A New Year and I Still Hope

The world is a mess. We'll make it better.

(Photo by Taylor Deas-Melesh on Unsplash)

Like many of you (most?), I’ve been struggling with what to say about 2021, and nothing felt quite right. I realized the part of me that has long been characterized by enduring optimism feels more than a little tattered lately.

It’s been a tough year. My mother died. A few friends died. I lost work due to the pandemic, and I can’t remember the last time I hugged friends with whom I’d hangout two or three nights a week before COVID hit.

There’s just a lot of loss and loneliness, and it’s very easy to get turned around in the fog these days. We’re all feeling that.

So, I wanna tell you a quick story that reminds me of why hope is a powerful thing, especially in a time like this.

In 1980, a psychiatric nurse at Chicago's Michael Reese Hospital (and mother of two) divorced her husband in the midst of a particularly troubled married life and decided to pursue her lifelong dream of an acting career. She was 40.

She had a poignant catalyst: her mother's deathbed confession that she regretted not pursuing her own dreams. So, this woman, with no previous experience or training in acting, signed up for classes at the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago.

For ten years, she made a bumpy transition into acting. To support herself and her kids, she painted houses and hung wallpaper. She slowly learned the craft, winning parts in local theatre productions. And in 1990, at age 50, she was hired as a street performer at Disney World.

She built up her confidence, and after a year there, moved to L.A. to make a full-court press for her dream. Imagine the harsh critiques at this point. Friends and family looking at this incredulously. "You're making a mistake." "Who's going to hire a 50 year-old woman?"

Over the next several years, she worked hard and won guest roles on a long list of notable television shows of the '90s: E.R., Seinfeld, Frasier, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Home Improvement, etc. She just kept driving. She was making enough money doing what she loved.

And in 1999, she got her big break: 60 year-old Kathryn Joosten won the part of Dolores Landingham (Mrs. Landingham) on "The West Wing". The character's death was a crucial plot line in one of the finest episodes of television ever produced: 2nd season finale "Two Cathedrals".

She would go on to have numerous guest roles in other shows—as well as a bit role in 2005's Wedding Crashers—before being cast as Karen McCluskey in "Desperate Housewives", for which she won two Primetime Emmy Awards.

Joosten had survived lung cancer in 2001 and 2009 and became an advocate for awareness on the disease. She died in 2012 at 72, having very much earned the right to say she had lived a full life.

I’ve told this story before on Twitter because it powerfully illustrates the nonsense of ageism, but there’s, of course, a deeper truth here: the priceless nature of grit and the power of believing in a better future.

It speaks to me because on so many different levels, I’m not supposed to be here.

I am a trans woman who grew up in conservative spaces in Central Texas, never believing I’d one day be able to fill out skin that felt authentically like mine.

I am a survivor of sexual abuse and deep childhood trauma, diagnosed with severe depression and PTSD, and I stand here astounded at the healing I’ve witnessed over the years, healing I didn’t think possible.

I am a college graduate with a successful career from an impoverished, broken family that isn’t exactly known for persevering.

I have managed to make it to my 30s without the characteristics of cyclic trauma and poverty that pervade my family’s history: teenage pregnancies, drug addiction, alcoholism, run-ins with the law, child abuse, etc.

And yet, I’m not here because of me. I’m proud of I’ve survived, but this is mostly not my doing.

I have arrived at this moment in my life because of the collective labor and kindness of people who lifted me up solely because for them, helping others is what human beings do.

The public school teachers who took me under their wing, the friends who have offered challenging advice and warm laughter, the public servants in the most dreary settings—from social workers to nurses—who simply extended a helping hand without thought of reward or transaction.

I have survived so much—not the least of which is my own brain—because of ordinary people doing heroic labor just for the sake of doing it.

I know the world is scary right now. I’ll be frustrated and worried next week, next month, probably most of this upcoming year. I know there are bad days ahead.

But I can’t possibly look back on my life and all these kind souls who brought me here and not believe things are going to get better.

People are fundamentally good, and we are absolutely at our best when we can believe in each other in the strangest and darkest of moments, when we can believe in a future that holds space for all people.

No matter happens next or how long the road may seem, just try to remember that every one of us breathes in moments owed to the kindness of others. We are the products of generosity and selflessness, even though it often doesn’t feel that way.

Have a lovely new year, folks. Keep hoping.

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