It feels like fall

I sit outside in the cool air

And smoke, inhaling deeply

It's the only time I feel young again

I miss the feeling of possibility

Of strangers and dark streets

Like anything could happen

When the night was young at 11 PM

They say it's bad for you, I know

But when I breathe in

I feel the buzz of youth and infinity

The feeling like I'm untouchable

I started writing a post for LinkedIn because I'm looking for a new job and need to be "engaged" on the platform to help my chances of landing something...but then it devolved into a rant that I have not proofread, but feel the need to share so maybe someone reads it and it was not a complete exercise in futility.

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We’re seeing an increase in conversations around labor, capitalism and the ways in which American society might benefit from reimagining how workplaces approach employees and how employees approach work. I recently read Derek Thompson’s article in The Atlantic called “Your Career Is Just One-Eighth of Your Life” and it got my wheels turning even further on the subject.

(Read it here: https://www.theatlantic.com/newsletters/archive/2022/09/career-ambition-advice-data/671374/)

Thompson starts the piece off by saying that “autobiography is not advice”, but I question the extent to which he realizes that his own advice is shaped by his very specific and privileged experience as a young white man who graduated from Northwestern and came from a college-educated, successful family. I think you can see the influence of this experience as he hits some of his numbered points in the article.

#1 – He says that the typical career is 80,000 hours long, thus making up “only” one-sixth of your existence. Reminder that the title of the article says one-eighth and I am confused on this point alone – but I don’t want to dwell on it too much because there’s a reason I’m in communications and not an accountant. What I will say is that I’d question if this estimation includes commuting hours or is reflective of many folks who have no choice but to work overtime, whether paid or unpaid, due to the way businesses are structured (the prevailing workplace ideology in the U.S. that you must “always be connected”).

An inability to transition to a work situation that offers better work-life balance due to common barriers to entry like higher education, access and cost of licensure, childcare needs etc. might also account for marginalized folks working above and beyond the 80,000 mark. Ultimately, he ends the section stating “Your career is not your life. Behave accordingly.” Easier said than done when losing your job can have devastating effects – like resulting in the inability to afford life-saving healthcare or feed your family – and many of us don’t have other kinds of safety nets to fall back on (e.g. a race and gender that gets you ahead of the job hunt game without you having to do a thing).

#2 In his next point, he talks about the idea of job hopping, noting that people who switch careers, especially early on, tend to have higher wages. He quotes an economist, Henry Sui, who says that’s because people have found better career matches. That statement in particular raised a flag for me. I think it's more so that their new employers just pay them better (an average of 30% for those who switched jobs over the pandemic), which would point to the fact that their current employers aren’t valuing their work or tenure with fair compensation given a market that’s seen inflation rise a whopping 492% since 2020. I agree job hopping is the way to go, and that often means making lateral moves. In the current economic climate, however, it’s not the way to go simply because you’ll learn new skills or find a role that better suits you (though that may very well happen), but more so to simply snag that pay bump. If your employer really values you, perhaps they should think about giving you a raise or promotion, paying you a fair market rate or, at the very least, giving you a counteroffer when you let them know your plans to jump ship. Otherwise, the grass and the money is literally greener.

#3 Thompson’s next directive is to take a job you actually want to do vs. one that just sounds good at a dinner party or written on your resume. Again, for those with the luxury of choosing more fulfilling work (myself included), this is sound advice, but it leaves behind a swath of average Americans. Yes, I’m talking about the majority of blue-collar workers, but I’m also talking about entry-level and middle-management cubicle gigs too. The simple reality is that the prioritization and pursuit of work that is more fulfilling – like non-profit support, creating art, playing music, writing creatively etc. – is most often going to cost you a decent salary, security, stability and a manageable work-life balance. (If such creative endeavors can even be called “work” is an existential question for a different day.)

Perhaps Thompson should have a chat with fellow Atlantic writer Erin A. Cech about her thoughts on how “Loving Your Job Is a Capitalist Trap.” She says that recommending career aspirants do what they love and deal with the practicalities later “ignores the structural obstacles to economic success that many face, and blames career aspirants if they cannot overcome those obstacles,” a point I less eloquently made above when talking about barriers to entry. That kind of advice assumes the availability of financial safety nets and social-networks that only upper-middle-class folks have access to.

