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Rearranging Deck Chairs
This is how 2025 feels to me
I reach for my phone as soon as my eyes open. I know that I shouldn’t, I know that I will probably regret knowing about whatever madness has taken place while I’ve slept. I know that many days I will either cry from fear and frustration or cry from some small kindness shown by someone, somewhere, that makes me believe that all is not lost — not yet.
Regular life waits for no one. I still clean my house, spend untold amounts of money at the grocery store, and sign permission slips for my daughter’s school field trips. I still go to work, where I fake enthusiasm for conference calls and new projects, all the while wondering why no one is saying out loud what most of us are thinking — what is the future of a company that depends on government programs that are being dismantled piece by piece by a regime that most of us did not vote into our lives?
I turned 55 in December of 2024. I took the family dog and headed to the mountains for a long weekend. To get my head on straight. To get away from work. To reconnect with myself. I thought I was doing okay until the inauguration in January. Almost immediately, my MAGA-friendly leader at work (a fact previously unknown to me) began to start intrusive and alarming conversations with me. I went home feeling sick and flustered — not sure what to do. I began working in another building…
