It is too easy of a reduction to simply label this the new year, to think about it for a moment and then dismiss it until the next one rolls around. It's a little hokey to set a resolution, I suppose, but I still do it every year.
I've had some crazy ones in the past. I wrote five feature length films in a year. I wrote 52 short films in a year. I "taught myself" how to write comics by writing a few of them. It's nice every now and then to think about how far you've come, even if you can still see the starting line if you squint a little.
It's important now, though, as the year is new, to look forward at what we can run towards. Again, it's trite, but there's a reason people set resolutions now. It's an easy place to set a marker, to say I started this on this day.
For a good portion of 2016, I tried to write a novel. I even got 12,000 words into one before I ultimately bailed out of it. It's a discouraging feeling to do that much work on something and then shelve it. Since then, I've been adrift, flitting from project to project, never getting more than 1,000 words into anything.
My New Years resolution, for better or worse, is to stick to an idea and see it through until the end. It could be the worst novel ever written, but I'm going to finish it. I need to believe that I can still accomplish these outlandish goals.
I need a finish line I can run towards.
'Cause life without revision will silence our souls.
This is something I hate to admit, but for most of the days leading up to Christmas this year, I just haven't been feeling it. I've watched the movies and I've listened to the songs and I've stringed the lights, but I've been reaching for something I want instead of reacting to what I have. For no real reason that I can put my finger on, it's been hard for me to find the feeling of the season.
It'd be easy to tell me, of course, that Christmas isn't about what I'm feeling. I think that's an easy answer and I wouldn't argue that you're wrong, but I've always treasured the warmth that Christmas brings me. One of the best Community episodes says that Christmas is the crazy notion that the longest, coldest, darkest nights can be the warmest and brightest. I hope you won't fault me for wanting to find that.
I have every reason for it. Every reason. I have the greatest wife, the best friends, a loving family, a good job, a warm house, and the two cutest dogs on God's green (or right now, grey) earth. I have everything I could ever need and I have the nerve to ask for more.
I'm selfish. I know that I am. That doesn't seem to change too much as the years go on, but every year, for a little while, I remember I get the most joy out of bringing joy to others. I tell people I love them more. I appreciate what I have a little more. I try to give people gifts that I think they'll like.
Stagnation is death is a phrase I've heard about writing. Make your characters move and change. Christmas, if nothing else (and it is certainly more), is a reminder for me that I can change and that, often, I need to.
Let's be better people than we were just a day ago and so much better than last year. With any luck, I think we can be the people we're all meant to be.
The last few posts have been about hard truths that I don't think a lot of people wanted to read. Maybe I've been hidden from a few Facebook timelines. Maybe somebody I haven't spoken to in a while just because time drifted us apart is now deliberately not talking to me. Then again, maybe everyone just accepted what I had to say and moved on.
Either way, we need somewhere to go from here. We need hope, and that's not just because of how an election turned out. We need hope because we just simply do.
The phrase that keeps repeating in my head is "It's time to write." It's why you've seen more blog posts in the last few days than in the last six months. I'm trying out new story ideas in my head. A friend of mine even joined NaNoWriMo, a program that challenges you to write 50,000 words of a novel in just the month of November.
Now is the time, friends, to recommit yourself to the things that most make your heart leap from your chest or beat too fast. Now is the time to be brave and bold.
And for me, it's time to write.
I hadn't planned to blog again so soon, but for the past few days, I've been on Facebook more than I ever am. This is a weird, historic time that we're in and I'm valuing reading everyone's opinions. There are a lot of messages about hope, and frankly, that's incredible. Let us look forward to the future with the belief that it will be better.
I don't write today because of the hopeful ones. There's another type of post I've seen and it demands I put pen to ink in hopes that I can do something to change it. I feel as if I'm probably shouting into the void (which would arguably be the most fitting slogan for Facebook), but I don't think this is time to sit on the sidelines.
The type of post I'm seeing that makes me absolutely boil is the one that says "I'm tired of being judged for voting Republican." I saw two of them just yesterday and they weren't just Facebook statuses, but full blog posts. The premise is rather simple. The writers of these posts believe that people are silencing them from rejoicing about their Republican vote. They believe, in some way, that there is an oppression happening and that it's unfair.
