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April 9, 2025 was not a good day. We were exactly one week removed from losing our beloved 14-year-old dog, Josie, and I was still deeply in the throes of grief.
There was something special about Josie, a rescue from Alabama who came to us at six months old in 2011. I’d loved all the dogs that were in some part mine over my lifetime, but Josie, with her unique coloring and her sweet, quirky, intuitive manner, was our family dog—the dog our daughter grew up with. And there’s just something special about the pets who helped us through the pandemic, isn’t there?
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My husband and I were in the midst of running a somber errand: picking up Josie’s remains. They were lovingly encapsulated in a beautifully carved wooden box marked with her name (shout out to Lap of Love [ [link removed] ] for managing this very difficult process so compassionately). Suddenly I heard the familiar tone of an AP news alert. I glanced at my phone and started hyperventilating. Donald Trump was having Miles Taylor [ [link removed] ] investigated for treason [ [link removed] ].
Miles Taylor is honestly one of the nicest people I’ve met in the political world. Always upbeat. Always trying to help others out. A positivity that belies the very trying times [ [link removed] ] he’s been through. No, I am not Miles’ ghostwriter, but our paths crossed at the Renew America Movement (RAM), where Miles was the executive director, and I worked on comms projects for the Renew America Foundation.
When RAM merged with the Forward Party in 2022, the foundation staggered on for a bit but was eventually shuttered the following year. Miles made sure he found a place for my newsletter, The Topline—and me—to land. That was typical Miles. How could this genuinely good guy be stuck in this godawful position?
Reaction and Resolve
On Signal, a bunch of us mobilized. Comms people, fundraisers, digital managers, campaign staffers—the people you typically don’t know who toil behind the political scenes (sorry we left you out, Jeffrey Goldberg). We were all scared. Scared for Miles. Scared for the other people we know who might be next. Where do you put that fear? How do you talk to your friends outside the political world about it? You really can’t.
There was some gallows humor, too. One of the group was flying out of the country soon. If they’re being unusually quiet on the chat, they said, we’d know they were either picked up at customs and disappeared by the feds, or they simply decided to stay in a place that feels safer right now. We all hit the laugh emojis, but I know I wasn’t the only one thinking that scenario didn’t sound quite so outlandish.
I won’t lie: I had some fear for myself too. How far would Trump go? I’m a nobody, but I know a few somebodies. Would that matter? I have a family, an elderly mom I care for. Would I be better off just leaving my little niche in this chaotic space and going back to a 9-to-5 close to home? Something completely off the radar?
Ultimately I decided I could not. I like the work I do. I’m good at it. And I feel like it’s the small role I can play to oppose a movement that stands against nearly every value I cherish—as an American, as a Christian, and as a human being. And also…fuck Trump. I’m usually not so crass, but these days it’s all that suffices. The idea that an American citizen feels compelled to consider, even for a fleeting moment, whether they should leave a career they enjoy because of what the President of the United States might think of it is exactly the right reason to remain in it.
Seeing Different Things
One thing you are reminded of daily in this or any field is the humanity of the people you work with—something that gets utterly lost on social media. It was always bizarre and deeply unsettling to me to see my colleagues, like Miles, discussed on Twitter as if they were domestic enemies rather than fellow Americans. The “deep state,” they’re called scornfully, these people who take an oath to the country, and by and large serve it to the best of their abilities. When you know these people, when you see their joys and struggles up close, it’s tremendously demoralizing to know that so many Americans see something quite different.
But it works in the other direction, too. I’ve always thought in retrospect that “the dress” [ [link removed] ] paved the way perfectly for the cognitive dissonance of the Trump era. Do you remember it? Three months before Trump tossed his hat in the ring for president in 2015, a photo of a dress went viral globally, fiercely dividing the online world. Was the dress blue and black, or white and gold? Seems like a simple enough question, but the answer was anything but. The phenomenon led to legitimate inquiries related to neuroscience [ [link removed] ] and [ [link removed] ] vision [ [link removed] ] perception [ [link removed] ], revealing stark differences in how human beings perceive stimuli that would otherwise seem absolute.
To me, Trump is the personification of that dress. He is simultaneously perceived as hero and villain, with very little ambiguity to spare. It’s part of what makes him so dangerous. He is both deliberately and organically divisive. Yes, his demagoguery and impetuous, spite-fueled actions inflame our existing divisions unlike anything we’ve seen in modern American history—just as intended. But it’s more than that. His personality, his character (or lack thereof, depending on your viewpoint), his very existence are almost preternaturally contentious.
In a healthy society, we wouldn’t be voting for someone like Trump. Our political goals wouldn’t include “owning” other citizens. Indeed there was a time when parties sought to promote candidates deemed the most acceptable to the other side, as opposed to the most loathsome. Those days appear to be long gone, as is the sense of trust we Americans once had for our institutions and toward one another.
Clearly there are numerous valid reasons for that breakdown beyond Trump, but his return to the White House indicates that they represent far more than a temporary bump in the democratic road. We’re in uncharted territory now, where nothing feels secure or predictable anymore. It’s a scary time to be an American.
Embracing the Fear
Losing our Josie would have been heartbreaking in any year—all dog parents know that. But losing her in 2025 has been destabilizing. I can’t really blame her for peacing out when she did. She had a good, long, happy life filled with treats, toys, naps, more treats, and the occasional long walk. And she was struggling with arthritis, dementia, and two tumors that were growing faster than we could keep at bay with treatment. It was time. But dang, I’ve come to realize she was more than my dog; she was an emotional anchor. At a time when every anchor counts, losing this one has been tough, and it’s heightened every emotion I’ve experienced since—especially my anxiety.
There is nothing I can do with the fear I feel for my friends, my family, myself, and our country. For the innocent people being snatched up daily by a modern-day Gestapo. For the vulnerable losing services they depend on to live and thrive. For the thousands out of work, sent packing from the federal government without so much as a thank you. For the small-business owners, the veterans, the scientists, the farmers, the educators, the factory-workers who will be impacted by this administration’s policies. For the kids who will get diseases—some we thought were eradicated—because of the defunding of vaccine and other medical research. And so, so many others.
The fear is always there on some level, simmering just beneath the surface, occasionally making itself known physically in a patch of eczema or a spell of indigestion. I rejected my first instinct to run away from it, choosing instead to acknowledge its presence and keep moving forward in spite of it. That’s where I am now. Eventually I hope to embrace the fear, even use it as a tool. Find a way to live beside it, the way people like Miles have.
I’ll let you know when I get there.
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