It's different this time around.

My plan for sanity, service, and joy during Trump 2.0. (What's yours?)

Good morning, America, how are you?

As for me, other than the fact that the condition of my middle-aged neck continues to deteriorate, my right eye is occasionally doing weird, janky vision things, and 76 million people think Trump will make a swell president, I’m doing pretty well.

I almost wrote a post here just a few days after that very bad election—you know the one—but I’m glad I didn’t.

Almost two weeks on, I’ve had some time to reflect, and go through various fluctuations of dismay / anger / disbelief / sorrow / nostalgia / frustration etc. (I am still going through them, mind you.) And three things have become pretty clear to me in the process, in terms of how I plan move through this next era in the American experiment.

First realization: I refuse to carry all of this around with me all the time.

This one came on pretty quickly—even in those first miserable 24 hours, when I was still feeling shaky and nauseated, unable to move at full speed. (Literally! Grief throws my body for a big ole loop.) And it was this: I cannot and will not let the crazy and chaos and destructiveness of the Trump 2.0 government—which is already in process, with his clown car of cabinet nominees—dominate my focus for the next four or eight or forty years.

The first time Trump was in office, I spent way too much time following the news, doomscrolling, and posting on social media. This time—forget it. I don’t know if it’s because I’m older and wiser or more jaded or what. Maybe it’s just because this MAGA-infested version of American politics has been going on for eight years now, and I’m just fucking tired.

In any case, I’m less like this:

And more like this:

My time and energy are precious commodities, and I would much rather use them to read, write, be outdoors, make and eat good food, spend time with my friends and family, and engage with my community than gape in horror at Trumpster fires. (Get it? Like dumpster fires, but with Trump? Never mind.) Bette Davis wouldn’t waste her time perseverating on that bullshit, and neither shall I.

But I’m also aware that my ability to make this choice is a privilege that may not be afforded to those who could be directly affected by the policies and zeitgeist of a Trump administration: Immigrants. People of color. LGBTQ folks. Women being refused the medical care they need. People who need healthcare or food assistance that might get axed by that billionaire fuckwad Musk.

So I do not intend to put my head in the sand and turn completely inward. I will continue (and step-up, I hope) the volunteering and activism I do on a local level. I will keep donating to important causes, particularly the ones I feel will help protect civil liberties, the environment, and the most vulnerable people in our society. I will even keep writing those damned get-out-the-vote postcards if I must. (I must.)

But I will not let myself be completely consumed by all the things I cannot control. To that end, I’m cutting my news and hot-take and punditry consumption waaaaay back, and trying to limit social media, too.

Speaking of which: I swear, if I read another OH MY GOD, LOOK WHAT THEY’VE DONE NOW!! post in my feeds, I’m gonna freaking lose it. (Note that I did a lot of posting along these lines during Trump 1.0.) I get the need to vent and commiserate, but at some point it becomes self indulgent. And, if you’ve been paying attention for the last eight years, none of what’s happening, or about to happen, should come as a surprise. So next time you’re tempted to tell the world that you’re aghast, maybe fire off a donation to the ACLU (or your organization of choice) or put in a call to your senator instead. Volunteer at a local food pantry. Smile at a stranger. And then go read a good book.

On that note, here comes….

Realization number two: Art, baby. Art.

This isn’t actually a new realization. It’s the same sentiment I posted the day after the election in 2016.

But I feel it even more strongly now. Because in the very worst of times, art—by which I mean poetry, prose, visual art, theater, film, music, magic, dance, and, OK, fine, puppetry—has the power to move, inspire, challenge, educate, distract, disturb (puppets), delight, and remind us how amazing human beings can be.

This is why there’s a traveling Shakespeare troupe roaming a post-apocalyptic America in Station Eleven. It’s why my great uncle tap-danced and did magic for his fellow GIs in the Pacific Theater during World War II. It’s why, two days after the election, I brushed myself off and got back to work on my novel.

My Uncle Jack was totally hot. He also totally would have voted for Trump.

Art also slings tiny bridges across the chasm between peoples’s worldviews and political persuasions. Admittedly, this can be confounding; like, how is it possible that the person standing next to me in the museum admiring the fierce beauty of a Van Gogh could also vote for a guy who says Haitian immigrants eat dogs and cats, mocks disabled reporters, calls neo-nazis “fine people,” and tried to overturn an election? It’s hard to get one’s head around. And yet…and yet…there it is. We contain multitudes. And maybe finding common ground through art can, in some small way, help us heal as a nation. Maybe.

At the risk of sounding completely obnoxious, I will add that as a writer I feel called this time around in a way I didn’t before—as do a lot of other creators I know and love. I feel called not just to keep telling stories, both fictional and true, but to vigorously champion other people’s stories. (Just not, you know, that guy’s stories.)

This quote from Toni Morrison, which has been making its way around the internets among writers sums it up:

I also love the way one of my favorite Substackers, Lyz Lenz, put it.

Find the stories and the storytellers you want to support. Find the places making the art that you love and that crystallize a vision for a better place. Be rabid about the world you want and help to make it. I’ll be out there doing my best to do it too.

Same, girl. Same.

This brings me to a new realization: That I should save realization three for another post. Because that was a really good note to end on (of course now I’ve ruined it) and this post is already long enough. Also, some of you—you know who you are—you may need time to recover from the mention of puppets.

Take good care of yourselves and each other. And thanks more than ever for reading.

Finally, a message from your author: All posts on Jane’s Calamity are free and publicly available, but writing is how I make my living. If my work is meaningful or comforting or entertaining to you, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription (it’s less than $5 a month, Cheap!). Or, hey, buy my book! And thank you.

Me doing my best Fraulein Maria impression near the hilltop where The Sound of Music was filmed. Through all the tumult and the strife, how can I keep from singing? (And twirling)