"WEAR & TEAR"

There are certain words and expressions I’m not fond of as I grow older. 

 

“Sir” has been my least favorite, a term that’s supposed to convey deference and respect, but only translates in my head as the person saying, You’re an old dude. 

 

“Are you retired?” feels like skipping what I deem as a more respectful question: “What do you do for a living?” Fake the assumption I’m still working, still climbing that ladder, still hoping for a year-end bonus that is more than a turkey coupon. (Yes, my first “bonus” came while I was a waiter; we each got a coupon redeemable for the Christmas bird, never mind that I was a vegetarian.)

 

The expression that’s made me cringe—and fret—the most over the past year has, however, been “wear and tear.” When I think of the phrase, tire treads come to mind. Maybe my favorite blue jeans that are starting to grow an unfashionable, even creepy hole just below the zipper. I have running shoes with the soles worn down unevenly which is unfortunately because it finally feels like I’ve broken in. 

 

Those examples of wear and tear only require money and the wherewithal to finally shop for replacements, adieu to the old wares. Sorry, landfill.

 

But the “wear and tear” I’m struggling to get to in this post is far more personal, the description rendered by medical professionals, the subject being my body. Not the body of a twenty-three year old whose been spending too much time on the tennis court. RX: rest. No, the wear and tear for this sixty-year-old body is spoken of as being permanent.

 

I suppose I set my dentist up. I’ve had a couple of dental fractures in recent years, teeth splitting in half…or in less precise ways to create especially jagged edges. I’ve had too many needles to freeze certain areas. (Dammit, it always takes three needle jams before I can’t feel anything in the focal area.) I’ve seen oral surgeons in offices with prime views of Vancouver that are for naught once I’m knocked out. At my last dental appointment, I expressed frustration. My teeth don’t look great as there’s an upper tooth that grew in crooked and my mother (rightly) told our family dentist I couldn’t handle braces. Still, I’ve always been praised over how well I take care of my teeth and how they are strong and healthy. 

 

Strong and healthy teeth aren’t supposed to crack. “What is going on?” I asked. “Am I doing something wrong? Is there something else I should be doing?”

 

Please, not another floss talk.

 

“It’s just wear and tear,” he said. “It comes with age.” Ouch. Apparently, he was truly peeved over my sporadic flossing. 

 

I compartmentalized. Okay. It’s my teeth. They’ve chewed aplenty in six decades. Wear and tear? Better than my grandfather’s era when so many people at my age had dentures, including him. He’d dump his teeth in a glass every night and then the grandkids would beg him to show us his sunken smile. “Eww!” we’d scream and run to the far corner of the room. The poor man took it all good-naturedly…or so it seemed. I have an apology forthcoming next time I visit his grave.

 

So, yes, aging teeth, that’s all. I could still take pride in everything else. I am still told—frequently—I don’t look my age. Recently when I got an electrocardiogram—one of several this year—the technician looked at my stats on a computer screen and exclaimed, “Sixty? Wow! I was thinking you were my age.” This from a guy who doesn’t work for tips. I’d say he was forty. Hell, let’s go with thirty-five.

 

But those multiple ECGs—another one pending!—seemed to tell another story. When I went over various results with a cardiologist, I was proud of how low my heartrate is. It scares nurses and technicians and they always have to check-in with a doctor before I am allowed to leave an examination room but, time and time again, the doctors explain that I am just very fit. They throw in a sentence or two, lumping me in with athletes. Hello, Summer Olympics, 2028, Los Angeles! If I compete, it’ll be an event that doesn’t involve throwing. Or catching. Or punching people. Or pinning dudes to a mat. 

 

Okay, fit, but no Olympics. I know L.A. well enough. 

 

The cardiologist may have tossed out the words “fit” and “athlete” once again, but then he slipped in another phrase: “wear and tear.” 

 

What?!

 

Teeth are one thing. The heart is quite another. He must have seen my face pale. Or maybe it was my eyes welling up. “It’s just part of aging,” he added. Like that normalized everything. Like the lack of an imminently scheduled transplant or triple bypass made everything great.

 

Is that really the bar?

 

“Wear and tear”…and “aging.”

 

Egad!

 

It doesn’t get better. Hello, reality. Or, to rephrase, hell, reality.

