This is not one of those posts where I tell you I learned how cruel the world could be in November 2016. I knew the world was cruel. My tiny screaming body came out of the womb terrified. I was anxious and OCD right away, and I never once believed the world was safe. As a kid the boogeyman was something out of a news special, being born in the early 90s when several high profile kidnappings were all the news. In 2001, I was nine. America went to war and my natural hyper-vigilance felt justified. The fear based messaging aimed at teenagers worked wonders on my anxious brain.
Then I went to college and my anxiety took on a decidedly liberal bent. I learned about systems of oppression and marginalization that were foreign to me, a kid who grew up in conservative and evangelical circles. I started recognizing some of the things happening in my life for what they were: sexist bullshit. To say I went from confused and scared good Christian preacher’s kid to angry feminist is unfair. I was confused, scared, still a Christian, no longer a kid, and an angry feminist at the same time. “Make sure you don’t let it make you bitter,” my father said. It was an insensitive response he would no longer endorse, but a fairly prophetic warning. Sometimes I am bitter. Sometimes paranoia and cynicism are a pretty good defense mechanism, but they are not a constant state for me. I find myself wavering between bouts of believing everything will go to shit and having hope. I do believe things can get better. Sometimes, I believe it because I actually feel it in my soul. Sometimes, I believe it because I have to. Because otherwise, what is the point?
So 2016 both surprised some part of me that hoped for better and confirmed the suspicions of the part of me born believing everything will get worse. I have spent the last several years angry. Not only angry, I have felt joy and happiness and sadness and so many other things too, but always a little angry.
With my shift in perspective, the pop culture I found myself able to stomach changed. I had to stop watching Veep. It felt too real and also not bad enough at the same time. Sometimes, when I needed a break from everything I watched mindless shows like Teen Wolf or Riverdale. Things I could sink into and forget for 40 minutes before going back out to do something, anything out there in the world, but there was a part of me that wanted something else. I wanted shows/movies/books that got what I was feeling. I was looking for a mix of painful reality and hope.
Enter: One Day at a Time
One Day at a Time Promo Shot
The Netflix revival of an old sitcom came onto the scene, apologetically Cuban-American, Queer, and progressive. It tackled mental health, the struggles facing Veterans in this country, addiction, racism, homophobia, sexism, and fear of the current political landscape while being a show that never lost it’s heart. It was real without steering into bitterness.
Tomorrow is the 4th of July, a holiday that recently leaves me feeling cold. Every time I walk into Target to a barrage of red, white, and blue, something inside myself curls up. It is hard for me to muster anything but frustration or outright pain. I feel far away from the child who used to sing “God Bless the USA” as a solo (yikes). Yet, there are moments when One Day at a Time manages to stir my heart in ways most things cannot anymore. In a beautiful character arc, Lydia, the Cuban grandmother of the family, and their Canadian landlord, Snyder, decide to become American citizens. There are discussions about what it means to become part of a new country, and how hard it is for the grandmother because it feels like letting go of her home. The central episode involves her and the landlord both getting their citizenship. Lydia then hangs an American flag curtain in front of her room. It is powerful to see this Cuban American family framed by the flag.
The show never shies away from the harsh realities of America post 2016. There is an episode about dealing with racial slurs and one about the queer couple on the show experiencing homophobia. The family frankly discusses politics and the pain that the current administration does to marginalized people. Yet, there is always an air of hope. A belief in something beyond the terrible current moment and past legacy of this country. There is a belief that there could be something better.
For book club this month, my friend picked the book Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. It is a fluffy queer romance that had me genuinely laughing out loud throughout. The romance was lovely and captivating, and it was fun to read a heartwarming story that felt like being wrapped in a big soft rainbow blanket.
The thrust of the story focuses on the son of the US president falling in love with the youngest British Prince. Through their romance, there also unfolds a fascinating political story. The book is almost an alternate recent history, offering up a 2019 where there was no Trump presidency. Instead, we had our first woman president. With that, her family in the story is biracial, Latinx and white. The book suggests, what if our world but a little bit better. Then it tells the story of the second election with this president running against a Trump like figure. It has the characters wrestling with the soul of who America is. It asks, who would give up this possible world over something like private email servers?
It was heartbreaking and beautiful and hopeful and sad. I found myself on the edge of my seat waiting for fictional election results. I found myself feeling hope.
The book was pure fiction, but not in a way that made it mindless escapism or admonishing preachy finger-wagging. It was a call to action, a reminder of what could be if we keep pushing to be better. It was not a perfect America. Bad things still happened, causes were still lost, but there was something different. There were people who kept hoping and used that hope to keep fighting.
This 4th of July, I cannot find it in myself to be patriotic in that firework firing, hooray shouting, over the top loud kind of way, but a part of me is starting to think that patriotism is a lot like love. It does not mean mindlessly celebrating everything about a country anymore than real love means not seeing flaws. Patriotism as the characters on One Day at a Time or Red, White and Royal Blue would describe it means hoping that the country can be better. It means not taking the L, but continuing the fight.
If our hopelessness leads us to inaction it too is a type of complacency. It is agreeing that this is the way our country is going to be, with children in cages and school shootings so frequent they don’t always make the news anymore, we give up any chance of changing any of it. As Mark Russel wrote in the Exit Stage Left: Snagglepuss Chronicles graphic novel (yes a shockingly moving and political story given that it was based on a 1960s children’s cartoon) “In life you do not fight battles because you expect to win. You fight them merely because they need to be fought.” Hope and continuing the battle does not mean being assured everything will work out. I don’t know that things will get better, but I believe they can, and hope they will. And I believe most of all, we cannot stop trying.
Recommends:
Speaking of One Day at a Time. Watch all of it! It is a great time to catch up before it return for its new season.
While we are talking politics, I cannot recommend enough Ronan Farrow’s book War on Peace. It is an amazing deep dive into the way our country undervalues peace work in favor of a military approach. It is however the book that my therapist stared pointedly at when I mentioned not being able to explain my recent bout of depressed moods, so read with that caveat. It is hard to stomach.
Existential Wednesday 