Fuck Paradise
I choose hardship. I choose creative imagination. I choose soul.
LISTENING: to non-stop Paramore
FEELING: so fucking annoyed
SEEING: the fall sun set painstakingly early
In her book "Hope in the Dark," beloved writer Rebecca Solnit writes: "I think victories must be temporary or incomplete; what kind of humanity would survive paradise? ... For paradise does not require of us courage, selflessness, creativity, passion: paradise in all accounts is passive, is sedative, and if you read carefully, soulless."
I don't want paradise anymore. I'm sick of the illusion. I want to see the world for what it is. Life on this planet shouldn't feel like a fucking vacation. It should be work. We should be constantly growing and building and improving ourselves and our communities — and not materially but spiritually and emotionally. I live in New York City, one of the few places that have always felt like a sort of paradise for my various peoples: queer folks, Latines, and immigrants. Well, paradise is fading.
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The return of Donald Trump to the White House — and specifically the Latine voters who helped put him in power — has me fearful. It also has me angry. Right here in New York, there's been a rightward shift. My Queens neighborhood remained blue, luckily, but Democrats did lose voters.
This is a bad sign for people who care about and/or are affected by climate change.
Welcome to Possibilities, a creative climate newsletter on the possibilities that lie where crisis meets community. I’m Yessenia Funes, and the atmosphere doesn't care about your votes — it reacts only to the greenhouse gases our leaders continue to emit without guilt.