surviving a millennial world



We were not worthy of Hillary Clinton

I feel a sense of loss I’ve never felt before. At 23 I’ve never lost a parent or close relative yet who I was close to, but I feel certain this is what it must feel like.

I didn’t know it was possible to cry this much. My tears fall for not just me, but women everywhere, for people who have been sexually assaulted, for people of color, for the LGBTQ community, for Muslims, and for everyone who feels afraid, so afraid right now.

And my tears fall hardest of all for the strongest, most resilient, most amazing woman alive—Hillary. The woman who ran for president not once, but twice. The woman who knew what it was to stay poised when attacked, to stand tall in the face of a deeply misogynistic society, to brush off attacks on her hair or her cleavage, and to deliver the most poised speech of all time in the face of losing an election to a bigot, a racist, a rapist, an inexperienced man-handler.

She would have made history. I feel for her. I feel for us.

I don’t feel dramatic when I say this is one of the worst days of my life. I’m sure I’ve said it before, in high school perhaps, after failing a test or getting sick from bad Chinese take-out, or being bullied in that cruelly subtle way 13-year-olds are capable of.

No, today is the worst. Not only has the country told Hillary that her being experienced and qualified and well-mannered and whip-smart isn’t enough, they’ve told us—they’ve told women everywhere—that we don’t really matter, not that much.

We don’t deserve the right to have sexual assault victims taken seriously. We don’t deserve to own our bodies. We don’t deserve to have our accomplishments and our hard work rewarded. We certainly don’t deserve to be president.

But she did. Hillary deserved to be president and we were finally, finally ready to shatter that glass ceiling, and to shatter it hard, with our sore fists aching, blood dripping from our shorn knuckles.

My tears fall for all of us today. Tomorrow we will fight back.





Thoughts I Had About Moving to NYC Last Week

Is this a good idea?

This isn’t. This is a terrible idea.

It’s too late now, though: I already bought the plane ticket.

One-way. So much more poetic that way.

What if no one hires me?

I mean, I haven’t been able to find full-time employment in Minneapolis. Why would New York be any different?

Because there are more writing jobs, remember?

Okay, but are there?

I need to get a comforter to sleep with.

And a mattress. And sheets.

How much rent does one pay when crashing on a friend’s floor? A third?

I am breaking out so much.

What if I’m never calm again?

Ok, but have I ever been calm?

Everyone who I say I’m moving to says, “Congrats! What job did you get?” And then I say, “no job!” and smile hugely, and they stare at me for six full seconds, then mutter something like: “Wow, so brave.”

Like I’m fighting a deadly disease.

Are there grocery stores in New York? There must be, right? Not just little corner stores?

I wonder how the subway works.

I need to find something to listen to or read on commutes. That’s what New Yorkers do. Well, if I have a job to commute to.

Please let me get a job to commute to.

Ok, this is gonna work. It’s gonna be great. Like Friends, or Sex and the City.

Without the money, or friends, or, um, apartment.

But hopefully with the sexy men.

Who eventually want to move back to Minnesota with me to live near my family.

With three dogs and two cats.

I bet New York has a lot of dogs, just like, walking around. There are a lot in movies.

Like…Must Love Dogs. And You’ve Got Mail.

Those are such terrible movies.



Hey gorgeous!

Because let’s face it, successful you are not. I mean, me either. I’m not trying to come at your life here.

Are your broke but unable to save your money because what are you supposed to do, NOT buy clothes?

Do you make plans with your friends but then cancel on them because you’d rather watch Netflix with your mom?

Are you a recent grad who misses college so much that on graduation day your mom told you you looked like an “over-dramatic girl leaving summer camp”?

Sit down, join me. Wait, but only if you brought wine.

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