It was the Best of Robes, It was the Worst of Robes.

I'm currently in a pretty serious love-hate relationship with my robe, you guys. This is both metaphor and reality.  To understand my complicated feelings, you first have to get to know my robe. That's it in the picture. (Hi, Robie!  Yes, I love it so much that I call it Robie, or My Robie, which led to the ultimate nerd joke of asking my husband, "Kenya fetch Mairobi?" Look up Nairobi, Kenya if you don't get that stooopid joke.) It's an L.L. Bean full-length fleece robe in Elderberry that I got about 5 years ago, and it ROCKS. It's warm and fleecy, and because it's got a tie, you can make it tight or loose. And it's purple, which is the color of my college sorority (go Gammas!), so it's got that nostalgic element going for it. It's just the most comforting garment that you can imagine; it feels like a big purple hug, and when it's cold out, it's all I want to put on. So it's easy to see why I love it. (if you have one yourself, you KNOW why I love it!)  Seriously, if you're in the market for a full-length robe, this is THE ONE, and they have it in several colors. Put it on your Christmas list now!!

Having extolled the many merits of Robie, you might be wondering what on earth could make me hate such a fabulous, hygge garment.  This needs some context as well...

If you don't know my story, a quick google search of my name will probably catch you up. (I'll wait while you go look up Stephanie Jass Jeopardy)  Back now? Whew, that was a lot, right? Wait, too lazy to google? I'll give you the bullet list: PhD Jeopardy superchampion gets fired from job AND arrested for cybercrimes. After a long, trying year, said superchamp pleads guilty to one charge, and is granted probation for a year in lieu of a sentence. At the end of her probation, all charges will be dropped from her record and she will never have been pronounced guilty. (Now tell the internet all about forgetting it. Good luck with that.)

Got it? Great. Now we're in the present, with the weather getting colder and the natural inclination to reach for my robe, which I do. Man, that feels good!  But it's 10am in Michigan, it's a Monday, and I'm just getting up. This may be the first day that it is cool enough to warrant my robe, but the truth is, I've been mentally wearing my robe for months, maybe even a year. I lost my job in April of 2017, and this is the second school year that my former colleagues are going back to school without me. I haven't had gainful employment since that time, and let's face it; I have a weird resume. (Why yes, I do have a PhD. Why did I leave a tenure-track job? Well, that's a good question. Why don't you just google me right here and now and tell me "thanks but no thanks." Ok, then.)  I'm really not even sure how to honestly answer the questions on applications when I haven't been officially convicted, but I do have a probation officer. (Frankly, it's weird to me that I actually have a probation officer, but here we are.) So I have spent the better part of the last year struggling. Struggling with my identity, struggling with my finances, struggling with my desire to have this behind me, struggling with my innate desire to be a happy, carefree person when ALL I REALLY WANT TO DO IS WEAR MY ROBE, SIT ON THE COUCH AND PLAY CANDY CRUSH. (And believe you me, I've done a lot of just that. I may not have a job, but I am at level 3606 in Candy Crush, so don't you tell me I haven't accomplished anything this year!!)

It took me until about April of 2018 to realize that my robe was a symptom of something more: depression. Of the clinical variety. Somewhat ironically, I was previously diagnosed with anxiety, partly caused by my previous job. And if you have anxiety, you know the questionnaire they have you fill out at the doctor, and you know that there's a flip side that has questions about depression. I used to score high on the anxiety side, but after I lost my job, that part went away. But I realized that I was now experiencing all the symptoms on the flip side.

If you've ever experienced clinical depression, you know that there's some relief in knowing that there's a reason for what you're feeling and you're not just a sack of shit who should just try harder to get her life back together. But it doesn't change the fact that you're actually suffering and that it's not just going to blow over in a week or two.

So now we're at the robe dilemma. I love my robe, but it has also become a symbol of my depression. I want to wrap myself up in its comforting warmth, but when I do, then it seems like I'm doing nothing but indulging my depressed feelings that I don't want to have. It's not your fault, Robie; you've done nothing but your job to swaddle me in fleecy comfort. And today may just have to be a day where I give myself permission to accept your warm gift and not feel guilty about it. Tomorrow may be a day where I feel more like myself, and I'll be happy to hang you back on the wall. Either way, I shouldn't blame you OR myself. The reality is that right now I'm depressed, but my doctor knows about it and we're pursuing treatment options. And one of those treatment options may be an occasional day spent with my beloved robe AND all you represent, and learn how to let both of those things exist together in peace.

