Getting Uncomfortable

It's been too long since I've talked about this

It was the kind of morning you just know is going to give way to a beautiful day — lots of sunshine, warm but not too warm. I made the coffee, opened the windows a little wider to make room for the cat to sit on the sill and sniff the soft breeze. It was quiet — a few birdsongs, a little purring, maybe a car or two whirring by; otherwise, the world seemed to be waking up slowly, if not sleeping in entirely. I wanted to stay in that peaceful place, but there were things to do. Aren’t there always things to do?

I sat down at my computer, read a few emails, scanned a few headlines, and read a few stories. Then, I picked up my notebook, the place I keep ideas and ideas of ideas — “inklings,” comedian Paula Poundstone calls them — tiny thoughts not quite developed into anything real, at least not yet. Over the last few months, certain inklings have started to build up, line by line, growing into a cumbersome and complicated collection of things I don’t know what to do with, things I’ve resisted writing about.

Scrolling back through my columns, the last time I talked in any substantial way about what I consider to be the more than worrisome state of affairs in our country — it was February. Things seem worse now than they were then, with the only constant being the fire hose of hypocrisy, greed, and cruelty perpetually on full blast.

Inkling by inkling, I’ve been keeping track but haven’t wanted to sit with the thoughts long enough to do what I should be doing: speaking up and pushing back. And why? Partly because I’ve wanted to counter-program, to not let the darkening skies of authoritarianism steal the very basic light and joy of creativity, but it’s more selfish than that. Writing, for me, requires living with whatever I’m writing about. The topic becomes a kind of companion. I’m forced to sit with it, invite it in. Sometimes the process is delightful or cathartic, other times it’s painful and soul-sucking.

I have not wanted to sit in the suffocating darkness required to sustain the well-deserved outrage for those who choose to trample on rights, smugly ignore the Constitution, and abandon basic humanity — all for personal gain. I resent every moment of cautiously choosing every word, imagining the inevitable “whatabout” rebuttals ripped from a list of tired talking points peddled by professional grifters and regurgitated by people who are closer than they realize to a tearful “I didn’t vote for this” segment on the national news.

Words almost seem obsolete when a long, drawn-out scream will do.

All of this, of course, illuminates the great amount of privilege I have. The alarming actions of an aspiring dictator may be in my news feed and in my consciousness, but I’ve been able to selectively tune them out and live my life. Meanwhile, too many people do not have that luxury and are needlessly suffering. Rest may be important in what is clearly a very long game, but the rising pile of inklings told me, loud and clear, my recent break was over.

It’s important to sit with the uncomfortable, to invite it in, and to talk about it. Exhaustion and apathy are useful weapons for people aiming to dismantle democracy and punish anyone who doesn’t fall in line. They are counting on it, actually — rooting for burnout, hopelessness, and silence. It makes their job easier.

Difficult as it may be to engage, it’s perilous to keep quiet. I also don’t subscribe to the idea we should all “just see what happens,” when the parallels of history cannot be denied. The most recent dehumanization of people in our country under the guise of “patriotism” and “safety” is not only patently disgusting, it’s disturbingly familiar. The increased use of the word “liberation” by a regime actively working to undermine the very freedoms men and women in this country fought and died for is beyond unconscionable. The full-on crusade to silence any dissent, abandon education, research, human rights, and human dignity, all while attempting to rewrite, or even erase history, is shameful, dangerous, and wrong.

It’s not an overreaction to say the United States is in real trouble, not when the evidence is piling up in real time in our communities. It’s also not radical to say: We the People deserve better — Every. Last. One of us.

Pushing away from my desk, I close my notebook —leaving the remaining inklings for another day. The world outside has come alive, my coffee cup is empty, and the cat is asking to sit in my lap. I’ll sit a minute, but there are things to do. Aren’t there always things to do?

This essay appeared in my column in the June 19, 2025 edition of the Perry Herald in Perry, NY.