one day at a time

I went to portland (the oregon one) by train a couple weekends ago. I had a fantastic time exploring the city and spending time with friends. I ate some pretty great food and spent too much money on obscure magazines! Some time in the days after we returned I came down with a cold. In 2026 I'm grateful that it was just a cold. The recovery is typical but I forget every time how to treat them. I only remember the adage that doesn't even seem to be true. Is it, "feed a fever and starve a cold?" Or, "starve a fever and feed a cold?" Either way, I opted for tea, soups, and a lot of rest. Every night I went to bed expecting to wake up feeling a little better. It's only a cold, right? People used to go back to work the day after their fever broke. But every morning I woke up feeling about the same or a little worse, even. I felt great enough Tuesday night (after my husband caught the cold from me) to make us a pot of ramen. But by Wednesday morning I had a splitting headache and a sore throat again.

Last week I read about Kansas invalidating the IDs of 300 trans residents. Elected officials there passed a law invalidating the licenses of people who changed the gender marker on their ID. The governor vetoed the law. But the majority of their state house and senate overruled her. And last week the state sent 300 trans people a letter about the new law. It takes effect immediately. There was no grace period. Anyone affected would have to get to the DMV, sometimes hours away, some risking a drive on an invalid license. They'd have to pay for a new license even if their old one hadn't expired. One trans woman never changed the gender marker on her ID and it was still invalidated. This is horrifying. It's panicking. There are lawsuits of course. But until they resolve, trans Kansans must either break the law or detransition on government documents. Following the law means making oneself vulnerable to transphobia or facing people who don't believe the new ID is legitimate.

This new law in Kansas merely continues a steady unwinding of rights that belong to trans people. Elected officials like Gavin Newsom want to convince us that we will win again. We only have to give up the people who matter to us. He wants his party to be "culturally normal." As if the people who hate us will stop when they get a win. As if we don't seek solidarity to stand unified against oppression.

Many of us know, by instinct these days, that progress isn't linear. We can plug away at something for years before the dam breaks, metaphoric or otherwise. Fighting for human and civil rights doesn't work like a project plan. We may be able to check off accomplishments (right to vote). But it's harder to mark public sentiment (willingness to let people vote). I see the winds shifting in strange ways. People who oppose the war in Iran is leagues higher than people who opposed the war in Iraq when I was a kid. Or even the war in Iraq when I was an adult. Public sentiment against ICE has turned against it in part because of who's in charge of the agency (or was, ha ha). But we don't really know what will make a difference. Keeping score or marking tallies doesn't work. Widespread change can happen at any time. It may never happen. We don't know what will galvanize the people we need to join us in change.

I hope I will be even closer to well when I publish this essay than I am while I'm writing it. Every day this week I woke up expecting to have arrived safely at my destination. But I was healing. It's hard to notice progress when we're busy counting days. If there's anything I can hold onto as time marches on, it's that.