Trying to focus on the good.

It’s really f’ng hard to see the glass as half full when you’re being served battery acid.

I think we can all agree that watching world leaders like Trudeau, Macron and Prince William embracing our country’s melon-hued mascot de moronic malevolence like he’s some sort of triumphant STD-free hero returning from the battlefield of the wanton world of 1983 New York City club scene promiscuity, fucking sucks.

Especially when we can only guess that they were undoubtedly hoping beyond hope that the stupidest, least cultured, Big Mac bigots in our country wouldn’t ultimately prevail but by the slimmest of margins… did.

Ces imbéciles américains !

And look, I get it. I know this shit ain’t exactly MTV’s Jersey Shore, no matter how I might wish it otherwise, so I do understand that when we’re talking about the re-opening of a place like the Notre Dame Cathedral and not my “coming soon” neighborhood Dunkin (which frankly is a WAY bigger deal in my neck of the woods), that there is indeed a certain amount of decorum which is required of other heads of state when it comes to this shit.

But would I have preferred it if Macron had climbed up on a gilded step ladder délicat he had borrowed from the attics of Versailles in order to spit in that bronzed bitch’s stupid evil face for all the world to see? Certainement.

But he didn’t of course. In fact, the unctuous praise he nauseatingly heaped upon Trump was so borderline obsequious, that until I noted his lack of Dollar Store Wolverine jowl merkins, I briefly mistook him for Ted fucking Cruz.

And then came the video of that ridiculous fucking handshake, which can’t even really be called a handshake unless you mean it to say that Trump was literally trying to shake Macron’s hand off, because it more closely resembled Frankenstupid attempting to rip the le petit président‘s arm out of its socket in some pathetic display of “one-upmanship”.

I saw that crap and instantly thought to myself, ‘are we really gonna have to go back to watching these embarrassing displays of petulance on the world stage again? Really? FUCKING REALLY?’

[Heavy, heavy, pit in the stomach, sigh]

And that’s when the inevitability I’m trying so fucking hard to evade for the most part snakes its way into my mind. That’s when the heaviness of the next four fucking years slips past the carefully constructed emotional walls I have erected (which were paid for by Mexico thank you very much), to keep the BIG reality from getting all the way in.

I usually take my doses of the approaching purgatory like I took doses of cough medicine as a kid. No matter how many times my dad would tell me to take the whole damn spoonful all at once, I would still swirl that crimson poison in between smaller, more manageable sips. It took forever, but ultimately, I would get all of the falsely labeled “cherry-flavored” bitterness down.

And that’s what I’m doing with Trump. I’m still not watching the news, so I have managed to self-select out of seeing most of the ick that is the supposedly “sane” world obeying in advance.

You can call that living in denial. You can call it a coping mechanism. You can call it avoidance, or me being immature, you can call me out for my inherent inability to deal in the totality of the dystopian hellscape actuality of that which has befallen us.

But here’s the thing, I don’t fucking care what anyone calls me. I’m sure all of that applies to me at present and then some. And frankly, for now anyway, I’m ok with it. I’m not ready to take all of it in right now. I’m just not ready. Sips, sure. Not the whole damn spoonful.

Look, I’ve been to Salem, Massachusetts and I know how Giles Corey went out. That mofo was literally being pressed to death because he refused to plead guilty to charges that he was a motherfucking wizard.

His last words might have been “more weight”, but right now, they ain’t mine.

I know I’ll eventually HAVE no choice but to engage with all of it, I know I’ll have to take on more of the weight ahead, so with this teeny tiny window of time we all have left on the still semi-afloat SS Trumptanic, I’m choosing to grab a glass of champagne and listen to the band play, and if someone happens to shout “There are no more life boats”, I’ll look over, make note of it, acknowledge it as a real thing I’ll soon enough have no choice but to contend with, and return my eyes and ears to the soothing sounds of some soon to forever rest on the cold, dark and desolate ocean floor, violin strings.

And I mean all of this to say… that for a metric fuckton of us, that it’s really, really hard to find the good right now. Because no matter how joyful or wonderful or special or beautiful moments in our lives can feel from the big bravo milestone accomplishments to the butterflies of falling in love, it also kinda feels as though there’s an underpinning of dread lying there barely beneath the surface at the same time.

The dread of the next four years. The dread of doing this shit again. The dread of how much worse it will be. The dread of the cruelty. The dread of the vitriol. The dread of the endless fucking idiocy of it all. The dread of watching the “who gives a fuck about Christmas and decoration” be-besting birther bitch turn the People’s House into an interpretive art exhibit of haute couture macabre.

The dread of Trump and the circle-jerk of cons, crooks, caitiffs, cutthroats and cucks that comes along with him.

Republicans are protecting pedophiles and promoting day drunks while once again laying prostrate at the altar of a rapist, criminal, conman, traitorous business fraud who bragged openly about sexual assault. And it’s completely demoralizing and defeating to witness. Especially so, because we’ve already seen this movie. We know how bad it was. We know it’s not going to get any better.

All of that only amplifies the accompanying disquietude. It only adds to the anxiety and apprehension. Those are real feelings. That fear is palpable. The worry is inescapable. The anxiousness often pierces through the distractions of every day life and permeates every corner of our being.

