If wishes were horses...

Our wishes inform what we work for, what we build, and where we’re going.

Jul 10, 2024

Since July 4, I have played cards, eaten leftovers, visited with friends, and floated in the pool while reading Louise Penny on my Kindle. I have grieved a mass shooting that happened about five minutes from my house. I have counseled my older daughter through her first real experience of being objectified by a boy and my younger daughter through her first real experience of looking in the mirror and finding fault in her body. I have iced and braced a very unhappy knee. I have asked myself whether I am too frail to be the president and admitted that yes, I certainly am.

I have cried quite a bit. It has been a week of reflecting, from so many angles, on these bodies of ours, how we think about them, how others treat them, and how they change and need and desire and ache and persevere.

Time has felt thick and muddled here, days turning to syrup without the rhythm of work, school, alarm clocks, three actual meals. Even so, it marches forward, and I feel myself willing it forward faster. We’ll leave for vacation; school will start; the election will happen. With that anticipation comes some anxiety, so I packed for vacation. I bought school supplies and completed the online registration forms. And for the election? I scroll and read and fret.

Donald Trump’s unfitness for office is well-worn territory. I find myself tempted to skip stories about his rallies, advisors, and plans because, at this point, I can imagine them with about 95% accuracy. It is no surprise, for example, that he disclaims knowledge of Project 2025, that he is dancing around Republicans on abortion, that he believes his New York conviction should be overturned, that he is worried about whether his Vice President should have a beard. We know who he is. To borrow the most searing line from Taylor Swift’s “thanK you aIMee,” Donald, I don’t think you’ve changed much.

That’s why I find the blame-the-media argument unpersuasive. The reporting on Trump continues; it just lacks impact. Trump is not in flux, not really, not right now. President Biden is. Say what you will about the debate, the George Stephanapolous sit-down,

the letters, the Morning Joe phone call, the NATO summit…

President Biden is different today than he was six months ago. He is different in both what he’s saying (as one example: I’ve heard him uplifting Democrats in the past; now, we are constantly hearing that he’s the only one capable of doing the job) and, more obviously, in how he’s saying it.

Perhaps it is a difference that doesn’t trouble you. I can respect that. As I am writing this note, a number of Democratic leaders publicly insist that they are not at all troubled. Privately, the conversation sounds a little different. As you’ve heard on the podcast, I think it would be a mistake for Biden to continue seeking the presidency. Derek Thompson has summarized my perspective more succinctly than I can:

Sarah has been in activist mode on this topic. I always admire Sarah’s passion and orientation to action. I’m aligned on the big picture and in a different place on the posture, as is so often the case in our relationship. The summer syrup of time makes me wistful and pulls me in a million directions. I wish for no more violence. I wish that my daughters would never experience objectification or negative self-image. I wish my knee would never falter and that my own health were more consistent and vigorous. I wish that President Biden would graciously accept the appreciation of the nation and campaign hard for a successor.

And I wish that we weren’t living yet another long, awful tail of Trumpism through the Biden post-debate discourse. I wish that we would stop venerating anger, doubling down, and denial. I wish that we would trust each other to critique candidates vigorously and still make a rational calculus when it’s time to vote. I wish that we would still value the free press even when we don’t love what’s being reported. I wish we cared more about fidelity than loyalty.

My grandmother used to say, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” I think that’s true, but not in the way I heard it as a kid. Our wishes inform what we work for, what we build, and where we’re going.

If I wish for no more violence, I can meaningfully engage in work to prevent it.

I can teach my daughters about boundaries and managing insecurity.

I can care for my body to the best of my ability.

I can share my perspective on the election, and I can vote.

I can try my best to bring a sense of civic grace to the table.

I can fail at all of this and forgive myself and try again, over and over.

I can trust that I’m not the only one, that this isn’t the only day, and that it matters, even when it doesn’t work out the way I hope.

Through it all, this body of mine, like yours and Trump’s and Biden’s, will sometimes float, sometimes swim, sometimes cry. It will always be changing, needing, desiring, aching, and persevering—until it doesn’t anymore. We’re all just here for our time. We all decide how to use it, and we’re all subject to circumstances we didn’t choose. It is heart-wrenching and invigorating and comforting to know this is true, and it gets me through every season.

I know that many of you are feeling incredible stress right now, both about this election and about all kinds of life coming at you. I told Maggie that rather than writing a note for the newsletter, I wish I could just give everyone a hug.

I’m not going to tell you that everything will be okay because I have no idea what comes next. Whatever comes next, some things will be okay, and some won’t be. I just know that we will be here together through it all. For today, please know that I am wishing you more of your version of Louise Penny in the pool and less of your version of gun violence, broken-hearted kids, and angry knees.

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