Has it only been seven days
since I sent one of these?? In our new reality, weeks feel like months. If the people you love are anything like the people in my world, you're hearing a lot about exhaustion and overwhelm and depression. You're probably feeling these things yourself.
I certainly am. I haven't wanted to write lately, but I wouldn't call it a block. "Writer's void" is more apt. I am at a loss. To be a writer, especially an opinion writer, is to know that your power lies in crafting a narrative. Although I can step outside myself and realize that compelling narratives are more important than ever in this moment, I'm still trying to shake the feeling that I—and the people I love—are not in charge of the story at all. That we are merely reacting. Scrambling to keep up. Getting sent to voicemail while powerful people are making decisions that we don't condone.
I'm working on it. Writing about not wanting to write is, in fact, writing. Powerful counter-narratives can't be far behind, right?
Last Friday, my mom reminded me that I forgot to shout out Mary Tyler Moore, who died last week. "What, no little movie of her tossing her beret?" she asked. (Yes, my mom calls GIFs "little movies.") This is an oversight! I'm going to try not to let my resistance to America's comb-overlords crowd out other important things like celebrating independent-woman icons of the small screen or Beyoncé pregnancy announcements
or deliciously bad puns. Because, as my friend Jade Chang says
, "joy itself is a rebellion" and "living unapologetically is an act of defiance.”