Stay obsessed with what you love
Don't let your pet fascinations be a casualty of the assaults on our freedom
Well, I missed the No Kings Day marches, but only because I am tucked away in the sylvan English countryside, where I am pet-sitting three of the sweeeetest dogs for the next few weeks. We just came back from a long walk down a narrow country lane bordered by woodland and farmers’ fields.
We saw very few vehicles on our walk, but every driver that passed us flashed me that three-fingered, starfishy steering-wheel wave, and I gave them a nod of the head, holding my pups close in the grass on the roadside.
I thought about the unspoken compact of cooperation between driver and walker. We both understand that I am engaging in a time-honored activity known as Walking Your Dog in the Countryside. It is normal. It is legal. And (like protesting) it should be safe. Whether or not they have ever walked a dog on a country lane, have dogs themselves, or even like dogs, every driver does their bit to avoid harming us while we go about our reasonable business. It is nice to take this civility for granted.
I feel really conflicted about being away from the US right now. I wish I had been able to add my body to the millions defending democracy in the streets this weekend. I am also kind of glad to be removed from it all. I don’t have much access to US news coverage here, so it’s impossible to sink myself into hours of analysis as I would have done back home, and frankly, that’s better.
I feel suspended between these worlds, and a little disoriented. We are in an historic crisis. Nothing else matters. Right? But then a summer rainshower sweeps across the field, and the dogs and I hurry home to wipe muddy paws and sink into a soft armchair with a cup of tea. This, too, is happening.
I don’t want to write about ICE raids, or the presence of troops on the streets of Los Angeles, my adopted home.
I don’t want to write about the assassination of a Democratic lawmaker, the handcuffing of a senator, the creeping criminalization of dissent and what this might mean for all of us, and for me as a Green Card holder who has been mean to Trump on the internet.
I don’t want to write about the clowns and goons in his cabinet, or how Elon might exploit our most sensitive personal data, or about the feckless Republicans in Congress and the harm that they are doing to so many people, and to the United States, and to the wider world of which the US is just one part.
I realize that I have (briefly, and not very helpfully) just written about this stuff right here. But the fact is, I would rather not write about it at all.
I want to be writing about the meaning of home, and what I’m learning about how to make myself at home in an unfamiliar space. I want to be writing about the reshaping of identity that happens in midlife. I want to write about loneliness and its opposite, about how it’s possible to ache for partnership while also being a glutton for solitude.
I want to write about writing. About why writing is more than making things out of words, it’s a form of deep thinking and feeling. That writing is a pickaxe that you can use to dig your true self out from under the rubble of cultural conditioning.
I want to write about how hard it is to write your God’s honest truth at the best of times. And why it is still important—more important—to write your truth in the worst of times. That writing is a healer, a compass, a shield, a sword, a magic elixir. That it can be a freedom fighter.
And I want to defend the decision to sometimes look away from the horrors of the day, not because we can’t face up to the truth, but because there are so many other true things also worth looking at.
Ten days ago, when I was still in Greece, I hiked with my friends Ron and Chris up to a Byzantine castle-slash-fortress overlooking the Ionian Sea. According to the signage, it was fortified as early as the tenth century, to protect Corfu from its “dangerous foes to the west”, the Normans of Sicily, whose “constant incursions were turning the island into a theater of martial conflict.” Jerks!
We climbed on the broken walls, leaned out and took the kind of pictures that get reckless tourists (like me?) killed. Ah, but worth it for this shot, right?!
Clambering around on the ruins, I felt that spooky collision of timelines that I always get when moving through very old manmade structures. Like the ghosts of all the feet that have ever stepped on this slab of stone are here with me in this moment.
It made me think about the mundane problems humans have shared for thousands of years. We all have to find something to eat. We make agreements about where we will and won’t shit, what to do with dead bodies. We trade stuff in marketplaces. We organize our understanding of the world around narratives and rituals. We make art. We party. We go for a swim and delight in the sensation of cool water on hot skin. We fight with each other. We fall in love. We defend ourselves against marauders. Sometimes we pack up our things and travel over a hill or across a sea looking for a better place to do it all in what we believe is a better way.
Today’s solutions are different but the problems are identical, and as old as those rocks. We all have ideas about how we want to live, and we do not want to be controlled.
I see a lot of accounts in my Instagram feed saying, “I never meant for this to be a political page, I came here to write about astrology, or vegan cooking, or skincare, and not fascism, but here we are.”
To those who are heeding an inner call to refocus their creative energies and their platforms on fighting creeping autocracy, I say thank you. Your contribution is needed.
And to those who are feeling creatively frozen, unsure if it’s still ok to write about anything other than these terrifying times, to promote your book launch or share content about romance or recovery or the life cycle of a toxoplasmosis bacterium, I say this: Keep making exactly what is looking for expression through you. Your contribution is needed, too.
Yes, we need to stand up for democracy, but let’s also stay obsessed with what we love most about being alive. Let’s not let our pet fascinations be another casualty of this assault on freedom.
Keep sharing your watercolor portrait-painting tips. Keep explaining how to take the bitterness out of tempeh. Keep teaching us how to improve our joint mobility. Keep wondering aloud what we are made of and how the universe works. Keep reminding us that life is short, and it is also deep.
Where’s Maggie?
Now: England, until July 29th (ish?)
Next: France!
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"I want to write about loneliness and its opposite, about how it’s possible to ache for partnership while also being a glutton for solitude." + "Writing is a pickaxe that you can use to dig your true self out from under the rubble of cultural conditioning." = 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️