 

 

     

  

TRANS ACTIONS

We’ve got to do better. When we say, “It gets better,” that must apply to everyone in the LGBTQ community. That includes trans. We’ve got to step up and continue the fight for queer dignity and queer rights.

 

Frankly, I knew throughout election season that, not only were trans people being demonized during the campaign, but they would then be blamed by their own side if Democrats lost the election. It’s doubly disgusting. The demonizing worked AND allies, needing to lay blame, pointed fingers at trans pronouns, athletic participation, bathroom usage and early hormone inhibitors. 

 

To be clear, blame does not belong to the trans community. Trans rights were not handled well by the left. Democrats were always playing defense or not playing at all and, in such situations, it’s pretty difficult to score. 

 

The weekend after the election, both The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times published front page stories analyzing the result, clearly stating that trans rights proved to be a deciding issue. The WSJ article focused solely on the topic, the headline stating, “Transgender Rights Took Center State Late in Race.” The article’s summative point: “[A]s the campaign neared the finish line, it was the transgender debate that emerged as a powerful force that—along with..inflation and immigration—worked in Republicans’ favor and against Harris.”

 

An effective campaign conducts its research and highlights the issues and stances that will play best to its key voters and those who are undecided. According to the WSJ, “The Trump campaign spent heavily on transgender issues, accounting for roughly one in five ads it aired in the last couple of months,” costing $37 million. [Emphasis added.] The Harris campaign failed to grasp the damage caused by the ads. It did what Democrats have too often done—ignored issues and statements deemed outrageous. “Harris had an opening to address one of those ads, which focused on her support for taxpayer-funded transgender surgeries for federal inmates, during her combative Fox News interview…[b]ut she ended up dismissing the importance of voters’ concerns on the issue.” Really, how many inmates would be getting trans surgeries in a year? As obscure as the issue may be, the ads caused the voter outrage Republicans sought.

 

This slogan is familiar, but I contend
it hasn't been effective enough.
Time to try a new soundbite.

Never ever let Trump statements go unchecked. Never let distortions go without a strong, soundbite-savvy response. Indeed that ad’s soundbite was “Kamala’s for They/Them. President Trump is for you.” 

 

No strong, easily grasped response from Democrats? Hello, damage. 

 

Same goes for all the fear and outrage lathered up over trans athletes. Even Representative Seth Moulton (D-Mass.) felt freaked out by the issue, telling the NYT, “I have two little girls, I don’t want them getting run over on a playing field by a male or formerly male athlete.” I literally cringed from the quote. Even Democrats don’t understand trans issues or the extent to which issues have real life impact. The director of communications for the Michigan High School Athletic Association told the WSJ, “the issue of transgender girls playing girls sports was inescapable on the airwaves” despite the fact only two girls playing on high school teams in the state were trans. Two out of 170,000. A non-issue, spun hard by Republicans. 

 

Without effective pushback, all that outrage and fearmongering has caused damage to trans people and trans issues beyond election season. 

 

Yes, we failed. We weren’t there. We silently shook heads, tantamount to no response at all. I, for one, await both grassroots and well organized (non-election) campaigns to boost positivity and acceptance regarding people who are trans. 

 

*  

 

History is indeed cyclical and we only need to look at earlier LGBTQ struggles to see when things stalled and when real progress finally happened. 

 

Throughout the seventies and eighties, progress for gays and lesbians was slow. Singer Anita Bryant stepped up as a leading adversary. Senator Jesse Helms relentlessly called out gays as sinners, lumping them in with perverts and pedophiles. AIDS worsened any campaign for gay rights. While gays were in survival mode, bathrooms became a danger zone, with the false perception you could become infected from toilet seats seemingly unshakable. It was in conservatives’ best interest to allow the falsity to persist. Whatever it took to make people remain entrenched as anti-gay. Play it up enough and it meant Republican votes. 

 

Bathrooms remain big in conservative playbooks. So do families, especially children. Once, it was gay men who posed a threat. Recruiters! Abusers! Protect our kids.

 

Updated to trans hate, conservatives now perpetuate pedaling fear that their children will be harmed. “Biological boys” are invading girls’ bathrooms and taking over girls’ athletics! Again, there is little to no substance, no cases put forth as they continue to spin fear. Worse, one common Trump lie at rallies was that parents could send their child to school in the morning and that child would come home the opposite sex. 

