I Don't Know How to Act

I’m not accustomed to good news. After the remarkable but welcome election results, my mind and body are having a hard time adjusting.

For the last two years, I have conditioned myself to simply cope.

I restricted my news to headlines only—but then, only after taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and reminding myself (without really believing it) that this too shall pass. No deep dives into the abyss of sordid details.

I played mental games to keep my sanity. I began each morning with a mantra: “Give up control of the things you can’t control,” and I’m not even an alcoholic—yet…

I refused to look at the news or read the headlines after 5 PM for fear that a nagging worry loop would appear ten hours later derailing my REM sleep.

But my self-control occasionally lapsed, and I would sneak a peek, perhaps reading about the latest illegal deportation of an immigrant whose only crime was having been born brown. Or, I might have learned of a windfall for Trump’s cronies who profited from an insider trading scheme.

After an hour of twisting, turning, and beating my pillow into submission, I would resort to a Cognitive Behavioral Therapy tip:

Imagine sitting next to a fast-moving river. Listen to the water rush by. When the latest troublesome thought encroaches on your sleep, pitch it into the river. Watch it disappear downstream.

Sometimes, it helped.

Now, I wake to headlines that make me smile, even though they are mostly speculation:

Pete Hegseth could be sent to the showers with a squadron of unemployed admirals who are more physically fit than he is.

The entire, unredacted Epstein files may be released, exposing more damning evidence about our philandering Current Occupant. The fallout may convince this convicted felon to apply for his dream job: that of ballroom tour guide.

A proper investigation into the murders of Renee Good and Alex Pretti might flush the guilty parties from hiding and expose them to a justice system with the unusual premise of “innocent until proven guilty.”

It’s all so sudden. How can I adjust to a world with glimmers of justice and hope?

Wait! There’s good news! I’ll be able to make the adjustment slowly.

Tom Emmer remains my non-representative in the lame duck congress, and Stephen Miller, with his horned ears, lizard tail, and three-prong pitchfork, will be perched on the shoulder of our Commander-In-Chief whose head will be cocked in his direction, eager for his plethora of devilish advice.

I’ll still have plenty of time to adjust.