In the early morning of November 6th, like so many others I know, I woke up around 3 AM with a pit of dread in my stomach.

Go back to sleep, I told myself. You’re not going to be able to sleep if it’s going the way it looked like it was going when you went to bed.

But of course, I couldn’t do that. I checked the electoral map on my phone. And that pit of dread got even bigger.

I tossed and turned after that, unable to get back to sleep. The next day, I couldn’t stop the waves of panic that went over me, every time I thought about what happened, and what’s to come.

Then the stress of it all got to me and I got a cold I’ve been battling ever since.

But in the week and change since the election, I’ve had a little more time to take a step back, reflect, listen to what others are saying, and I’m no longer wallowing in a pit of despair. No; I actually have hope, and here is why:

I know by now that progress isn’t linear.

I read an excellent essay about how dragons are at their most dangerous when they’re wounded.

I am paying attention to the news and it’s an already-observed truth that sociopaths don’t play well together.

There are a lot of voices out there, a lot of hope to be found. We just have to wade through all the other, sometimes louder, voices to get there.

So once I was no longer wallowing, of course, my mind turned to: what can I do?

The regular advice: get involved at a local level! Call your reps! has never felt like something that was made for me, personally. Yeah, I can make phone calls, but I always dread it. Becoming a local politician does not appeal to me in the slightest. I am happiest at home, writing my little words.

But then I came across this.

(It’s talking specifically about what we can do as individuals to combat climate change, but I think it’s a useful diagram in terms of what we can do to help the political climate, and the world at large, too.)

And it got me thinking.

What am I good at? Writing

What brings me joy? Reading and writing, certainly. But I also derive a certain amount of joy from living as waste-free a life as possible, from spending time thinking about creative solutions to every day problems, from doing what I can, in my own little way, to be kinder to our planet.

What needs doing? So much. So much needs doing. But I think one of those things is education. As this past election showed, the amount of misinformation out there is staggering, and it’s getting harder than ever to separate fact from fiction.

So this is what I will do:

Pay more attention to this newsletter I’ve started. Sending it out more regularly, filled with not only book promotion things, but with simple ways I’ve found to help the country, and the planet as a whole. Maybe you’ll read it. Maybe you won’t. But I’m going to keep putting it out there, in the hopes that some of my ideas reach ears that need them.

And this is what I will not do:

Catastrophize. Hopelessness is useless. Giving up is what they want.

Hibernate. And this one is the most tempting. To disengage from politics, do nothing further, retreat to my own little world. But disengaging feels like giving up, hibernating doesn’t help anyone, and we need the most amount of informed, good people out there doing things as possible.

And what of the fact that it doesn’t matter what we do, because it’s the corporations and billionaires who control everything?

There was a segment on The Daily Show ten years ago where one of the correspondents interviewed a woman who was marching in protest of Russia’s anti-LGBTQ+ laws. I can’t find the clip now, but I think about it all the time. The correspondent asked her, knowing the way Russia is, and knowing that support for the LGBTQ+ community was in the minority, what good she thought these protests would do, and if she had any hope that Russia could change. She said:

“I have to hope, because otherwise it’s too depressing….I really do it just to not be ashamed of me, of my way of living. I want to look at the eyes of my children and my grandchildren, and say, I did all I could.”

And then she quoted my favorite quote: “If nothing we do matters, all that matters is what we do.”

This is from the TV show Angel, the spinoff of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So much of the way I view the world has been shaped by my favorite stories. This reminds me that storytelling isn’t nothing, either, that the very act of writing is political. And that’s what I am good at, so that is what I will continue to do.

More soon. For now, I’ll leave you with this poem.

Updates on the Arc of the Moral Universe

By Amanda Lehr

The arc of the moral universe is feeling pretty stiff this morning.

The arc of the moral universe overslept.

The arc of the moral universe didn’t sleep at all.

The arc of the moral universe just walked into the kitchen but forgot what it was looking for. It mindlessly opens the refrigerator as if the answer might be sitting next to the milk. All the shelves are empty.

The arc of the moral universe says, Goddammit.

The arc of the moral universe is buffering.

The arc of the moral universe has passed the same Pizza Hut three times. It can’t read a map for shit.

The arc of the moral universe is rocking back and forth in the bathtub.

The arc of the moral universe is out of ideas.

The arc of the moral universe wants you to please wait. Your call is important to it.

The arc of the moral universe is being talked over by your worst uncle.

The arc of the moral universe called in sick today.

The arc of the moral universe has been sick for a while now. It won’t go to the doctor. It doesn’t have health insurance.

The arc of the moral universe wants you to sponge its forehead and bring it soup.

The arc of the moral universe can be a delicate creature.

The arc of the moral universe is running very late. It’s sitting in standstill traffic behind a fleet of Amazon delivery vans, a burning Tesla, and a stretch limousine with Truck Nuts.

The arc of the moral universe is leaning on the horn.

The arc of the moral universe shouldn’t have stopped for that latte.

The arc of the moral universe owes you an apology.

The arc of the moral universe is full of excuses.

The arc of the moral universe is stubborn. And flaky.

The arc of the moral universe can put its leg behind its head but doesn’t feel like showing you.

The arc of the moral universe looks, from some directions, like a straight line.

The arc of the moral universe does not bend.

The arc of the moral universe must be bent.

The arc of the moral universe is a constant pain in the ass.

The arc of the moral universe whines for you to carry it.

The arc of the moral universe demands constant fucking supervision.

The arc of the moral universe doesn’t want to brush its teeth or put on a jacket.

The arc of the moral universe needs a good talking-to.

The arc of the moral universe is not what we wanted to worry about when we woke up this morning, but, well, tough shit.

The arc of the moral universe takes a village.

The arc of the moral universe feels our hands on every side, gripping it tight.

The arc of the moral universe resists out of spite.

The arc of the moral universe demands our sweat.

The arc of the moral universe breaks our nails.

The arc of the moral universe holds fast—until.

The arc of the moral universe trembles. It creaks. It groans.

The arc of the moral universe moves a fraction of a centimeter.

The arc of the moral universe feels its back pop.

The arc of the moral universe says, Thank you.

The arc of the moral universe asks us to do it again. And again.

The arc of the moral universe is an unweeded garden. An eternal sink of dishes. A tedious group project. A mouse who wants a cookie.

But it bends, it bends, it bends.