 

Sometimes we think Trump’s statements are so outrageous and clearly untrue they don’t get enough pushback. The fact is many Republicans drink whatever Kool-Aid Trump’s serving. They may not truly believe what he spouts, but they’ll spout it too in the name of team spirit. I’ve said many times, Trump and his supporters remind me of WWE arena wrestling—all staged but totally consumed. 

 

Where gays finally made significant strides was during marriage equality campaigns.

 

Progress was not entirely linear. There were setbacks, even in California, which saw the passage of the Proposition 8 referendum, which took away the right to marriage. But the organization became stronger. 

 

One legacy from the AIDS crisis was that gays and lesbians honed advocacy skills. One of the first changes was that more gays came out. They couldn’t sit back quietly while so many gays died. They couldn’t let stand hateful rhetoric that AIDS was God’s wrath. They became politically and socially active because they had to, pushing for more AIDS funding, quicker approval of experimental drugs and protections from job and housing discrimination. Gay men were not united in what was the best approach. Some worked within the establishment while others focused beyond it. 

 

A generation of gay men became well-versed in political and social action. Their experiences then helped with marriage equality efforts. They had a sense of how to mobilize and a track record of what tactics and strategies were most effective. Marriage campaigns at the state level worked together. Each state that passed marriage equality legislation provided momentum. Bit by bit, change happened.

 

In my mind, one of the most effective aspects of the overall campaign was the creation and propagation of a positive, social media friendly sound bite: #LoveIsLove.

 

Where is the trans sound bite? 

 

It’s time for gays and lesbians to join all queers in mobilizing again. We have the experience. We have a better opportunity to affect change with greater numbers of people actively pushing for it. And let me be clear in stating that any gay man latching onto “LGB but not the T” is spinning selfish, hateful nonsense that should be left behind in the last century.

 

It would have been nice if the Democrats had a solid plan to respond to political potshots—no, attacks—regarding trans issues. Nicer if the response not only responded to fearmongering but also put a positive foot forward. If some Democrats believe trans issues hurt them, it’s on them to regroup and rethink how to effectively campaign for trans rights. It’s a no-brainer that, if Republicans found success scaring voters about trans issues, they’ll keep doing it as long as they’re given carte blanche to do so. 

 

But I think it’s incumbent on major queer organizations to strategize their own counterattacks and, more importantly “brand” trans identity as something positive. That’s right, “brand” it. This is something to sell in terms of politics. There needs to be a #LoveIsLove equivalent that people can embrace and that catches on. Keep floating them out there, see what sticks and then fly with it. Something with long legs. Gay marriage has been legal since the Supreme Court’s 2015 decision and people still #LoveIsLove all over the place, perhaps as much as they wave the Pride flag. 

 

A personal suggestion is #LetThemBe. It’s positive. It’s got the pronoun so many associate with trans, nonbinary and other queers. (I do realize many trans people go with she/her and he/him, but I think #LetThemBe gets a simple, positive message across. If a trans person does choose she/her or he/him, well that’s even easier for straight folks to go with. Less pronoun bumbling if they choose to get past archaic resistance with comments like, “You don’ sound like a woman.” (Yeah, I hick-ified it. It seems apropos.)

 

A friend of mine who is trans told me shortly after the election that many trans people are antiestablishment. They won’t get on board a united, seemingly centrist campaign that speaks to acceptance from straights. That’s not their raison d’être.

 

My response was that was fine. Historically, with gay rights, there has been more than one track. During the AIDS crisis, organizations like Gay Men’s Health Center in NYC and AIDS Project Los Angeles appealed to politicians and celebrities for support while ACT UP went with more controversial, in-your-face tactics that some gays felt were a distraction or even detrimental to the cause. I didn’t always like ACT UP’s actions, but I believe that, while traditional organizations went with diplomacy, there was also a time and place for agitation that occurred per ACT UP’s agenda, not GMHC’s.

 

Too often in politics, things take on an either-or, black-or-white dichotomy. Explore all channels. Let the pro-trans movement have diversity in the channels it pursues.

 

If we all get onboard advocating for trans rights, we can contemplate bigger actions and fund a campaign to counter that $37 million anti-trans advertising effort the Republicans put together. Yes, money matters.

