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Archive for November, 2016

The road ahead

When I started this blog, I made the explicit decision that I wouldn’t talk about politics.

Of course, one could argue that everything is political. I have written from time to time about feminist ideas, and I talked about my own efforts to read more diversely (something that is just as important as ever). I also talked about the importance of voting. But I have not written about candidates or elected officials, I have not talked about bills or policies, I have not talked about political headlines from the news.

Instead I have written about meaning and change and grief. I have written about friendship and relationships. I have written about getting to know who each of us are.

I have written about living an examined life. Most of the people who read my blog, you get that, and it is what you strive for as well. I know that because you have come up and introduced yourselves, you have talked to me at parties, you have written me emails and comments.

But we are not only individuals; we intersect with the larger world. We are part of groups and communities, cities and states and countries. We cannot live an examined life without considering those connections. We exist in an interdependent system. None of us live outside politics. Some of us have more of a choice than others, but in the end, while we can try to ignore politics, politics will not ignore us.

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I’d say hard times are coming, but hard times are already here. They’ve been here all along, and they are getting worse. Hundreds of hate crimes have been reported in the last week. HUNDREDS. Many of these are happening in schools. President-Elect Trump has appointed a known white supremacist as his chief strategist. People are worried about increased violence to and the loss of civil rights of Muslim people, Jewish people, people of color, LGBTQ people, women, immigrants, and the disabled. People are worried about losing access to health care, and some of these people will die without it. And there is more. Much more.

John Scalzi, our preeminent science fiction blogger, said, “I think it’s going to be bad. I hope that the bad falls within historical norms. I wouldn’t count on it.”

Which means we have to prepare. Now is the time to take care of medical procedures, to stockpile medicine, to take a self-defense class, to learn about computer security, to get an updated passport, to plan ahead. Now is the time to get to know the people in your local communities, to make phone calls and write letters, to donate and volunteer, to learn how to be an ally and intervene, to get your ducks in a row. If you’re going to protest, now is the time to get your gear, learn your rights, and set up your logistics. Now is the time to pay attention and stay informed, to support responsible and in-depth journalism, and to remind yourself of what you believe to be right.

What if this is all absurd overkill? Well, I certainly hope it is. But there are enough signs that say it isn’t that considering this kind of stuff is only practical. In addition, many of these actions are generally good things to do whatever the circumstances. They are also the kinds of actions that are easy to put off. So now is a good time to stop procrastinating and actually do them.

So this, then, is my call to action: Stop procrastinating. Plan ahead. Do some good stuff. Take care of yourselves, and take care of the people around you.

And above all, don’t stop caring. Living an examined life is not always easy, but it is always, always worth it.

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In some ways having a brain injury isn’t so different from any other injury. It’s about the long game. It’s about keeping up the spirits so you can give your body the time it needs to heal without going completely insane in the process. It’s about figuring out how to meet your basic life needs while dealing with new restrictions. It’s about finding the things you CAN do to distract yourself from the things you can’t do.

That being said, it has been three months and I still can’t work on fiction. That this state of affairs does not make me happy is an understatement. I ignore it as much as I can because of the importance of the long game, but it chafes. A writer writes. I am not writing. This state of affairs feels wrong. I keep grasping at it and coming back with empty hands.

I also cannot dance, and I cannot play most board games. I can’t do anything that requires large amounts of concentration or that is particularly mentally taxing. I am very tired most of the time and I have to take naps most days. I don’t deal with stressful situations as well as usual, and I try to avoid them when I can. I am supposed to experiment with activities, but if I miscalculate, I have relapses that last several days and are fairly miserable.

But. I can drive again, which is huge, and I can read the majority of the time, which is even better. I can keep the practical aspects of my life going indefinitely at the capacity I now have, which is a big relief. I can get out of the house. I have plenty of lovely social time. I can take care of Nala. Sometimes I feel pretty okay.

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I have a lot of time, although not as much as you might think, given all the time I must spend sleeping and napping and resting and deliberately not focusing too much on any given thing. So maybe it’s not as much that I have a lot of time as that life is moving at a different pace, and it is much slower than what I am used to. I can only do a few things per day so I must choose carefully.

Sometimes I feel upset about my limitations. I want to be a better friend, a better writer, a better human being. I think, why can’t I just do this? Why can’t I just handle that? But I try to think as little as possible about this as well. I am doing the best I can, and that’s what I try to think about instead. My focus has to be primarily on me, whether I like it or not.

I thought I’d be all better by now. I am not, but I am better enough to look back at how I was doing before and feel appalled. In August, I’d reach for my brain and it was as if there were a wall preventing me from accessing it. I’d batter myself against the wall, frantically trying to break it down, to no avail. I tried to keep up as good a front as I could, but I don’t know that I’ve ever been so lost.

I can reach for my brain now and it is there. Even on bad days. There is no longer a wall. Even though I’m tired, even though I’m not writing, even though my life revolves around being careful. I appreciate my brain so much.

It is an ongoing process, this convalescence. It is boring and frustrating and uncomfortable. It is also humbling.

But every day there’s at least one bright spot. A book, a show, a doggie snuggle, a message, quality time with someone I like. It’s about the long game, and these precious things remain.

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