It’s about time for my annual retrospective, and boy is this one a fuckin’ doozy.
Most of y’all know that my birthday, which is mid-January, was followed immediately by an accident that resulted in the loss of my left foot.
I also, in the process, lost my job, my health, and, thanks to the incredibly poor behavior of an ultimately untrustworthy “friend”, the roof over my head.
It is now December, just under a month shy of the anniversary of that accident. I have, in that time:
- Discovered what a phenomenal group of friends and supporters I have. Holy shit, y’all. I could complain about the one person who turned out to be a dishonest shitbag of a garbage human, but why, when I have SO MANY AMAZING PEOPLE in my life? I could not have made it through this year without my friends, and I am so unbelievably grateful to all of them for everything.
- Recovered from a vicious C Diff infection, the results of which still affect my appetite and ability to eat. I’m now up to about two meals a day, from nearly nothing. It’s not always easy or consistent, and the food my body will accept is significantly more limited than it used to be. I’m still experiencing regular unplanned weight loss. But I can eat, and I have energy to exercise and work.
- Survived one of the strongest, longest periods of sustained suicide ideation in my life, sometimes by sitting on my hands for hours at a time. I owe much of the emotional reserves it took to stay alive to my beloved cat, and my beloved friend Eden Gallanter.
- Learned how to function, first without a foot, and then with a prosthesis. This took months of religiously following the instructions of my physical therapists, the determination to work through pain and discomfort to become functional again, and the ongoing support of my incredible friends.
- Busted my ass to recover both strength and physical ability. From workouts at home to kicking ass at the gym, I have spent hours and hours exercising. It’s paid off.
- Found a new job, and then a better job.
- Discovered what happens when two exceptionally well-matched people are extremely open, honest, caring, and careful with each other right from the start (they fall head over heels for each other).
In 2015 I fought my way through hell, and I won’t say I came out of it whole (I mean emotionally and mentally, obviously not physically). But I somehow managed to get my life, which was entirely derailed, back on track (even if on a different track than it was on before the accident). I somehow managed to hold on to my strength and my sanity. I somehow managed to find love with a woman who blows me away on a daily basis. I somehow managed to get to the point where I can face 2016 with pride in what I’ve accomplished, with some optimism for the future, and with a better sense of what I need to do and where I need to be than I ever had before.
I’m not gonna say “Happy New Year” or anything like that. If there is one thing I’ve learned over the last handful of years, it’s that it’s a pretty fucking ridiculous thing to say. I will say: Welcome, 2016. If we can just avoid voting Trump into office, we might be okay.
I’m really, really tired of this Boomers v Millenials crap.
What utter bullshit.
The fact is, generation after generation of Americans has been told that if they worked hard and got an education, they would get a job and be successful. That they would eventually, maybe with the help of their parents, be able to buy a house and raise a family if they so desired. Every single generation of Americans has been fed this, and for generations it was more (if you were White) or less (if you were anything else) true—before modern medicine extended lives, after multiple massive-scale wars left even a once-massively depressed country hungry for people to fill jobs. The American Dream relied on more than just the willingness to work hard.
This generation of young adults was bottle-fed this dream, and misogyny, and racism, and toxic masculinity. They were fed the idea of bootstrapping, and their own personal merit. They didn’t come up with their expectations, beliefs, and behaviors in a vacuum.
Poor choices were made. Shit went horribly wrong. We all know this. We can say the Boomers fucked shit up, and yeah—they did. Some of them even know it. Hell, my mom still occasionally apologizes, because she sees the difference between my situation and hers. She remembers a time when you could walk into a place and get hired on the spot. She remembers when education was nearly free.
But shit gets fucked up—that’s what happens, kids. Look at history. History is all about shit getting fucked up. And people having to deal with it and getting cranky at the people who came before. I qualify as neither a Boomer nor a Millenial; My generation sorta fell through the cracks. Regardless, people have been treating Millenials like they are angry children. Well, shit yeah.
