The Tolerance Paradox

It’s an accusation I’ve heard several times, almost always from conservative people when they’re called out for bigoted statements or behavior. Perhaps I’ve heard this statement more than most people because I’ve thrust myself into peculiar social circles. Yet it remains ready on the lips of the alt-right and self proclaimed white nationalists.

Boogie men (and women) lurk in the shadows and around every corner for these people. Their beliefs in superiority influence their thoughts and actions. It is their perception of liberals tolerating the things they hate which makes their protest ever more believable. In their minds, tolerance is the main tenet of liberalism. Therefore, any criticism of their beliefs from a liberal person is a display of intolerance out of step with the assumed progressive ethos.

I make no claim to being the representation of everything liberal. Some might call me a zealot but I aim to be more pragmatic in my approach of my personal politic. My bend to progressivism is rooted more in religious imperative than social preference. Considering the region where I live and the leanings of my family, it would have been easier for me to have remained a conservative, resting in the comfort of religious right spaces. Instead, I entered the narrow gate at a terrible cost of ridicule, isolation, slander, and abandonment.

Take my perspective for what it is: an observation. I speak for myself and actual validity among others from the left end of the political spectrum will vary.

The word “tolerant” is a bit misleading. Sure, I know many progressives who pride themselves for their tolerance of minorities whether it’s based on race, religion, or sexuality. But even for then, tolerance isn’t their true intention. They strive for acceptance. They accept queer folks, immigrants, people of color, Muslims, migrant workers, and any other marginalized community. They see the value and beauty in these underrepresented populations and tell them, “You’re welcome here.”

Those harboring bigoted ideals see this loving tolerance from progressive individuals and assume “If they tolerate that person and their deviant ways, they must tolerate me too.” Then they spout off something offensive and cry victimhood because their terrible perspectives weren’t tolerated.

Pure tolerance creates a paradox. It is impossible to be tolerant of all people in all situations because showing tolerance to some automatically treats another with intolerance. Sometimes it’s necessary to pick a side; choosing tolerance for one defaults to oppressing the other.

I’ll start with a completely neutral example. Nobody watches a boxing match and says “I hope they both win.” Such a declaration is absurd. Someone has to lose. It’s OK if you don’t know who to cheer for but you can’t expect two people to repeatedly punch each other and both walk away winners.

What if you have an islamaphobic person spreading anti-Muslim rhetoric? If I chose to tolerate their voice, I would be intolerant of Islamic people. And by default, tolerating the Islam faith means I’m intolerant of anyone who hates Muslims. I can’t play both sides.

This idea that our every thought (no matter how vile) must be tolerated flourishes on social media. We get caught up in the intoxication of reactions and replies. It feeds our dopamine addictions and fuels our selfish needs for admiration. The moment anyone responds critically or expresses disgust, our brains instantly feel discomfort. We have a biological need to explain anything that doesn’t fit the pattern of our preconceptions. One objection to our lesser id breaks away from the solidarity we crave so we rationalize it as someone being intolerant of our values. Someone utters “you probably shouldn’t say that” is met with “respect my freedom of speech.”

There’s irony when intolerant people demand tolerance.

Let’s be real though, I am not a tolerant person. I’m not tolerant of people who brand my disabled friends as lazy. I’m not tolerant of people who promote Russian propaganda. I’m not tolerant of people who describe everything they don’t like as woke. I’m not tolerant of gay jokes. I’m not tolerant of incels. I’m not tolerant of clergy who abuse women and children under the guise of godly authority. I’m not tolerant of people who think drag queens are more dangerous than automatic weapons. I’m not tolerant of book banners. I’m not tolerant of anyone who believes vaccines cause autism.

I am accepting though. I accept my queer friends and family members as wonderful people who were fearfully and wonderfully made. I also accept a homophobic individual’s rights to hate the LGBTQ community. I will not tolerate their bigotry though. I accept women’s place as equal and deserving contributors to all levels of culture. I also accept a misogynist’s grasp on patriarchy. I will not tolerate their arrogance though. Damn the man. I accept the diversity and strength of my non-white friends, celebrating their color and their cultures. I also accept a racist’s predisposition toward racism. I will not tolerate their prejudice though.