If you're suffering from depression, please know that you're not alone, and you should talk about it with other people who understand. It's a challenge for folks outside to understand what you're going through (I was one of them, once upon a time!), and it's a lot for you to have to explain it to them. (I've shared the website adaa.org with my family and friends; it's a great resource!) My robe and I are here for you if you need to vent.

My New Year's Resolution and Other Musings on Trump

So, I haven't said much about the political events of the last few months, and there are several reasons for that. I've been legitimately going through the 7 stages of grief, and as we all probably know, after shock and disbelief comes denial, and I've enjoyed living there for quite a while. But I've been trying to move forward, toward acceptance and hope, and that's what's got me thinking lately. 

I'm a historian, and I often try to make sense of the world by looking to the past for similarities. My mode of thinking is naturally analogical, meaning that I create analogies to help me understand things. I realize that most analogies aren't perfect matches, but that's how my mind works. So lately I've been trying to understand what a Trump presidency might look like by searching our past for analogies. But here's the thing: I can't think of any. At least not American. (And as someone who once created an analogy comparing slavery to moldy dorm-room pizza, you know that I can stretch.)

Here are the leading candidates:

Andrew Jackson. Probably the most similar: temperament issues, controversial spouse, friends as political appointees, corrupt business practices, big tacky estate, a rich slave owner who successfully portrayed himself as an ordinary man of the people. His detractors -- fairly -- called him "King Andrew" or "King Mob." BUT Jackson was a military man and politician with years of experience in both the House and the Senate. He knew the system and knew it well.

What about Richard Nixon? Corruption and fragile ego? Check and check. But he at least had political experience and a case can be made that he was a skillful politician who knew EXACTLY what he was doing. I don't think Trump has nearly the expertise, knowledge, or skill set as Nixon, which is really saying something.

Let's give Warren G. Harding a try. Harding's corrupt administration? Also some similarities, including parallels between not only Harding and Trump, but Coolidge and Pence. One of their sad similarities is in their speaking style. Let's go to Wikipedia, shall we? According to his contemporaries,"Harding's vague oratory irritated some; McAdoo described a typical Harding speech as "an army of pompous phrases moving over the landscape in search of an idea. Sometimes these meandering words actually capture a straggling thought and bear it triumphantly, a prisoner in their midst, until it died of servitude and over work."[102] H. L. Mencken concurred, "it reminds me of a string of wet sponges, it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a kind of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm... of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of tosh. It is rumble and bumble. It is balder and dash.[d][102]The New York Times took a more positive view of Harding's speeches, stating that in them the majority of people could find "a reflection of their own indeterminate thoughts."[103]) (Those critiques were just too delicious not to share.)

But Harding, unlike Trump, also had political experience, and Harding's temperament was completely unlike Trump's.

I'm left with the thought -- a frightening one -- that there is no American parallel to Trump. This is, of course, a trap that folks often fall into -- we're different than previous generations! We're better! We're smarter! We've learned our lessons! But I really do think that a Donald Trump presidency is truly unique in many ways. And that frightens me, as a historian AND a citizen, because I'm used to looking to the past for patterns, for clues about how we can deal with current situations based on how we've dealt with them before. But here, there are so many unprecedented situations:

Never had a president who had NO experience in government at any level. (Even George Washington was a federal employee, once he became the general of the Continental Army.)

Never had a president who had as many business conflicts of interest as this president.

Never had a president who lost the popular vote by 3 million votes still become president. 

The list goes on and on and on.

(Just one of the articles about the unprecedented nature of the whole election, including DT: http://www.npr.org/2016/07/03/484214413/the-most-unprecedented-election-ever-65-ways-it-has-been

I'm also not the only historian to come to this conclusion; read some of them here: http://www.dw.com/en/donald-trumps-rise-to-the-presidency-is-historically-unprecedented/a-36332250)

All of this is new, which means I have no easy playbook for how it will proceed. Part of me finds this intrinsically fascinating -- it's always interesting to see history being played out in front of you, knowing all of it is going to be documented and analyzed later. But the part of me that is a current American citizen is terrified. If Jackson or Nixon or Harding/Coolidge are ANY guide, this will not go well. Trump's appointments and actions could have very serious and long-lasting effects. And I don't really want to be a passive observer to this story.