What we need to recognize is that the Millenials are the first generation for whom that American promise has been well and truly broken (even during the Depression the government was working on programs to help get people back on their feet, in a way that today’s government is not). We need to realize that the things to which they feel they are entitled are things they’ve been promised since birth by people who believed it because it came true for them or enough of the people around them. And that their seeming petulance about it is really just the disappointment of a generation of people who are actually working hard only to discover that every single one of them just got sent searching for the same, nearly empty, pot of gold that they’d been individually assured of finding.
Yes. There is a lot of fucking privilege in that disappointment. Especially a lot of White privilege. (The American Dream is built entirely out of White privilege, once you factor in systemic racism.) That’s been endlessly explored in articles all over the Internet (no, as a person of color I do not dismiss the importance of this issue—it’s just not for this post). Yes. Millenials do need to grow up. Once that disappointment hits, the next move is to get over it and move forward with what you’ve got.
But to have a promise that affects your entire life broken isn’t actually that small of a disappointment. It’s not like they dropped their ice cream cone. They—we all—have to completely restructure our understanding of what is possible, what they are capable of, and how they are going to succeed within the American Reality, not the American Dream.
That’s not actually a small thing.
So here’s the deal. I am angry. Furious. Enraged. Livid. The fact that it is 2015 and it is still possible for me or any of my black friends to have our lives destroyed by supposed servants of the people simply because we are black makes me truly, deeply, painfully angry. The fact that these careless murderers, these state-backed assassins rarely get punished for murdering black people makes me want to flip tables. All of the tables. I’m right there with the rioters in Baltimore, is what I am trying to say. I want to break the windows of cop cars. I want to set shit on fire. I want to flip tables, throw rocks, pound concrete, rage against this system that has perpetuated itself BECAUSE REMAINING QUIET ONLY FUELS THE ENGINE THAT MAKES OPPRESSION POSSIBLE.
So when you tell me that racism is shitty, but you’d really prefer if people could go back to reasoned arguments on Facebook instead of destroying property, all I hear is: “I have the privilege of waiting for you to receive justice, and your life means less to me than glass and concrete.” When you tell me that you don’t condone the actions of corrupt racist police forces across the country, but follow that up with, “but we need to find intelligent ways to fight,” all I hear is: “I’m avoiding using the word ‘thug’ because I’ve read somewhere that it is racist.” When you tell me, “I feel angry too, but you don’t see me smashing in small business windows,” I hear, “I will never have to worry about my children being shot by the police simply for the color of their skin, so I can afford to show my anger by sharing articles on social media.”
If you are white, and puzzled by the rage and pain of your black friends, family, lovers, partners, and children, then you are part of the problem. If you decry the destruction of cars with the same energy that you decry the destruction of lives and families, then you are part of the problem. If you think just talking about these issues is getting anybody but white people anywhere, then you are part of the problem. If you are wishing for the days when we could pretend to be color blind and the goal was to become a Bill Cosby-approved house negro, your time has passed. Evolve, or you are part of the problem.
If you are not already angry, now is the time to get angry. If you have not already found your rage about this situation—and I don’t mean self-righteous indignation, here, I mean that deep acid burn in the center of your being that threatens to overcome your very existence every time you hear of a new murder, every time you watch a cop walk free, every time George Zimmerman appears on the news, every time one of your fedora-wearing, libertarian-voting, #notallwhatever white friends brings up black on black crime or absentee fathers, then I simply do not understand. If, when another name floats to the surface of your awareness and becomes yet another hashtag (and they do every 28 hours—black men are being murdered by police practically daily and that number does not include women of color or trans people of color), you do not feel like buying a ticket to Baltimore to smash cars with your black brothers and sisters, then I do not understand. I. Don’t. Understand.
But you go ahead and keep telling me there are better ways for people to fight state-sponsored murder, that waiting quietly and voting the right people into office is going to work for us eventually. That white people will eventually just give up that upper hand and stop being racist. After all, we have a black president, right? More importantly, keep telling yourself all of that. In this instance, the lie you believe is far more powerful and damaging than the one I believe. And you can afford to believe it.
You’re the problem. You.