A chasm exists between tolerance and acceptance. You can’t tolerate everything but you can accept all things. Acceptance is possible for the people you love as well as the people you loathe. You can accept viewpoints conflicting with your beliefs. You can accept the practice of any religion, any gender identity, any education level, any political party, any national origin, and still not agree with them. It’s called being a decent human being. But I guess that’s considered “woke” these days.

The Best Advice I Ever Received

A corporate trainer was one of the first grown-up jobs I ever had. The type of work that felt more like a career than a paycheck, weeks filled with meetings and important interactions. I spent four and a half years of my mid-twenties in this position, met a lot of great people, took opportunities for business travel, and networked with colleagues who were predominantly my elders. By the time I transitioned into a new role with the company, I was burnt out. As much as I loved the job, it was clear I could not continue.

During this time, I played supervisor and coach to groups of brand new employees roughly every month and a half. Turnover rate at the company was high enough to ensure we were always hiring which meant there was a constant need for me to do my job. Two big issues contributed to my burnout: the people we hired and the time I was given.

During this new hire class, I had to teach grown adults ranging from fresh out of high school kids to elderly folks approaching retirement who had never used a computer. It was my responsibility to educate this mishmash swath of humanity about the products to sell, bills to read, systems to use, and etiquette of customer interaction. My biggest challenge was half of the people in my classes didn’t want to be there, they just needed a job.

Originally, these classes lasted six weeks, five in the classroom and one in production where they would shadow tenured employees. In an effort to save money, the duration of these courses were trimmed from six weeks, to five, then eventually to four. Also due to budget constraints, the eight hour long class time was cut down to six hours and forty-five minutes. What began with two hundred hours to instill as much skill and knowledge as I could into my students had to be compacted into one hundred one hours and fifteen minutes. I had to create an accelerated course to cover the same curriculum. Speed runs are a fun challenge with video games but tortuous with employment.

One class was my tipping point, the beginning of my end.

I had three weeks to teach soft skills for sales and customer service, demonstrate a dozen different computer systems, and discuss all of the details of five different products. The fifth one was my favorite because it was the one with which I was most familiar. It was also the most complicated for anyone without experience. We spent two whole days (a Thursday and Friday) talking about the fifth product and practicing how to order it. Then they had a weekend off and returned on Monday to start working with a mentor in production.

The fourth week of class was not entirely spent shadowing qualified employees. At the end of every day, we would regroup and discuss any questions they had from what they observed and address any knowledge gaps.

They also had smoke breaks which is where everything fell apart. If you’ve ever worked in a call center, you probably know the designated smoking areas are places for gossip and venting. The more time you spend in the smoking section, the more likely you are to hear someone complaining. Doesn’t matter if you’ve worked there for ten years or ten days. There was one call center I worked it in Sioux Falls (I won’t mention Citibank by name) where this phenomenon was so prevalent, employees referred to the smoking area as the “bitch deck.”

Trainees tend to gather in a circle while taking their cigarette breaks, even during the final week of on-the-job training. That first Monday contained a plethora of lament. I’m not a smoker so I only learned of how this conversation transpired after the fact from people who were involved. It went something like this …

Person 1: “It’s so stressful. I feel like I forgot everything Nic taught us.”
Person 2: “I took a call about product five and couldn’t remember anything about it.”
Person 3: “It’s almost like we didn’t talk about it during training.”
Person 4: “Yeah, I don’t remember Nic saying anything about product five.”

Now, this is all normal stuff. When you spend three weeks taking in large quantities of information, you’re not going to remember everything. That’s why I did the regroup sessions at the end of the day. Also, some people are nervous talking on the phone and being the expert customers expect. It could have all been handled and resolved except the last person in the above conversation started a mutiny. As soon as they said I never covered the fifth product, everyone else joined in claiming “I don’t remember Nic teaching it either” and “yeah, he didn’t talk about product five at all.”