So here's the part where I have to figure out how to CHANGE this history, as it unfolds. I'm too much of a GenX-er to really believe that I can make change on a large scale. I VOTED; I did my part, and NONE of the people I voted for on any level got elected. So why would I think that my local officials, let alone my state or national officials, would care what I think? I didn't vote for them, they didn't need my support to win, and they will probably win without my support next time. Cynical? You bet; as I said, I'm a GenX-er.

So what now? Here's what I think. Politics divides us. It certainly divides me from other people. If I see a Trump sign on your lawn, I think you're my enemy. Literally. I believe that you voted for a man who opposes everything I stand for. Who opposes MY IDENTITY, my very existence as a liberal feminist academic. (And I'm straight and white and Christian and saying this; imagine the feelings of those who are not!) I know that I'm likely wrong about this, but it's my personal burden to bear right now. If I think you voted for Trump, I'm dismissing you as crazy or ignorant, or both. But the reality is that I work, play, and interact positively with Trump voters everyday. But I hate them, remember? How is this possible? It's possible because I don't know that they're Trump voters. Or, I DO know, but I loved them before they voted and I love them afterward and am trying to overlook it.

This is obviously a problem, and it's one I'm struggling with every day. I don't want to have contempt for people -- it's unChristian and not how I want to live my life. So I need to look beyond the yard signs. To look at people as individuals, not their political parties. In order for me to do that, I have to stop talking about politics with people. (I try not to do it anyway, as it's socially awkward and a bit of a landmine these days.) So, “Don't Ask, Don't Tell” it is! Don't ask me, don't tell me, and let's talk about something else that helps us connect. You love Jessica Jones, too?! Let's talk about that. Better yet, let's DO something that helps us connect.

I worked on a community service project this last year that was one of the most fulfilling things I've ever done. I worked in three separate teams with people I'd mostly only just met, and the work occupied us. We didn't have time to talk about much of anything; we were focused on the task at hand. When we did talk, it was personal: who is in your family, what do you do, etc. At the end of that time, I had made meaningful connections with many of those people, and not once did we talk about politics. In some way, I hope we never do. We helped people, we served, we ministered, and it wasn't ABOUT US, it was about the work.

So, this is my way forward: focus on the work, focus on the service, focus on individuals. I talk all the time about the dangers of stereotypes in probably all of the classes I teach. And yet, here I am doing it (and doing it egregiously) myself. I have to remind myself to reach out to PEOPLE, not to stereotypes. Only then can real relationships start, and real relationships are what make life worth living. Not everyone is going to agree with me about politics or feminism or religion, but that doesn't mean we can't relate; we just have to find common ground. (If you hate the St. Louis Cardinals or the Green Bay Packers, we can relate! But even if you love those teams -- right, Mom? -- we can relate. We'll just find something else to talk about. The weather in Michigan is vexing! Cats are the best! Will the Cubs win the World Series AGAIN?)

My New Year's Resolution is DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL; JUST DO. Just do. Just work. Just love. Just sing. Just read. Just listen. Just play the occasional game of Candy Crush.

Do ask about how someone is feeling. Do tell them how you are feeling. Don't ask them if they believe life starts at conception. Don't tell them they're wrong, whatever their answer is. Do ask if there's anything you can do to make their day brighter. Don't tell them that your way is the right way; the only way. Don't ask them about their politics; don't tell them about yours (Remember: this is MY resolution. Maybe you can talk about politics civilly and without judgment -- I'm not there yet.)

So, if I'm not posting political things, that's part of the reason. It's not that I don't care; it's that I care too much, and it's affecting my ability to connect with people outside of my political bubble. In a new era that seems to have no easy historical parallel, no playbook, no roadmap, I know one thing: if we want to avoid the mistakes of the past we're going to have to find a way to connect and move forward together. I'll be doing my part here in the corner.

Peace, y'all, and Happy New Year. Truly.