 

What are the key organizations to contribute to in advocating for trans rights? A specific trans organization doesn’t come immediately to mind which underscores how much has yet to be done. During the AIDS crisis, ACT UP was known to most everyone. GLAAD and HRC are also well known, but they have broader agendas than solely advocating for trans issues. (We still need to donate to them and push them to strengthen their trans campaigns both in terms of people and resources.) What is a key trans advocacy organization? One or two need to emerge as having household recognition, spearheading campaigns, becoming prominent fund raisers, organizing a powerful national march, targeting states where change is likely to occur, building momentum off these wins and assuming an advisory role with state- and local-level organizations working to establish and/or protect particular rights.

 

If the LGBTQ community doesn’t show in bold ways how it is stepping up, how can we expect our allies to show up and grow. If we organize in bigger numbers with bigger coffers, we can also establish an expertise that can then better advise Democrat positions and responses—there MUST be responses—during the 2026 and 2028 election campaigns. Do better, yes, and do more. Let’s go!

 

 

Newspaper articles cited for this blog post:

“Democrats Sift Through Rubble, Seeking Answers: Assigning the Blame,” The New York Times, November 10, 2024.

 

“Transgender Rights Took Center Stage Late in Race,” The Wall Street Journal, November 9-10, 2024.

 

 

 

 

  

A TRADITION FINDS A NEW “HOME”

Sad news. The tree I’ve decorated the past two Christmases died. By midsummer, it was basically just a pole in the ground. Once, the little park had two trees. Now it has none. 

 

I either had to let my Christmas tree tradition die or find a new one in another park frequented by the homeless. I’ve spent the past few weeks riding my bike, staking out spots. I finally decided on Oppenheimer Park, still only a few blocks from my home. There’s a big, round cedar that caught my eye first. I walked over to take a closer look and it just didn’t speak to me. (Yes, I tried having a conversation. Tree huggers are tree talkers, too.) A Christmas cedar just didn’t seem right. 

 

Only ten feet away was another tree I hadn’t even noticed on my pedal-by. Slimmer, shorter…but a pine. A Christmas tree! And, yes, a natural Charlie Brown sort of scraggly tree to take over from the prior one. It only required borrowing a six-foot ladder from my building rather than one of the taller ones that might wabble without a helper this year to hold it in place. 

 

Passing by later in the day,
every bench was taken by 
people in conversation.

Oppenheimer Park is probably an even better park for a festive little tree. It’s frequented much more by homeless people and those living in supported housing. A few years ago, the park was a monthslong encampment with dozens of tents. Then, the City made everyone move along—a stressful change, no doubt—only to have tent dwellers resettle at another park in my area. For a while thereafter, the park had fencing all around it, locking everyone out who might re-pitch a tent along with anyone who wished to just sit on a bench and chat with someone else in the community. 

 

 I like to walk through rather than
around the park. This message
painted on the pavement
always lifts me. 

It's been unfenced and open to all for at least two years now. The park is a favorite for sea gulls whom the homeless like to feed leftovers from donated meals. It’s also a place where the benches fill, lots of conversations happening. As destitute as much of my neighborhood appears, basic needs like connection and belonging are met in spaces such as this. I won’t idealize the place. The park still feels grim. There’s a children’s playground where I’ve never seen a child play. (The crows favor it.) 

 

I’ll admit to being mildly concerned about problems arising if I decorated my Charlie Brown tree at Oppenheimer. I wasn’t concerned about the people who frequent the park. (Maybe someone would want to join in like last year.) I worried an overzealous police officer would Bah Humbug my stunt, asserting I needed a permit and advising that the City was unlikely to issue permits for rogue tree adornment. Gosh, maybe I’d even be ticketed, my attempt at token festiveness considered an act of vandalism. 

 

I walked with the ladder and my bag of decorations before sunrise. The morning fog might have been fortuitous too. It wouldn’t be an all-out stealth decorating activity, but maybe the red garlands and silver balls wouldn’t be such giveaways with their gleam. 

 

As I arrived at the park, the sea gulls were in their usual place, taking over the rarely used softball field. Four to six tents were set up in a cluster twenty-five feet away from the pine tree. On a nearby bench, two people slept huddled together, a tarp serving as a warmth-deprived blanket. One man sat on another bench, awake, seemingly content in his own thoughts, my presence not registering. No police officers or cars were in sight despite this area being frequently patrolled.