Unfortunately for me, one of the supervisors happened to be outside smoking at the same time. She was standing apart from the group but close enough to hear the conversation. Since product number five was a huge source of revenue, she panicked. Instead of coming to me and asking what happened, she went straight to my boss and let him know I skipped a section of the curriculum. Then he, without confirming what did or didn’t happen with me, scheduled a day for that supervisor to come teach a section of curriculum I already spent two days teaching.

I was also put on a performance plan to correct my error despite the fact I made no error. My boss’s argument was “You said you taught it but she says you didn’t and she’s a supervisor so I have to take her word over yours.” A few months later, I was forced out of the learning and development team.

Not everyone in the class lost their minds. A few level headed participants expressed frustration losing a day in production to review something that had already been taught. One of them was roughly fifteen years older than me, an old school metal head all grown up and gentrified. He was a military veteran who liked guns but loved his kids more. He had a scathing sense of humor yet took his responsibilities seriously. I’ve never been adept at hiding my emotions and he recognized the grief I was feeling in the moment. He pulled me aside to give me a pep talk.

After listening to my tale of woe, how a few smokers looking for something to whine about made me look bad and placed my job at risk, he told me something I haven’t forgotten.

“You can’t make a rock do back flips.”

My job was to teach classes of adults to jump through hoops necessary to sell and perform customer service in an environment where customers might not want to do one and is unhappy with the other. The individuals causing my trouble were a bunch of rocks. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how well other people from the same class performed, those rocks were never going to do back flips.

Nearly two decades have passed since that conversation. I wasn’t happy to end my time as a trainer but in hindsight it was the best thing for me. Like I said, I was burnt out. I was tired of trying to teach people who didn’t want to be taught. I was tired of cramming content into an inadequate time frame. I was tired of trying to make rocks do back flips.

I changed departments and continued working for the same company. I remained there far longer than I should have. Things worked out and I’m happy doing what I do now. Still, rocks abound. Rocks are everywhere these days.

There’s a Bible verse my dad quoted a lot when I was growing up. It’s from the prophet Isaiah when God tells the people “Come let us reason together.” The God my dad taught me about is one who gave us brains, fully intending us to use them. Dad passed on the idea of a God who wanted us to study and learn about everything from the microscopic structure of the cells inside our bodies to the cosmic sights in the furthest reaches of our universe. I fell in love with a God who wanted me to appreciate the details, to navigate discourse with logic, and communicate with reason. Knowledge was sacred. Its pursuit was holy.

Looking back, I realize I was raised in a dichotomy. While my father imprinted God’s desire for us to reason together, I was also raised in the heyday of the satanic panic. I made my transition from high school into adulthood as purity culture began to flourish in evangelical churches. These two eras were not defined by truth and sound reasoning; rather they were born of innuendo and fear. Unfortunately, sex and witchcraft weren’t the only demons lurking around the corners of Christian imaginations: science was treated like the devil itself. I remember a youth leader letting me know biology teachers were going to teach me fancy stories of evolution with malicious intent and it was OK for me to pretend I believed them so I could pass their class safe with the real truth that evolution was a hoax. The wholesale distrust in public education we see today were seeds planted decades ago.

It should be no surprise our collective ability to reason together is sorely lacking, not just in evangelicalism but among the general public. This is what happens when society elevates ignorance as a virtue. For a while, I foolishly thought I could bring people to enlightenment with reason. I figured facts, evidence, and logic would convince others to see the flaws in their own understanding. I was wrong.

The older I get the more it becomes evident you can’t reason with the unreasonable. While I still crave the God who called us to reason together, I’m confronted with the sage advice I was given seventeenish years ago: you can’t make a rock do back flips. And there are a lot of rocks out there.

