on fear in a new year
Since starting this blog in 2020, I’ve used December as a year's round up. I’ve written about the poetic lines that moved me, the books that left their imprint, and songs that made me feel more alive in my aliveness. I planned to do more of the same, but I feel compelled to address some impending dread I have for 2024.
There are the things within and outside of our control. For the things within my control, like my creative output, the advancement of my business, or my personal growth I feel the momentum building. Simultaneously, shit’s getting expensive. The U.S. homeless population has grown 12% from 2022. My parents’ rent is going up again, fueling my fear that once and for all, they’ll have to move from the neighborhood I grew up in & the only neighborhood where they’ve lived as Chicagoans. I started drafting this post from Lagos, where I went to see my cousin get married. Nigerians party their way through life’s difficulties; cousins and uncles (in fact, my dad asked me to write a visa invitation letter for one of them) tell me about how fuel costs have doubled, tripled even, along with food. And I was just there in August 2022.
And then, the knowledge that my tax dollars support the murder of Palestinian children. That to be American is to be complicit in the murders of innocents worldwide. The difference between CNN and Al-Jazeera’s coverage is maddening, and I can think of few times in my life where I’ve seen the U.S. propaganda machine so blatantly at work. Even when the majority of the world calls this what it is, there are NYT articles suggesting a recall the use of “genocide.” 2024 may be the first election in my 13-year voting history where I don’t vote for any presidential candidate. I cannot in good faith vote for an unabashed friend of Netanyahu. I also fear the vengeance of a 45 re-election and the carnage to follow. That may follow whether or not he is re-elected, honestly.
The radical thing to do is to have hope for 2024. Even in its vengeance and carnage, there’s a shine on the other side. The necessary things will happen. I’ll have the resilience to withstand the microscopic and cosmic shifts alike. I don’t fully believe all of those things but I hope I can grow to. In my 20s, New Year's Eve was usually a night out on the town with friends. The desire to stay in and rest and reflect has grown considerably, though. This year I’ll welcome the new year with a person I love and some charcuterie. There are things I want to celebrate about myself this year, and I will find ways to do so, even when the world is very much in flames.