 

Decorating was easy. I only had to step to the third or fourth rung on the ladder to add ornaments to the upper reaches. Unfortunately, my star could not be suitably affixed  to the top. The droop was too pronounced—sad instead of quirky. Fine. No star. 

 

Traditions move. They adapt.

 

It took twenty minutes to adorn the tree, my gloves off to better handle and hook the ornaments. It’s worth noting that, by the time I was done, my fingertips were numb from the cold (2°C or 35°F). It wasn’t lost on me, the fact I had the luxury of going home and quickly warming up as I watched one man emerge from his tent to smoke a cigarette. Does that act offer any warmth?

 

The whole while, I kept wondering if it was my lack of decorating talent that made the tree seem sad. I told myself I could only do so much with what I had, like a dog groomer giving a makeover to 2022’s officially Ugliest Dog in some contest boycotted by everyone associated with the Westminster Kennel Club. 

 

Still, a man hidden underneath a parka with a hoodie passed by, saying, “Ho ho ho.” No exclamation mark but a suitable endorsement. Five minutes later another man emerged from one of the tents, rising for the day. I heard him chuckle, then say, “That is so cool, man!” A thumbs up, too. 

 

Yes! This is who the tree is for. It didn’t need to meet Martha Stewart’s approval. It didn’t need to become Instagram fodder. The intention was greater than the actual creation. Tent Guy got it and liked it. Mission accomplished. 

 

And like every supposedly selfless act, his cheer gave me cheer. This is what I need for the holiday. Yes, I’m all set for Christmas.

 

 

 

 

 

  

BEYOND THE VOTE: MAKE A DIFFERENCE, Part II - DONATE

How are you doing now?

 

I know, I know. It seems Trump keeps poking at liberals with every cabinet pick, the expectation of a circus coming into clearer view. Politically, these are going to be four very rough years. After the election, I’d posted that people needed time to recover. This, no doubt, continues. 

 

If you’re American, you have Thanksgiving this week to potentially be thrust into rooms where meals—and meal conversation—are shared with MAGA-loving gloaters. Yes, they will gloat. You may have done the same had the election gone the other way, the right way. I hope the host of the big feast at least calls for no hats at the dinner table. It’s a special meal. Special rules of etiquette apply.

 

Personally, I don’t see the point in engaging with a MAGA disciple right now. They feel especially emboldened and confident. Do you really want to give them an excuse to flash the loser hand gesture? Do you want to lose it as that loser? 

 

Seriously, if a conversation could make a difference, have it. But, for so many, it won’t. Anyone who voted for Trump, even those who claim they don’t like him, won’t be swayed by much these days. Hold your tongue. Then, breathe…Deliver a delusional devotional to the cranberry sauce if you must. Talk about Wicked. Put out a safe discussion topic.

 

What will Adele do now that her Vegas residency has ended?

What Thanksgiving leftover would go best on pizza?

Should there be a support group for survivor turkeys?

 

Recovery is still the thing. 

 

While recovering, now is a good time to fortify others for whom taking action is their raison d’être. It’s near the end of 2024 and a great time to top up tax-deductible donations to the worthy causes you think are in position to advocate and push back most effectively during the Trump term. 

 

Pinpoint the issue(s) you’re most concerned about. There will be organizations fighting hard for continuing progress or at least resisting what is seen as regression. Obvious issues include trans rights, abortion, gun control, freedom from religion in public schools, homelessness, preservation of broader LGBTQ rights, climate change, immigration, access to all kinds of books and diversity in hiring. I know, I know, there is more. Issues pop into my head like someone transplanted a Whac-A-Mole game in my brain. 

 

Donate now. As well, add a calendar note for after Christmas to consider more donations before the New Year if you receive a work bonus or if Santa happens to be good to you. Most politically oriented nonprofits were not blindsided by the election result. They have been planning for months for either outcome. Their worst-case scenario plan is being tweaked now but the good thing is a decent draft likely exists. Money is required for staffing, for legal fights, for demonstrations, for communication campaigns and hopefully for some strategic actions in states most vulnerable and states where positive change may most likely occur.

 

Yes, keep on with that personal recovery. Donate extra if you can. And get through Thanksgiving. Enjoy the stuffing. Chew slower. Pretend your mouth is full at certain moments, if you must. This is the beginning of choosing battles in a pragmatic, thoughtful manner.