In labor journalist Sarah Jaffe’s book, Work Won’t Love You Back, she also talks about how corporations created the discourse about loving your job as a way to pay workers less and give them fewer benefits. Basically, she says the whole capitalist regime depends on you believing that lie, and I’d rather not fool myself. Hence, why many folks like me are enticed by the idea of “quiet quitting”, which is a purposefully deceptive misnomer (capitalism infiltrates our discourse again!). It really just means having reasonable boundaries around your work life – predictable hours from 9-5 and not deriving a sense of self-worth or meaning from what is often just a means to an end in a capitalist society – you work to get paid. You can engage in the stuff that brings you joy and ignites your passion in your spare time, and this is made all the easier if you’re not working past 10 PM or stressing about getting promoted so you can feel like you’ve “made something of yourself.” Besides, when you’re passionate about something and pursue that kind of work for an organization, chances are your employer will exploit it. That’s why you hear about non-profit workers being burned out so often – we’ll do uncompensated work for the causes we love.

#4 I agree with Thompson that we should be honest with ourselves about what motivates and inspires us, though that can a difficult thing to unpack when you live in a world where everything is commodified, and money is king. Corporate America tries to sell you on the idea that you should do what you love so that you can be a teacher with a graduate degree making the same amount as a waiter and way less than anyone with an OnlyFans page, but you have the pride of doing what you love! Let the low wage work that only benefits the corporations rage on.

Furthermore, many of us don’t have the luxury of having career ambition as “a matter of taste.” You can have all the drive in the world, but you can’t singlehandedly fix broken systems and institutions that often blocks you from achieving those goals, or at least makes the journey decidedly more difficult for some of us over others. When people on the internet decry hustle culture, they’re not dogging on ambition – they’re saying you should be wary of exploitation – like low wages for less job security and longevity. It’s about advocating for fair working conditions and being able to live a comfortable life without dedicating so much time and energy to employers whose CEOs make billions and would just replace you with another cog when you die without a second thought.

#5 Honestly, I almost threw my laptop across the room when Thompson concludes with his fifth and final point – “The best kind of work is voluntary: It’s something you choose to do rather than accomplish under the imminent threat of poverty or getting fired.” I’m not sure where he lives, but in capitalist America, no labor is voluntary. That’s why we call it work. And with all the power that corporations have amassed, it’s hard to find work anywhere where you feel valued for your contributions, treated like a human and not a robot and can therefore free yourself of fears of getting fired. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard bosses and C-suite executives talking about how their lower-level employees should just be happy they’re employed and stop complaining. If that isn’t a low bar, I don’t know what is.

Until we reimagine the capitalist regime and redistribute wealth in an equitable way in this country, choosing more fulfilling work will always be a luxury. Folks are lucky if they’re able to make ends meet. Many can’t conceptualize pushing ourselves out of our comfort zones in the workplace because we’re just trying to stay afloat in a society that doesn’t prioritize healthcare for all or other basic human rights – like the ability to marry who you choose or decide what to do with your own body – for people who aren’t white Christian males. Saying “don’t be afraid to do hard things” in this climate ignores the very hard realities many folks are facing right now. I am not advocating for the elimination of joy from work – if you can find it, good for you – but it’s not so readily available for everyone. For many of us, working for pay can be tedious and soul crushing. Maximizing profit while minimizing time working for that profit seems the best way to preserve your health and sanity in the modern American machine unless you can organize, unionize, strike and take other “radical” steps to fight to change it.

