MLK Day and REM: Begin Again
Here we are on the 20th of January, 2025. I haven't written anything for several months now. Being fair to myself, I have been in a state of transition. My personal life feels tumultuous at this point. A constant state of organizing and parsing out details, metaphorically separating tangles of various yarns and putting them into some cohesive skein that makes sense.
Over the past two months, I've moved out of my house of the last 8 years, put my things in storage, moved to a new place 300 some miles away where I'm camping on an airbed and dreaming up a new way to live. It's temporary, of course, but a process, like moving into a new year, or recommitting to a relationship, or learning and building a new community. It takes some time to figure out and get it right. Plus, I’m finding that it’s a process to get into and out of storage. Physically and metaphorically.
I've been silent here and figured no one notices as I'm one voice in a chorus or cacophony of others. Not necessarily looking for attention, but wanting to matter just the same. But here I am and beginning again, as we do. As I write, just now, a new executive order frees us from the Paris Accord, liberating us to more pain and suffering in the world. Woohoo! What else? Oh right, don't ask. It's also MLK day and this seems especially sad right now.
I started this Substack about 6 months ago, after Kamala Harris announced her run for the presidency. It appeared, for a moment, that people of a certain age, those born in the 1960's especially, might actually rise up and do things differently. Attempt a new way to do politics with less emphasis on pleasing factions and crowds and more emphasis on doing what is right. A right intention, but misguided guidance perhaps. Or maybe, on the other hand, it could never be in this time we inhabit.
My hope was that we'd somehow stand tall together and take the difficult path of the heart, while insisting on realistically educating the mind. Those of us born during the upheaval of the 60's, watching the inflation and chaos of the 70's and coming of age with Reagan, couldn't we forge a new path in our late middle age? Unfortunately, a squandered opportunity. But out of the ashes something more resilient can emerge. We can emerge as elders and leaders. And in the emergence, we have the opportunity to see where we went wrong and take a different next step forward. This is possible, I know. It is possible, even if improbable, and it still must be attempted.
I also started this Substack because I believe that every person has a purpose and a calling to make the world better than when they arrived. Collectively, we still have that chance, although our window of opportunity seems narrowing by the day. Today, the Paris Accord. Tomorrow, maybe we'll drill in a national park.
But for today, I know these things to be true:
MLK stands for doing what is right despite the cost to oneself. MLK is the epitome of a hero. He was killed when Gen Jones were only young children, but his legacy and the stories that lived on after him defined the worldview of many of us. I'm happy there is a day dedicated to remembering him.
This MLK Day is also inauguration day for the next US president. It's an odd juxtaposition of realities. I don't like it.
Today there was an op-ed in the Washington Post by Will Leitch on REM. It's the best thing I've read in a while and made me feel extraordinarily joyful. Partially, because he gets it and understands this Gen X cusp that the Jonesers inhabit. This place of cynicism highlighted in hope and hanging from dusty stars disguised as diamonds. Plus they never sold out and stayed true to themselves. Amen to that.
What's next? I guess we'll see. And in the spirit of REM's, We Are Hope Despite the Times, album: "welcome to the occupation," with the "world leader pretend," still "I believe," and ultimately, it's time to "begin the begin."
I've been listening to REM all day and it's way better than the news that keeps popping up on my phone. Find whatever brings you a little joy.
Until next time.