And that’s fucking hard to navigate. It can feel isolating. It can feel like nothing really matters anymore because the gauntlet before us will destroy it all anyway. We find ourselves often asking “so what’s the point?”

It’s like asking someone to pass you the butter at a BBQ while an F5 forming behind you sets a beeline course straight for your head.

It can feel pointless, right? ‘Who the fuck cares about buttering this beautiful Jersey corn if my tongue is gonna become a part of my neighbor’s front door in about ten minutes?’

I get it. I don’t just get it, I too - live it. I too walk that line every damn day. But here’s what I always come back to… that tightrope we have to traverse is not the sum total of who we are. It doesn’t define how we live. (At least not yet).

The discouragement of our collective despondency is a part of our story right now, but the weight it carries, in many ways, is up to us.

And that’s why I believe we have to TRY to find the good as much as possible. We have to try to FOCUS our hearts and minds on the little treasures hiding out in some seriously overwhelming surrounding piles of shit whenever we get the chance. Whenever we make those chances. Whenever life hands them to us, because all of that still happens. Good things still happen. The big bravo accomplishments and the butterflies of falling in love still happen.

And we can focus on how all of that feels while we’re living it, without giving the bulk of our time and energy to that undergirding of suck very likely on the horizon.

We can enjoy the fuck out of that Jersey corn despite the storm brewing behind us. In part, because we’ve prepared for how to endure and survive, we have rations and a shelter, but also, because it tastes really fucking good. And that’s a really good feeling.

We need all the good feelings we can get these days. We need to feel proud, we need to feel love, we need to laugh. We need to continue moving forward. That is how we never lose hope.

There are still good things to come. Time marches ahead. We can and we should look forward with anticipation for so much of it. After all:

Anticipation is a gift. Perhaps there is none greater. Anticipation is born of hope. Indeed it is hope’s finest expression. In hope’s loss, however, is the greatest despair.

Steven L. Peck, A Short Stay in Hell

I don’t know what the future holds, but I know what parts I can control. I know that I’m going to keep moving forward no matter what.

On a deeply personal note, one I’m extremely proud to share, moving forward for me, means that as of 5pm last Friday evening, I became the sole owner of my little 1930’s bungalow here in the great Garden State I love so very much.

Moving forward for me, has meant that despite not having two dimes of my own to rub together when my marriage ended, not having any credit of any kind, not having an income of more than $25,000 a year, not having a path or a plan other than the singular mission of protecting my kids, that I kept walking. I kept pushing. I kept getting back up when I got knocked down. I found ways around barriers and over them, and when I’ve had to, I’ve found ways straight the fuck through them.

I never stopped moving forward. I never truly believed I wouldn’t get here, because I had to know in my bones that I would. And I had to use that knowledge to will what I said I was going to get, into becoming real.

And it did.

I didn’t do it alone. I didn’t do any of it alone. The gratitude and gratefulness I felt signing my name to the papers making this house all mine, washed over me like a warm and wonderful waterfall (no, not like a Russian hooker golden shower, that’s a different warm waterfall and get your minds out of the gutter would you).

So many wonderful people out there who have had my back, lifted me up, held me when I was hurting, pulled me back up, and pushed me along have helped me get here.

You’ve all helped me build the staircase I so often talk about, the one that step by step, day by day, battle by battle, meant that I could look at my children on Friday, the ones who a few short years ago, when an inevitable “for sale” sign was placed on our front lawn, cried the kinds of hopeless cries I’d never heard before and have not since, that I could look at them, and I tell them that our house, our home, the only home they’ve ever known, was all mine. It is ours. And we aren’t going anywhere.

Of course they’re like, teenagers so they were like, “cool, skibity Ohio what’s for dinner”, so a Hallmark movie moment it wasn’t. But it’s still pretty fucking awesome.

I am proud of myself. I am relieved. I am joyful. I feel restored and rejuvenated and more than anything, I feel really fucking happy.

And that’s a good thing. Even with all the awfulness we’re contending with and bracing for, I feel joy. I’m allowing myself the grace to let that joy fill my cup. Being able to accomplish something no one thought I ever could, something bigger than I’d ever dared dream just a few short years ago, gives me hope for all of us.

I hope we can all find the good. Focus on the joy. Embrace what is beautiful. Celebrate life’s triumphs big and small. It won’t look the same for any of us. It might not be as big as landing the promotion or as obvious to the naked eye as losing weight or getting a fabulous haircut. It might be in the beauty of a sunrise, in the sound of a baby’s laughter, it might be in a phone call you’ve been meaning to make to that loved one who you miss so very much.

We have big battles before us right now, and even bigger ones ahead. Battles we have to fight. But we can go into all of that, and get through all of that, bolstered by the hope only joy can bring. They’re hellbent on controlling everything, but that part, is up to us.

So, with that, I again, thank you all. Even the Magaidiot trolls who might have had one of their few literate family members read this essay to them.

My journey is far from over, but today, I feel proud. Today, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Today, I’m happy.

And today, in keeping with finding the joy, both large and small, I wanted to share the first recording of my favorite Christmas song. There were ultimately four of these, the fourth being the one we all know best. But this one, in its sublime simplicity, is my favorite.

I hope you enjoy it too.

Love you all. Thank you all.

Jo ❤️ (and my little family too)

^Let me know your favorite Christmas song in the chat