 

Happy week!

IN TONGUES (Book Review)

By Thomas Grattan

 

(Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2024) 

 

 

There’s a lot that’s right about this novel. The voice is distinct, the writing very good and yet there still seems to be something off. 

 

I suspect it’s by design. It’s the main character, after all, whom I did not come to embrace. Hard to like a book when you never connect to the central character.

 

It’s 2001 and Gordon moves from Minnesota to New York City, staying in a rundown area of Brooklyn, looking for sex in parks while working as a stocker at a grocery store. The sex in parks scenario feels like a gay novel cliché, the character partaking always getting it easily and often. Another gay cliché in the book involves how a young gay man (Gordon is mid-twenties) is a lure for rich older gays. (Do NOT read Edmund White’s most recent book, The Humble Lover, about a rich old man obsessed over a young, self-absorbed ballet dancer.) 

 

Gordon feels aimless and passive throughout the story. Things just happen to him. Jobs fall in his lap. Men may seem disinterested but, no, they always want him. He’s not particularly considerate with his bestie, Janice, nor to his parents, nor to Philip, Gordon’s de facto benefactor. To be fair, Philip is rather aloof when he isn’t being direct and/or mildly cranky.

 

The relationship between rich, seventy-something Philip and Gordon is supposed to be the heart of the story, but there is very little heart in it. There are two scenes in which Gordon steps up as a caretaker, perhaps more, for Philip but the relationship generally has a stilted coldness to it that kept me from caring.

 

Moreover, Gordon has a loafer mentality and he does things that made me cringe. That’s not going to end well, I’d often tell myself as I read. It’s painful to watch a character do stupid things. In the end, we’re supposed to see growth in Gordon. He has a steady, reputable job. He does another dumb thing but then makes a correction…only after an acquaintance points out the potential implications. 

 

As an aside, I feel I may have developed lung cancer from second-hand smoke from all the times Gordon smokes cigarettes in the novel. Maybe all the resulting puffy clouds are supposed to represent the greyness of the novel’s tone. Is that something to strive for?  

 

I suppose my disconnect with the book comes with never really understanding what Gordon cares about. So often in scenes, he seems present rather than passionate. He’s just as aloof as the people around him. People come and go and it doesn’t matter all that much. 

 

I don’t regret reading In Tongues. My response is, however, consistent with what Gordon’s would be: a shrug before moving on.

 

 

  

BEYOND THE VOTE: MAKE A DIFFERENCE, Part I—RECOVER

I am Canadian, not American. Dismiss what I write if you feel I’m too far removed. But sometimes a bit of distance helps to see things clearer. 

 

Trump will again be president and both houses are likely to be led by Republicans. They will be able to push through much of their agenda. Of course, this is terrible news. It’s disheartening. It feels devastating. 

 

This is a clear loss. And with a loss comes mourning. 

 

I tend to be very invested in politics. Election nights in Canada and in the U.S. have always meant for prime viewing as I watch results come in, listen to the analysis from various sources, take in the pleasant surprises and try to process the disappointments. Early on last Tuesday evening, it didn’t look good. I didn’t do a Déjà-Vu à la 2016, hanging on and watching shocked CNN pundits desperately cling to hope, believing that big city results were still coming in, thinking that the Trump lead in the Electoral College would tip back toward Hillary, making everything right in the end. I remember going to work the next day, being unfocused, witnessing other colleagues express their shock through tears and anger. 

 

2016 prepared me for 2024. I closed my laptop sooner than later. I did a New York Times crossword I’d saved from Sunday. It distracted and brought me silly little triumphs. Yes, 84 Across, I got you! I watched an episode of Heartstopper, lite-fare, heartwarming, a lovely pretend world where every kind of queer is ultimately accepted. Ahead of its time perhaps.

 

I checked the results in the morning. Ten minutes of scanning and skimming, tops. Why punish myself? I couldn’t change the numbers. I loaded my bike in the back of my Mini Cooper, packed a few things and went on a day trip to Fort Langley, a quaint village forty minutes from Vancouver. I wrote, meandered, rode my bike and did not look at any news for seven hours. 