Something happens when you

push your body to the edge

of what it can handle

It reminds you that

you are alive

And despite everything,

you are grateful to breathe

To feel, to hurt

The pain can bring tears to your eyes, sure

But it's also the release

Of anger and disappointment

Everything that's been holding you back

You realize

if you push yourself hard enough

You can move

Sometimes I wish for an endless summer night

Sweet cicada serenades as you drift down the lane

Enveloped by the glow of street lights

Your feet barely touch the ground

As crickets join the singing

And the air smells of fresh cut grass and possibility

Like anything can happen if you wish hard enough

In the twilight, I run headlong into my dreams

Until the sun breaks the horizon at dawn

And I must face the day

I've spent time trying to figure you out, to explain why you do what you do. I suppose it's possible that your daddy made you feel less than, or your mama told you that you'd never make it out of Georgia. It almost made me feel better, trying to solve the puzzle you are, because if I did that, then I would know the reason that you treat me like shit is bigger than us both. But then I get to thinking some more, and it strikes me that even if you have what they call capital T trauma these days, where's the line where you say enough is enough? That all the pain and hurt in the world can't justify you raining it down upon me tenfold? I am working so hard to find the humanity in you so that I don't lose it in myself, so that I am not so consumed by rage and sorrow that I become a black hole that sucks the joy out of everything around me. But on the bad days, and today is one of those days, I keep on thinking still, that just because someone is in a position of power doesn't mean they did anything right to get there. It doesn't mean they're smart, or brave, or deserving. In fact, on today's upside down Earth it's probably more likely that you got there by lying, cheating, deceiving - knocking people down as you go and smiling while you do it, working your way up the ladder of a system that was designed for folks like you to use it this way. And if that's the case, that means life really is unfair and no amount of hollering I ever do is going to make one lick of difference. There's nothing I can do to knock that crown off your head because the game is rigged against me and the only thing there is is to let you force me out, convince me that the only option I have is to leave to save myself, and to be okay with it. To be okay with you still sitting upon your throne built on top of the bodies you burned on the way to the cushion that cradles your ass. When all is said and done, what's the point of anything at all? I think.

I lived in a small white house at the top of a hill. It had a blue door and a lamp post with a wooden sign painted with four leaf clovers and our family name. The house overlooked rolling farmlands speckled with cows, goats and sheep, like white and gray freckles among a sea of green grass.

I remember one summer I watched my grandfather pour cement for our new front walk. Before there were bits of broken slate that led to the porch steps, but soon we would have a proper path leading home. It was bright cream, like the color of fresh milk, and if you looked close enough, little bits of silver gravel sparkled in the sun.

My grandfather worked hard that summer, and though it was over 80 degrees most days, you'd never catch him in a pair of shorts. That man lived in dark blue dungarees and t-shirts, and he'd always have a red bandana hanging out of his back pocket that he'd use to wipe his brow in the summer sun. Sometimes, he'd soak it in cold water and wrap it around his neck as he worked, and I always thought he looked like someone who belonged in an old cowboy movie.

"Feel that cool Southern breeze?" He'd ask, pausing to drink as he tilted his face toward the sky, eyes closed, searching for something.

The truth is, I never could. We lived in New Jersey and most summers, the air was thick and humid. Walking outside some mornings, it was like a weighted blanket had been tossed on your shoulders. The heat was suffocating after sleeping inside, enveloped only by light cotton sheets and the cool whirring of a window air conditioner. It was like that breeze was meant only for him, and it carried memories of a different place and time. He'd escape there, for just a moment, and I'd wonder where he'd gone.

We never wore shoes unless we were riding our bikes, and sometimes not even then. Summer is for bare feet. In the those precious days between June and August, when school was out and the world was our own, we'd run to our friends' houses, catching dandelion heads between our toes. We'd laugh and cannon ball into the pool, watching the little bits of green float up to the surface of the water, undulating. We'd eat tomato sandwiches fresh from the garden and take our secret path through the woods to get into town for slushies and VHS tapes.

One fourth of July, we went to a little field on the side of our path through the woods. There were trees on either side that made it feel closed in, sealed away from the noise of nearby pool parties and barbecues. The sky was the color of rainbow sherbet, soft oranges, purples and yellows as the sun began to set. We laid on beach towels and watched the fireflies start to emerge, like the night sky was calling for them to be part of the show. When the fireworks finally started, I felt I'd burst along with them. We laughed and gasped at all the different shapes and hues, some loudly crackling, others fizzling into the darkness leaving a tail of shimmering light behind. That night, there was nothing else, just wonder and possibility.

As a child, I'd always had an earnest belief that growing up in America was the best possible lot in life. I wondered what it would be like to grow up in other countries, in tiny homes and tiny towns without wide open spaces and good pizza and The Phillies. I confidently watched the Olympics and movies assuming Americans as the heroes of every story. I learned about the forefathers in Social Studies and read about the revolution with reverence. I did not question America as a city upon a hill, just like my own humble house, a place where anything was possible if you worked hard enough.

Though at times throughout history the needle has moved, sometimes closer, sometimes further than the ideals that are supposed to drive us, the truth is that America has never been the place in my memory. Growing up, this discovery started as a dull ache that I thought could be fixed somehow; there was something there I felt worth saving. But now, I'm not so sure.

