At a Loss For Words

Some thoughts this evening

I have a folder in my Google Docs where I organize the Through the Fog pieces I’m working on. Until recently, there were always a couple in progress, but never much more than that.

But now, the list of unfinished work keeps growing. I feel its weight. Sparks of ideas too easily muddled by the slog of execution.

Some pieces have multiple paragraphs of half-decent writing but lack coherent thought, meandering toward oblivion. Others are just a few lines. A few are little more than a headline. These are all things I want to say but can’t quite find a way—or the energy—to fully articulate. And perhaps most dismayingly, almost all of them are about our perilous political state. 

This is not why I wanted to start this newsletter.

The hope was to create a space to explore my eclectic interests, to wander freely, to engage in dialogue with all of you. But the centrifugal pull of this horrific regime stretches everywhere, into everything. There is no peace. Especially when it comes to attempting to sleep through the night.

“How are you?” used to be a friendly way to start a conversation. Now, it carries the weight of our suffocating reality. I rush to add “all things considered” before moving on.

I see weariness everywhere. Anger. Disbelief and anxiety. The world was already complicated enough—life already full of struggle—before these unnecessary crises were inflicted by those who seem to savor the suffering of others.

I don’t understand the instinct to take joy in inflicting pain on those who see the world differently. The obsession with “owning the libs” and other forms of gleeful othering is not only incredibly cruel but also a waste of time and energy—as if we’re fans of rival sports teams rather than fellow inhabitants of shared land, each trying to hold onto our fragile existence and our rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Already, millions have felt the injustice firsthand—jobs lost, careers upended, lives derailed for the simple fact of who they are or whom they love. I worry particularly for those struggling with mental illness who are especially vulnerable to this unrelenting chaos.

I will find ways to get back to my other writings. We have no choice but to soldier on. But tonight, I feel particularly depleted. I know many others do, too. And that’s okay. We need to give ourselves space to process, and heal.

Because make no mistake, we are in a period of mourning. I know many of you, like me, love this country despite its flaws. And now it is gravely ill, weakened by those who eagerly seek to destroy it.

Sometimes we just need to acknowledge that. To breathe. And most importantly, to be kind—to each other and ultimately ourselves.

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