Tumultuation
Transformation amid tumult (and turmoil) (and tyranny)
I’m baaaaaack.
Thanks again for indulging me in Saturday’s “bonus” content. I was in a real spin after attending a local No Kings protest, and I had some stuff that I needed to get out. The event itself was great, as I wrote and spoke about the other day. Updated numbers put the Weymouth crowd at over 700, almost double the original estimate. That number, 400, felt very low to me based on my “count how many people are within a 10-foot radius of me then multiply” estimating system so I was happy to have my suspicions confirmed. We the people were out in force in Weymo. I’ve lived here, for all intents and purposes, since I was 5 (save for my college years in Maine and a 5-year stretch post-college in Quincy)—and I have never protested anything. I think that really says something. But there I was, protesting for the first time in my hometown, standing out and standing up for the second time in my 58 years…same subject—namely not wanting to be someone’s subject.
In parallel with the protest, there was the aftermath of the assassination (attempt) in MN, continued manufanfare (manufactured fanfare) about the Army’s 250th parade, and there were a lot of partisan, personal (partisinal?) (why do I keep making up words today?) attacks on social media. The oft-targeted “woke libt-rds” (I hate that second word but it’s the one that is used most frequently, often with that modifier) are called hypocritical, we’re sheep, we’re unamerican. We’re getting paid to protest when we should be focusing on celebrating the Army’s milestone birthday—obviously we *hate* America, can’t think for ourselves, and will *never* agree with anything Trump says or does, just because…why exactly???
And if only that parade were a true celebration of the Army. If only…
Anyhow, as a rule, I find that it’s the absence of facts, the lack of critical thinking (considering facts and expert opinions and experience and putting them all together to come out with one’s own take on things), and the general rush to judgment (with party lines as arbiter) continue to cause the unraveling of the fabric of our democracy
So as proud as I was (am) of myself for going and protesting alone, particularly when I could have come up with plenty of reasons (aka excuses) to stay home, as uplifting as the energy of the crowd was, as inspired as I was by all the horn-honking car-dwellers driving by, when I got home, I couldn’t shake the heaviness of it all. So Saturday’s “Extra” post was me processing my reaction in real time, and I used this medium because I knew other people were feeling it too.
Today’s regularly scheduled post, on transformation (because it’s Tuesday), is about what has happened since—the mental processing of all that is going on, me assimilating the influx of facts and my own experience with my own worldview (and updating it as necessary), me trying to figure out what comes next, etc. etc.
It feels like a lot right now, particularly when I layer on my professional “situation.” Originally not my plan (the layoff in 12/23, one which I apparently did not report on here 🤷♀️), it’s now a mess of my own making (turned down an offer), and it’s starting to wear on me—despite the fact that most days find me hard at work on my “ideas.” I’m actually making progress on those, though I do need a little structure in my process, and I need a greater sense of what comes next. It’s like I have to both slow my roll and pick up my pace—at the same time.
Enough about that, though…back to business.
The relationship between perspective and transformation is not lost on me. In order to truly transform, we must think differently, see things from new angles, consider alternate viewpoints, etc. Even if we end up back where we started, we have transformed…our old thinking is new. We have done the work. We have considered possibility. We have validated our beliefs. It reminds me of that old Buddhist (I think?) expression that says, essentially, we never stand in the same stream twice. The transformation occurs not just when we know that, logically, but when we experience it, practically and actively—when we realize that we are different people standing in different water, we see that it’s a different stream. In today’s world, practically speaking, that means paying attention to what is going on around us, and for being wholly accountable for our actions and our opinions, our lack of action and our neutrality. It means not assuming we know something because we’ve been there and done that. It means that maybe something that we tried in the past will work now—if it’s that important, we won’t give up. We need to see possibility wherever we look, even places we’ve looked before.
I keep thinking about that song from the musical Hamilton, “The World Was Wide Enough” and even though it isn’t my favorite song in the show (and don’t ask me to pick which one is, I just know it’s *not* that one), it’s the one that keeps playing in my head. The many cautionary tales in it are particularly applicable today. Yes, the world is wide enough, but does it matter if we don’t realize it until it’s too late? If we keep ceding space to ego, pride, fear, greed, hatred, and ignorance?
Thank God I’m not a flat earther because at times it feels like that wide old world is going to tip us all into the sea…into some great abyss…
The show is both a reflection and a mirror, a journey through historical complexity, dissent, and ambition that just as easily could tell the story of today—if you swapped out the costumes and changed the names. Revisiting the soundtrack, I was struck by how quickly I could map the lyrics to the current political moment. The ease of drawing parallels was mind blowing…and, honestly, terrifying.
Here are a few song-related observations that I think are worth noting:
“My Shot.” Obvious, yes, but in my experience when we take the obvious for granted, we lose some fundamental knowledge of the “why” of things. When we can’t be explicit about why something does or doesn’t matter, when we can out the supporting words to our beliefs or our actions, we weaken our standing. We must not ignore the call to action, and we must not minimize the impact that one voice can have, thus the repeated exhortation to “rise up.”
