sorry for us all, after our individual and collective losses; I’m very tender towards the little communities we’ve haphazardly built through staggering upheaval. Feisty Army is my latest iteration. I hope to hear where you’ve landed too. I just wanted to say hello, and I’m thinking of you.
Hydrate, dear. And fight fascism.