 

It's not that I blocked out the election results. No, I thought about them quite a lot. But I didn’t expose myself to news sites and social media that would stoke feelings of despair or outrage. I had no raw conversations with friends where our disappointment would build off one another. It was a slower, gentler process of acceptance of a harsh, worst-case reality.

 

After so many years of therapy and support groups, I actually put into practice a little self-care. That was my own victory.

 

I was ready to take in more Wednesday night. On social media, I saw many people using the F-word to express themselves. I get it. They were mad. The F-word says so. I saw naïve folks claiming that the F-spewers were falling into the hateful rhetoric they professed to hate. It certainly didn’t advance anything but that wasn’t the point. People let off steam in different ways.

 

It was more than grief. Abject sadness. Some people said they were stepping away from social media for a while—too much of what, in the moment, was a very bad thing. Sometimes connection is helpful in times of shock and disappointment. Let it out. Let it all out. Sometimes, however, it’s better to postpone what is too hard to process in the moment. 

 

It may feel good to pick a fight with Uncle Bubba or an agitator on Twitter. I can’t see it myself. They’re going to want to boast right now. They’re going to want to pull you in so they can counter all your logic and emotion with one basic sentiment: “Loser!” Sure, sure, names will never hurt you. Maybe you have thicker skin than me.     

 

I truly believe stepping away is a better option. If you can’t take a day trip as I was privileged to do, cut down on your exposure to whatever is going to stoke negative thoughts and emotions over the next weeks. Cut social media down to X minutes per day. (Truly, do you really require more than fifteen minutes? How about ten?) Skim headlines, if you must, but maybe leave it at that. Long ago, I stopped reading articles about murders and crimes I couldn’t do anything about. How would reading do anything but upset me? Was there really anything I could do about a terrible crime that happened in another state or province…or even in my own city? I am better off being less informed in some areas. That may sound awful but having my head in the sand sometimes is an effective coping mechanism. 

 

I think some of those lite, fluffy Christmas movies are already streaming. Make some popcorn and watch one. (Or re-watch episodes of Heartstopper. Seriously.)

 

I laughed steadily throughout Ellen’s stand-up special on Netflix. Channel into a comedian who makes you laugh. It’s such a great release of stress.

 

People need to recover because, while the election results are in, the fight is far from over. A vote is a right and a privilege, but there are so many other ways to actively participate in constructive ways to affect change.  

 

While some recover, others are already taking time to reflect and rebuild. More of that, plus direct actions are to come. 

 

Please take care of yourself for now. Get yourself in a better space. Avoid Uncle Bubba. (You won’t change him; he won’t change you.) When you’re ready, there will be next steps. Your voice and your presence will be needed and valued. 

 

For now, let Mr. Bean amuse you; allow cat (or puppy) videos to tug at your heart; listen to a rage song on your headphones as you take it up an extra level on an exercise bike; ask a friend for a hug; jump in a pile of leaves; take a silly selfie; make chocolate chip cookies (and save some dough for an ice cream add-in); close the blinds and do a geeky dance to an extended play of a disco song; get a temporary tattoo of something that will look passé by next week; pay the two bucks for guac in your Chipotle burrito; buy an adult coloring book and complete a page, maybe even going outside the lines; clean your oven (it’s never a good time, but you’ll feel good when it’s done); knit a scarf or just a blob with weird holes in it; contact that friend you’ve been saying you should message for six months now; get a facial; buy a new plant, name it and apologize in advance in case you kill it (but don’t); sweat it out in the sauna; do a cold plunge (not really); read a favorite comic from childhood; listen to a couple of Grammy-nominated songs you’ve never heard of; sit on a park bench and people watch (without being creepy); and go to bed early. 

 

Recovery is good for you.

 

 

JUST VOTE

I lived in the U.S. for sixteen years and never voted. 

 

Sure, I was underaged for the first several years, having moved from Ontario, Canada to East Texas when I was thirteen. But then came the years from eighteen to twenty-nine where I couldn’t vote because I was a legal immigrant—a permanent resident—but not a citizen. The rest of my family became citizens and I know they all vote (three Republican voters, one Independent). I had no say in Presidents Reagan, Bush or Clinton getting elected. 

 

I would have loved to have voted, but I had moved kicking and screaming from Ontario. I was proudly Canadian. It was the one part of my identity that seemed fixed as I struggled to figure out and then live according to my sexual orientation.