What once was just a bruise feels like a dozen broken bones to me now.

Sniveling

Cowards

Obtuse

Treacherous

Shitheads

Fuck this place

Fuck these men and the women that enable them

Fuck this idea

Of the greatest nation in the world

Built on bones and lies

I just read an article about a 11 year old Uvalde student who covered herself with the blood of her slain classmate in the hopes that this would fool the shooter into believing her already dead. Her quick thinking paid off, and she lived to tell the story. Her surviving is, of course, wonderful news, but I can't begin to fathom the psychological toll this trauma will have. She will be forever changed.

At 11 years old, I had no concept of mass shootings. The Columbine High School massacre wouldn't occur until two years later. My thoughts were consumed with which Backstreet Boy I would inevitably marry and how to be less terrible at math. These are the kinds of things 11 year olds should be worrying about, but not in today's America.

Hate crimes are rising at staggering rates, with the 10 largest metropolitan areas in the U.S. reporting a record 54.5% increase in incidents, and the year is not even over. There have been over 1.5 million gun deaths in this country since 1968 - that's higher than the number of soldiers killed in every U.S. conflict since War for Independence in 1775. And, as all of us know, mass shootings are becoming deadlier and more frequent nearly every year. While we did see a decline in 2020, the cause is not because of legislative or community action, but likely due to the global pandemic. What a wild concept - too many people were dying from a highly infectious virus to be able to commit and/or die from a mass shooting incident.

While the motivation behind Uvalde is still unknown at this time, we do know that the recent mass murders in Buffalo and Laguna Woods were motivated by hate against Black and Asian Americans, respectively. These horrific acts were also committed against the backdrop of the impending overturning of Roe vs. Wade, which will effectively result in women being forced to give birth, and will inevitably hit Black, Brown and impoverished communities the hardest. All this amidst a seemingly never-ending pandemic and a new Monkeypox virus that sounds like something too cartoonish to be true. Living in this moment is exhausting at best, dangerous and unsustainable at worst.

What's most maddening is the hypocrisy, willful ignorance, radical hate and simple lack of humanity that "Christian" Republican conservatives continue to show through all this. It is simply unbelievable to hear these people rant about the sanctity of human life, when every action they take or advocate for goes against its preservation - anti-choice laws will only result in dangerous, back-alley abortions that will lead to injury and death. Women and folks with uteruses will not only be criminalized, but they will die from dangerous pregnancies that could have otherwise been aborted. Children will be forced to have their rapists' babies, and swaths of people will lose access to live-saving, gender-affirming healthcare. The Republicans in Congress voting against emergency funding for baby formula while at the same time shouting that they are the pro-life party is so absurd you would think it's a tongue-in-cheek scene from The Simpsons.

What's more, in the wake of the shooting that killed 19 children and two adult teachers, the Republicans in Congress responded by voting against a Domestic Terrorism bill that would have set up special offices with the goal of better preparing the federal government to identify risks in order to take preventative action. The bill would have also called for assessments of the threat posed by White supremacists and neo-Nazis, which, when I think about it, would likely result in taking out a significant portion of Republicans in office...so I guess I can now see why they voted it against it after all.

Ted "Lucifer" Cruz is happily waddling to the NRA convention as we speak, because he loves NRA money as much as he loves Cancun, and he wants his blood stained dollar bills to be the only ones in circulation after voting against raising the federal minimum wage and the $1.9 trillion Covid relief bill. Of course, he will inevitably use that money to order some Chinese food from underpaid restaurant workers while he gleefully recalls the time he was one of only six Republicans to oppose strengthening the US government’s response to rising anti-Asian hate crimes in the wake of the pandemic. He'll probably wear an "I'm glad RBG is dead" t-shirt while doing it and reminisce about the Mexican border being full of brown babies in cages in between chews.

I digress, but it's motherfuckers like this that walk around in the wake of mass shootings saying things like "now is not the time for politics" when people ask them simple questions like, "Why does an 18 year old need an AR-15?" "Why can a person legally buy a gun before they're legally allowed to drink?" "Why is the U.S. the only nation in the world that has this problem?" "Why do you think abortion bans and book bans and critical race theory bans and 'say gay' bans would be effective, but gun bans wouldn't be?" "Did your mother not love you as a child?" "How small is your dick, actually?"