Don’t Eat the Dark

Pretend for a moment you’re a high school teacher grading term papers. You’re reading the work of a student that shows potential but doesn’t try hard. You can tell that this particular student composed two and a half pages of decent material but filled the rest of the assignment with frivolous filler words and repeated sentences so they could meet the minimum ten page requirement. That’s what reading “We Ate the Dark” was like.

“We Ate the Dark” is filled with an excess of flowery language. Adjectives and adverbs abound. While such parts of speech are not evil in small doses and they’re essential in some circumstances. However, the author here uses both to the point of absurdity, distracting from the actual story. She often employs multiple adjectives to describe one noun then continues to throw in some nonsensical similes and metaphors just for unwarranted measure. Like it wasn’t enough for her to say “the sun made everything gold” - she added a word saying “the sun made everything a violent gold.” And that’s the least harmless example. Every time a character saw the sky she had to describe it with a Parthenon of descriptors. Every human body part from fingertips to hair had to be verbally illustrated with over the top comparisons to the point of being inane and redundant. I’m sure she’s trying to flex her mastery of the English language but it comes across as storytelling ineptitude. She breaks the ‘show don’t tell’ rule like she’s hellbent on pissing off every editor in the publishing industry.

The author does not know when to quit. At one point she described something as appearing like a mirage then went on to explain what a mirage was, as if she wanted to use the metaphor but had to define the metaphor and employed extra adjectives to describe the definition. It’s all so unnecessary and the repetition is exhausting. Speaking of repeating vocabulary, she really likes the word sanguine. I understand using it once or twice but the quantity of its inclusion was garish.

There are two things that characters did over and over throughout the book: bite their lips until they’re red and dig fingernails into their palms until they bleed. Does she not know any other way to portray anxiety or stress? She spent an entire chapter repeatedly telling readers the main character was mad and wants to tell everyone why but never does it. In another chapter, several characters tilted their heads up at least a dozen times. But not just that chapter - they tilted their heads up countless times throughout the book. If I ever read the phrase “tilted her head up” in any other book I might enter a rage filled fugue state. I even used the ctrl+f function in my manuscripts to make sure that phrase doesn’t appear in any of the books I have written/am writing.

The unnecessary ornate language and never-ending repetition are not the author’s only literary sins. One side character isn’t given a name until the book is almost over. The story is told through multiple third person viewpoints except for one chapter about 90% of the way through the book when she painfully transitions to a plural first person narrative with a mix of “we” and “our” pronouns as the narrator. And the big climatic scene concludes with that bizarre chapter. While the rest of the book is over-described, the first person POV chapter is under-described. It’s so vague it seems the author didn’t know how to explain what was happening so she filled the pages with the literary equivalent of over-saturated terrible CGI common in big dumb action movies. She created an oversaturated story with detailed imagery of every miniscule item, texture and flavor permeating every page, only to give readers a blurry, meaningless, and confusing climax.

After that, the final 10% of the book was used for … I don’t know actually. I guess she intended it to tie up loose ends but no loose ends were actually wrapped into a bow. Most writers use this section of the three act structure to ramp down the action and resolve conflict. This author polluted her closing chapters by creating additional conflicts. Instead of completing storylines, the author creates new ones. One of the wrap up chapters contained a lengthy and pointless flashback of a main character. Then the next chapter presented another flashback (shorter but still frivolous) from a different character. Some side characters were theoretically present during this elongated closing but often ignored as if they were absent. In the end, there is no end. The story stops abruptly, a cliffhanger but not the good kind. It’s the most unsatisfying ‘the end’ imaginable. I’m sure the author was intentionally trying to set up a sequel or multiple sequels which (if they do or ever will exist) I have no interest in reading.

This is perhaps the worst book I’ve ever read, mind numbing from the beginning and torturous until the final page. Why did I continue to the next page and the next one and the next once I realized it was nothing more than a steaming pile of horse manure topped with a glittery bow? Is it masochism? Is it an unhealthy desire to finish anything I start no matter how unbearable?