“Wait for It.” This song celebrates strategic patience and advocates for resilience. It’s *not about* being passive. It’s about waiting—actively, mindfully, and with intent.
“History Has Its Eyes on You.” What we do matters, it makes a difference, it will be remembered, and it will be felt…to what degree and for how long, who knows? But make no mistake, history is watching us all, always, and especially so in this time of conflict.
“Dear Theodosia.” There is an intergenerational aspect to this “right now.” This moment stands on its own, sure, but it’s also connected, forwards and backwards. This is a song about hope, and our role in delivering it to future generations.
“Non-Stop.” This one’s all about urgency, and reminds us of the delicate balance between waiting and acting…I sometimes feel like I am writing like I am running out of time…and it reminds me that while you never know what the next hour will bring, you need to be at peace with it. Whether that means waiting for something or writing like you’re running out of time, well, that depends.
“The Room Where It Happens.” Come on. We need transparency!
“Burn.” This is about (re)claiming narrative, of not being marginalized, of wielding personal power, particularly in the face of adversity. Who gets silenced? Who walks away? Why?
“It’s Quiet Uptown.” Shared moments, be they of grief or joy, bind us together; empathy is the bridge to great divides, bringing healing, forgiveness, and hope to even the darkest of hours.
“Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” The ultimate reckoning on impact, on memory, on legacy, and the role that both what we do—and public perception—play in defining who we are, long after we’re gone.
I could go on and on and on (I know…you get it by now!), but long story short:
RISE UP!
Moving right along…
The recent news of the death of Loretta Swit—best known for her portrayal of Margaret (Hot Lips) Houlihan on the long-running TV series M*A*S*H*—got me thinking about that show. It too holds up as reflection and mirror, a cultural artifact shaped by its time, and a lens we can still use to examine some one today’s issues. Nowhere is that clearer than in the character of Maxwell Q. Klinger, played by Jamie Farr.
Klinger famously wore (often outlandish) women’s clothes in an attempt to be declared insane, discharged from service, and returned home. That alone speaks volumes of the beliefs of the era—what other explanation could there be for a man to wear dresses, if not madness or moral depravity? Or so the logic went. The gag was played for laughs, but the laughs came at the expense of dignity and difference.
And yet the character endured. The gag outlived the original joke, with Klinger gradually shifting from a caricature to something more complex. In his own roundabout way, Klinger became a challenge to rigid norms—about masculinity, about military expectations, about who “belongs.” He started as a punchline but ended up as social commentary. Knowingly or not, M*A*S*H* and Corporal Klinger gave us a mirror to reflect on gender, culture, and conformity. That mirror still exists today, in reruns and in what we choose to take from them. And it reminds us: representation matters.
Because here we are again, in a time when difference is once more treated as deviance—and where those who defy binary norms are being pushed out of service, community, and visibility. We’ve looped back to where Klinger began. Only now, it’s not satire. It’s policy.
Transitions—whether of gender, identity, or understanding—are transformations. And transformation is not insanity. It’s growth. When history offers us a mirror, the least we can do is look. And then look again.
These shows weren’t meant to be prophetic, but they’re certainly feel that way. Hamilton invites us to wrestle with legacy—who speaks up, who stays silent, and who shapes the story that lives on. M*A*S*H*, in its own offbeat way, reminded us that the most seemingly ridiculous behavior is a cleaver way of pushing back against an even more ridiculous system. Klinger may have started as a punchline, but he became something deeper: a mirror reflecting the way we allow fear, bias, and bureaucracy to define what is “acceptable,” what is “normal.” Both works offer us more than a good watch, more than nostalgia—they offer warnings we’d be wise to heed and pose questions begging for answers.
What we do—or don’t do—with the mirrors we’re given says everything about the future we’re creating.
What each of us does plays a role in where we end up. It’s not just about what you do; it’s also about what you don’t do. We have choices. Agency. Ownership. Accountability. For the one life we have, the only one we’ve been given.
We can make a difference. Neutral is anything but. Neutrality is not without consequence. That’s a topic I explored in my Wednesday…Whatever… series and bears a mention here—taking a stand, choosing a side, speaking up for what you believe it, knowing and defending what you stand for…none of that has to be the same as picking a fight. And being neutral, “being nice,” that hardly means everything is automatically copacetic—real harm can come from neutrality and inaction, and real consequences can result.
So, how will we tell our story? How will we act? Who will we be in the narrative?
These are among the questions that we must pay attention to and endeavor to answer, if we’re to ensure that the world stays wide enough—open and welcoming to all, embracing difference, and collaborating for better outcomes.
I really do believe that the world is wide enough for all of us—if we want it to be. I also am very grateful that this space here is big enough for all of us, and I give you my sincerest thanks for sharing yourself here, with me.
Love you too.
I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to give me a microphone, but away we go. For better or for worse, this habit is starting to stick!
Neutral is anything but! Thanks Nicole!