America is the loneliest angry song I’ve ever heard.

Last Day 💔 and Michelle’s Snapchat was so beautiful.

This moment is urgent, more urgent than any I can remember: Most everyone who is not a white, Christian, American-born heterosexual cisgender male is terrified of what will come after Jan. 20. We are already seeing what awaits us, with proposed Cabinet appointments and hate crimes and combative encounters on the streets. It’s only been a year and a half since the Supreme Court ruling when we were rejoicing, a year since we were quibbling over whether Carol was too dry, too conventional, too … too … and now we’re bracing ourselves for a huge brutal backlash, one that may very well irrevocably change our lives in the worst possible way, worse than we’ve ever known, whether or not we’re married or parents. For, just because some of us never thought same-sex marriage would be legal in our lifetimes—I certainly didn’t when I first met my wife, Meredith, 15 years ago—doesn’t mean any of us are less entitled to our right to it. Or to be parents to our children. We’re not playing house. We’re not playing at all. And neither is the PEOTUS or his hateful, homophobic, racist, xenophobic, misogynist Cabinet appointees, whose record of destroying lives is unparalleled. Our lawmakers are already preparing to compromise and make deals—they aren’t going to fight on our behalf.

I’m fighting myself. I know I am. One minute I want to remember. The next minute I want to live in the land of forgetting. One minute I want to feel. The next minute I never want to feel ever again.

You have to let go of the life you could’ve had. The life you would be living if you hadn’t made certain choices. The life that would have unfolded if you hadn’t let certain people into your life or if you just hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wishing for things to be different and beating yourself up for the mistakes you’ve made won’t change your circumstances. It’s happened, it’s done, and this is where you’re at. And it’s okay. YOU will be okay. Your life isn’t over — it’s just going to be different. And different doesn’t have to mean bad. It just means you have to become more creative with your self-care. It means you have to find slightly different ways to navigate the world and your relationships. And sometimes, it means finding new strengths; strengths that become anchors and anchors that open new doors. Doors that lead to new passions and friendships and connections. Doors that make you look back and smile for having doubted the resiliency of life - for doubting your own resiliency. You can’t go back and change the past, but you can decide how you live today. Your story isn’t over yet. There may be pain and struggle, but there are always ways to make your time here meaningful and worthwhile. It might take time, and it might challenge you, but the light is there. There is always a way. I promise.

Bad times don’t last. Your happiness is always going to come back.

let me tell you something: no one is going to look at you, broken and shattered and think - damn, you are beautiful. no one is going to come pick up your broken pieces off the floor and assemble them into a beautiful whole. hell, you won’t even look at yourself and think - I made broken look beautiful. you know why? because all those writers lied to you. yes, all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and blood dripping down chins, pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you like hurricanes. liars. so you and i, we are going to make a plan. you are not going to romanticize days when your brain tells you to smash that mirror, you are not going to romanticize the lover who doesn’t understand you but still writes about you. here is what you are going to romanticize instead: you are going to romanticize the first day of spring, its gentle hands all over your body, lifting you up until you are as light as a feather. you are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love, no hurricanes, but sunshine that builds you up from within, that helps you make it through the worst days. you are going to romanticize gentle hands of a friend in yours, telling you that it is going to be okay. because it is. and don’t trust poets, we’re no good, we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount to a beautiful disaster, but in reality - there ain’t nothing beautiful about shaky hands holding a cigarette and empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls. you know what is beautiful, instead? the days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile, scars and all. music that makes your soul flow like a river, books that offer comfort, families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm, friends that give you strength when you can find none, lovers who make you laugh through tears. baby, from now on you are going to romanticize healing; honey dripping down your fingertips, August nights that stick to your skin, the day you find your purpose, long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now. bad news: no one is coming to save you. good news: you can save yourself.