My Body and Other Adventures: Happiness as an Act of Defiance
I recently celebrated my first 40th birthday. I’m still toying with the idea of whether it will be my last or if perhaps I shall just continue to turn 40 for the next few years. I was surrounded by so much love — both of my partners, my parents, some of my partners’ parents, and many relatives and friends from around the country had all made it. It was a sun-drenched party, and I wore the most main character dress ever, drank sparkling wine made by a friend, and basked in the joy of it all. Of course, I was not the star of the show. The star was my nine-month-old daughter, who was happy to be passed from auntie to auntie to uncle. She was taken from my arms at 1 p.m., and I didn’t see her again until 4 p.m.
But while we were all celebrating on the patio of a friend’s brand-new restaurant, the institutions of the United States were — and are — being tested and dismantled. I have a bit of news binging disorder, coming up for air just long enough to stay sane before diving back in. I’ve been closely following the many court decisions (largely being ignored) about deportations and the blatantly illegal suspension of habeas rights. I’ve been seriously unnerved by the government’s apparent lack of concern about Russian imperialist aggression. And don’t even get me started on Elon Musk. I know that everyone at my party has been worried about the same things. We’ve all talked about it and discussed the small ways in which we’re trying to be a positive force in society. But on that sunny afternoon, you would think none of us had a care in the world.
Source: AP/NORC.
It turns out humans are capable of having many feelings at the same time. There is room in my heart for friendship and happiness as well as existential dread. There’s a stereotypical image of people like me: “diverse”, queer, polyamorous, pro-science, concerned about global warming. It’s the portrait of a miserable wokescold who’s paralyzed with fear because they believe that they should be making the better choice. Don’t drink cow’s milk, because of bovine happiness. Avoid almond milk because almonds are a water-intensive crop. Oat milk is full of emulsifiers and gums, and so on and so forth. And that’s just milk. An overabundance of information and engagement can drive you mad if you let it. But the notion that caring is a direct path to unhappiness is one propagated by incels, fascists, and nihilist trolls. The image of the pathetic liberal crippled by their own attempts to do good is a meme, a joke, and a punchline — in some ways, a self-inflicted one.
When I was pregnant with this little chicken nugget, a dear friend asked me how I felt about having a child while living on the “darkest timeline.” This was before Trump was reelected, but it still felt like the world was ending. Climate disasters loomed large, and authoritarianism was on the rise at home and abroad. My husband and I had started to talk about having a child back in 2016. We weren’t quite ready, but I suddenly started to feel like maybe a baby was in my future. Hilary Clinton was running for president and talking about real ways to make childcare affordable and expand access to healthcare. I thought I could have a baby in that world. Then we failed to elect our first female president, and my family kicked the ball down the road.
The next time I felt ready, there was a pandemic. I live in rural California with very limited access to medical facilities, and it just didn’t seem like a great idea to get pregnant at the time. Then there was finally a vaccine, and we were excited to start trying and trying and trying. Month after month, I continued to be emphatically not pregnant. After much testing and some incredible insurance, we decided to commute six hours to the Bay Area to do IVF. I was lucky. We got seven healthy embryos on our first try. The first transfer was successful, and I now have the cutest, sweetest, funniest, smartest little girl of all time.
I didn’t just get pregnant. I thought long and hard about getting pregnant. We spent years pondering it. I was coordinating with both of my partners. We were talking to a lawyer for months to make sure that we would all be legal parents. And yes, of course, I thought about the state of the world. And yet, I still decided to spend my time and money going through IVF to do this. Perhaps it’s a symptom of my news consumption habits, or my social milieu, but the thought kept nagging me: how could I look at the world and do this huge thing? My climate anxiety alone should have been enough to stop me.
I think it’s human nature to feel that the challenges we face are always the gravest. At the same time, the events of this presidency make me think that we really are on one of the darker timelines. I told my friend that we’re going to pour all of our love and hope into this little child, and who knows, maybe she’ll one day save the world. Whatever she grows up to do, I’m sure she’ll make her corner of the universe just a little bit brighter. As parents, what more can we ask?
I have decided to choose joy and hope as an act of resistance. Believing in human rights, caring about the world, and trying your best to be a force for good doesn’t doom you to be a sad wokescold. You can have a life that is full of beauty and delight. More than that, joy is in itself a defiant Fuck You to all of the miserable trolls, haters, and chaos agents. We don’t have to talk ourselves out of our own happiness — we can choose joy. You can walk away from the madness and cuddle your baby, or commune with nature, or just breathe and acknowledge that the world is more than the most alarming headlines or toxic online posts.
I can be disgusted that we are sending legal residents to gulags in El Salvador and also celebrate my birthday. I can be worried about the state of US democracy and also laugh with my baby. I can even stress about insane tariffs and also drink imported wine. These things are not incompatible.
If you’re looking for me and my little girl, you might find us in the streets protesting Trump’s dictator-chic birthday military parade, or you might find us walking the dogs on the beach or having brunch with friends. Because, even in these dark times, I am more than a depressed and angry scold. I’m a fulfilled human with a beautiful family and wonderful relationships, and I’m not going to let politics, carbon emissions, or debates about nut milk get me down.
Published June 15, 2025
Published in Issue XIII: Heretic