Cruz has literally run away from reporters asking these questions in recent days. He also said the solution to this issue is requiring all schools to have one door for entry and exit so we can add fire to the list of leading causes of death for children. Meanwhile other Republican cult members are out here talking about arming and training teachers for these situations when #1, trained police officers have proven that they cannot handle these situations (and in the case of Uvalde, made the situation worse with their cowardice, prejudice and seeming lack of humanity and brain cells) and #2, we are supposed to reconcile the fact that they don't trust teachers enough to make their own curriculum, but somehow trust them with guns?

I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention how absolutely rich it is that these elected officials act as if "talking politics" is some grand affront in the wake of mass shootings when politics quite literally is THEIR JOB. You are supposed to shape and enact laws that will help address horrific societal ills like these. The reality is, they don't actually care about their constituents or other human beings - they care about power, being re-elected and getting lobbying money. They will do whatever it takes in the name of wealth and self-preservation. As for the more backwoods among them, literal campaign slogans include things like, "I believe in Babies, Guns and God."

Speak of the big G-O-D...all these right-wingers seem to talk a lot about the dude while advocating for hate, bigotry and sexism and rallying against any measures that would give communities in need more access to basic human needs like food, shelter and healthcare. Have ya'll really not asked yourselves what would Jesus do? I'm pretty sure this isn't it.

What's worse is that there seems to be this idea that religions deserve respect simply by existing, which makes zero sense. If you know anything about history at all, you know that religion has been one of the main driving factors behind the oppression and murder of people across centuries and continents. Holy wars, honor killings, suicide bombings...not to mention other extremely weird and gross shit like marrying your 12 year old to a dude old enough to be her grandfather and genital mutilation - all in the name of some imaginary peeps in the sky. None of that sounds particularly worthy of respect to me.

And it's not like we automatically respect other belief systems, like racism or homophobia, (though some religious zealots may be fervently on board to do so). We interrogate them because they're based on sheer falsehoods. So why don't we have the same ethical and intellectual responsibility to interrogate religions? You can believe whatever you want to believe, but that shouldn't mean no one gets to criticize you or work to stop practices that are actively harming people.

When religious people say religions deserve respect, what they're really saying is #1 their specific religion (Christians, looking at you), #2 they actually don't mean respect, they mean deference. They want to have a privileged position that exempts them from taking accountability for their own actions and their churches actions. Organized religions essentially train their members to lie to themselves and everyone else, rather than to use science and observable reality to make informed opinions. They advocate for a blind faith in and authority to God and their religious leaders, resulting in dire consequences for democracy and public health and safety.

Organized religions are manmade institutions. They function in the same way that for-profit corporations do - their goals are to build wealth and power so that they continue to exist - by any means necessary. They're in the game of self-preservation too, society at large be damned. Salman Rushdie said it best after the Charlie Hedbo shooting - " ' Respect for religion' has become a code phrase meaning 'fear of religion'. Religions, like all other ideas, deserve criticism, satire, and yes, our fearless disrespect."

With that, I think I will end my rant for today. Until the next mass shooting or human rights violation...

TL;DR: America is a dumpster fire. Conservative Republican fundamentalist Christians are heavily to blame. Hate and hypocrisy are at an all time high. The #1 cause of child mortality in America is now gun violence. Organized religions are dangerous. Everything is rotten here.

America is the home of the brave by necessity

You have to be brave to do anything here

Go to church

Go to school

Go to the store

America is the land of the free for a few

You have to be white to do anything here

Get seen

Get heard

Get by

The red glare burns bright day after day

From the barrel of a gun that aims at anything here

For the Jewish ones

For the Black ones

For the children

Bombs bursting in far away places but still

We bring the war home, it's everywhere here

We are blood

We are tears

We are genocide

Nothing will get us through the night

Even with flags waving everywhere here

Atop bodies

Atop caskets

Atop graves

When you're a nation built on bones

It's only a matter of time before you break

And all that's left

Is rot

Sometimes I look at my eyes and do not recognize them. They shift in color - blue, green, gray - depending on my mood. Sometimes I see a storm in them, gathering strength, quiet but urgent. Other times I see rolling fields of grass swaying in the breeze, endless possibility. When you have fickle eyes, the only thing that remains constant is the space behind them. There, your memories steer the helm of your body. Most times I cannot control the direction of the sails, so I look to the mirror, my eyes like beacons, warning of what’s to come.