They voted Republican and they demand that you know that it's not because they're racist, sexist or any other type of -ist or -phobic that's typically being associated with leaning that way right now. I think it's important that we believe them. I think, in a divided time, that we have the obligation to trust them that there was no evil in their hearts when they cast their ballot that day.
But, and yes, there is a big but, that doesn't make me any less upset about their blog posts. There's the whole "I don't agree with what you're saying, but I'll die for your right to say it" thing, but the lovely thing about freedom of speech is that it's not the same thing as freedom from consequence.
The consequence, here, is that writing about not wanting to be judged, silenced, or oppressed because you voted a certain way puts your privilege like a stamp on your forehead. I read a post, again by a probably incredibly well-meaning young woman, where she argued that both candidates struggled with character so she had to vote on the issues, however you want to define that.
This person could vote for whichever party she wanted because neither party was attacking her. Do you know who didn't get to just put character aside when they cast their ballots that day? Muslim Americans. Latino Americans. The LGBTQ+ community. Immigrants. Potentially even women.
These are not all of the people groups who struggled with this election and struggle even more with the outcome, and I wouldn't argue that everyone person defined by those characteristics even voted against Trump. Some probably voted for him and I think it'd be wonderful to hear why, exactly.
Again, this is not about who you voted for. And again, this it not an accusation that anyone who voted Republican is any of those -ists or -phobics.
What it is an accusation of, and I pray that you hear this clearly, is of privilege and lack of empathy.
The man these people voted for campaigned specifically on a platform of all of those -ists and -phobics that these people are so quick to distance themselves from. I will accept no argument on this point. There were other issues, sure, that were mentioned, but it doesn't even take a skilled hand at Googling to find examples of racism, sexism, even mocking of the disabled, from the campaign trail.
All of these things had to be ignored in order to vote Republican and that is an action for only someone in a place of privilege.
I am willing to grant you, again, that you are not racist, sexist, homophobic, or any of those other many things, but you need to own that when you cast your ballot, you didn't just not condemn those things, you didn't just say those things were okay, you agreed that those traits can be active qualities of the leader of our country.
And our leader reflects who we are, for better and for worse.
Now at this point, maybe you're feeling attacked. That was the whole point of your blog posts, right, was that you felt attacked for believing and being what you are? You felt oppressed, silenced, marginalized.
I empathize. I really do. It can't be a good feeling, believing that people don't respect who you voted for, what you voted for, who you are.
Maybe there are a few other groups of people who understand what that's like.
When I danced with my mom at my wedding, I picked what is probably not a common song. There were the obvious ones about relationships between moms and sons and probably even songs about weddings. They're all, frankly, a little corny. I couldn't do it.
Now I just want to look more like love.
I just want to look more like love.
This whole world is spinning crazy; I can't quite keep up.
It's the one thing around here that we don't have quite enough of.
So I just want to look a little more like love.
I picked the song not because I thought it applied to that particular moment in time but because it applies to every particular moment. I want that song to be in my head every time I think about doing something stupid, something selfish, something that helps me but hurts another.
That song is in my head this morning and I'm struggling with the feelings that come with it. Something has happened and I didn't cause it, but I'm afraid of where it could be taking us.
I've been of voting age for three elections now and this one has been immeasurably more nasty than the other two. This election thrived completely on an Us Vs. Them mentality and I think it was probably won on it. The more compelling side seemed to better project the need of protecting an Us from a Them and that's where we're left.
What worries me is the definitions of Us and Them. Will people I care about be considered Them? Will people I don't even know but deserve rights just the same as you and I be considered Them? And if so, who will protect Them?
These are questions we don't know, but there is one thing I think I can say with certainty: This Isn't Us.
America is acceptance, and this is straying a little to things more personal to me, but Christianity is acceptance too. Don't believe the scary people you see on TV that tell you they're for something or that they believe something. There are good Americans that want to protect the rights of all people. There are good Christians who want to love all people.
It is now, of course, on us to reveal what we are, if this is not us. It is up to us to love and protect and fight and rally and cry together. I hope that we'll actually do it. I hope this churning in our collective stomachs last more than just today, and this week, and this year. I hope we move forward and find something like healing for a broken people.
I hope we learn, every day, to look a little more like love.