 

To teach in U.S. public schools, I had to declare an intention to become a citizen. I had to show that things were in-process. That declaration gave me a year of using my Texas university degree to teach in a public elementary school. But I’d done nothing to move things forward during that time. I didn’t want citizenship to be about my job; I felt it needed to be a bigger, deeper decision.

 

I don’t recall that anyone was awaiting proof I’d taken a step forward, but I began to look for other options as I prepared to give up teaching. I moved to Malibu and went to law school, an excellent step for coming out at least. (Hello, West Hollywood!) There was much to like about California, a place where I connected far more than in Texas. I knew after the first year of law school that practicing law would not be my lifelong career, but I stuck it out (mostly because I didn’t have a Plan B), got the degree and worked for a couple of years as a lawyer. 

 

I might have stayed in L.A., might have tried to get an entry-level position in the entertainment industry after touching base with a key contact, but the city wore me down. First, the Rodney King riots in April-May 1992 (during which I got shot at), killing sixty-three and then the Northridge earthquake of January 1994, killing fifty-seven. These events plus the general dog-eat-dog tone I felt in the city wore me down. I quit both L.A. and law. I moved to Canada, settling in Vancouver. 

 

Youth won.
(The one on the left.)

The only national election I participated in was the U.S. Post Office’s 1992 presentation of two options for an Elvis Presley stamp—either a classic hip-shaking, thinner, younger Elvis or a slightly fuller-faced image of Elvis from later in his career. I can’t even recall which one I voted for. The stakes just weren’t that great. 

 

Not like now. Not like this election, not just for president but for Senate and House seats, for governor positions and for all sorts of state and local posts.

 

I could say—and you could too—that, as a Canadian, it’s none of my business. It’s America’s decision. But it matters in Canada. We often dissociate ourselves from American matters, but they impact us on a daily basis. Canadian culture is not that different. We are influenced. Our neighbor to the south (along with the state of Alaska) has a population nine times greater than us. In many ways, the U.S. overshadows us. 

 

Politically, there’s some copycat business happening based on Republican politics and the larger-than-life, can’t-mute-him Donald Trump. The province of Alberta seems to desperately want to be Texas’ cousin. The leader of the Conservative Party of Canada, Pierre Poilievre, has adopted hateful, smarmy soundbites that seem to come straight from Trump’s playbook (if Trump actually has a playbook). Trump and the MAGA movement have impacted not just the U.S. for the worse in terms of political discourse and basic civility, they’ve gained a whole lot of followers in Canada. Attention-seekers, I feel. People who like their politics to have an entertainment element akin to WWE wrestling.

 

I am exhausted from the lead-up to this election. Frankly, I’ve been worn down from Trump being Trump since 2015 when the media started seeing value in reporting every outrageous comment he made—increased sales, viewers and click-bait. The lies, the hate and the crassness should have led to a quick dismissal of the candidate but his brand of politicking has only become more popular. We are devaluing society while seemingly embracing the don’t-give-a-fuck mindset. Let the cesspool bubble at the top. 

 

I’ve begged my saner Republican friends and relatives in the U.S. to back off the Trump vote. I realize the Harris campaign has rallied to get Republicans to vote for the Democratic candidate just this once—for the sake of sending a message about civility, for holding up the basic principles of American democracy—and, yes, I hope many people do this. It’s the right kind of message to send to Trump, MAGA and Trump copycats (yes, you, Mr. Poilievre). 

 

But there is another viable option. Longtime Republicans can leave the choice for president blank. This is for people who can’t stomach Trump but also can’t espouse the Democrats’ platform. Let a vote Trump counted on be denied. 

 

Of course, it would be a rare Republican to read my blog and heed my advice. (Heed it, please.)

 

If any Americans read this, a weekly post on Aging Gayly, it’s far more likely to be someone who is centrist or left-leaning. Nine hundred words into this essay, I’ll repeat the one thing you should take away from this: VOTE!

 

If you’ve done so, encourage those fence-sitters who don’t think it matters, don’t want to sacrifice precious time in their day and/or don’t feel Harris will be progressive enough. Surely, her positions come hella closer than Trump’s. (I’m being generous in saying Trump has positions other than using the office as a revenge pulpit.) 

 

I’m still not American and still I care. This is me, doing my part.

 

VOTE.