No. I read the whole book because underneath the mountains of fluff and filler is a molehill of a good story. A murder mystery with queer representation, an alternate world, redneck fantasy, and magical realism. Despite my efforts to guess the culprit, I was wrong. While the reveal of the real perpetrator was anticlimactic, I was still surprised. Thematically, the book approaches topics of grief, trust, isolation, rejection, abandonment, and betrayal within the confines of a chosen family which are all worthy and valuable discussions unfortunately ham-fisted in “We Ate the Dark.”

Half of a star out of ten. It would have been better as a short story instead of a novel. The skeleton of a decent story is the only thing saving this book from a zero star rating.

An open letter to the victims of Californian fires

In November 2017, my wife and I bought a farm. Nearly seven acres in the rural scrub between Spokane and the Idaho border. We quickly found ourselves to be a blue dot in a red corner of a blue state. But it was home, and it was good. We did everything we could to make it our own little slice of paradise.

A year later, the first flames sparked on Boeing property near the Simi Valley. It quickly erupted into the Woosley Fire, ravaging the city of Malibu and surrounding hills. It completely destroyed over 1600 homes and killed three people. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only blaze terrifying Californians that month. Two other wildfires began the same day: Hill Fire 15 miles to the west of Woosley and the Camp Fire near Chico. The Northern Cali fire was deadlier, ending 85 lives. It destroyed 18,000 structures and displaced 50,000 people.

Our tale of homesteading bliss and collected Californian disasters might appear both emotionally and geographically unrelated. However, these contrasting events are not completely divergent.

Come January 2019, home sales in our area increased. Over the next few months, real estate prices in the Spokane area continued the upward trend. Before long, complaints arose from locals priced out of buying a home. Annie and I considered ourselves lucky to purchase when we did - a year before the spike. We were still confused though. Sale prices exceeded actual property value. It defied logic which unsettled my analytical autistic brain.

At a holiday party late that year, a family member (who happened to be a realtor) provided an explanation. Californians who lost their homes in the wildfires were bringing their insurance settlements northward. They flooded the inland northwest with enough money to make cash purchases, often offering tens of thousands of dollars more than the seller’s asking price. If there was a bidding war, the Cali expats were going to win. Some of them could buy two houses in Spokane with the amount of money they got from insurance.

It made sense. Relocate to a state with similar cultures, geographically close, with climates less wet than Portland or Seattle. Process of elimination made Spokane an ideal destination for their new hometown.

It took a full two years for the skyrocketing market to hit the top and another two for actual values to catch up with listing prices. During the pandemic, a national article was released by a major media outlet detailing the ten most over inflated real estate markets in America and the Spokane area was plopped right in the middle of the listicle.

The collective disasters of the Camp, Hill, and Woosley fires were unfathomable tragedies for the state of California but they were not isolated events. The fallout caused financial burdens upon uninvolved populations in regions outside their state.

Now, a little more than six years later, history is beginning to repeat itself as multiple fires rage around Los Angeles, including the Sunset fire in the Hollywood Hills. Much like Hollywood blockbusters, the sequel is worse than the original. There are five separate fires ablaze in the area with at least 180 thousand residents under evacuation orders and 1.5 million people without power. Two of these wildfires are already the most destructive in LA’s history and they’re not yet contained. Five deaths have officially been reported with thousands of structures destroyed, a number sure to grow before this horrible saga is over.

Image courtesy of KTLA

I don’t want to make light of the harrowing ordeal consuming the greater Los Angeles region. The heartbreak, loss, and fear are all valid as these Americans are living through an apocalyptic nightmare. I know because Spokane experiences a wildfire season every year. Even if the flames are not dancing on our doorsteps, winds bring the smoke into our neighborhoods, slowly choking out the outdoor activities and entertainment which make the unbearableness of the inland PNW more bearable.

The devastation also hits close on a personal level. Several family members on my wife’s side live in Medical Lake - the site of 2023’s Gray Fire. We are intimately aware of the fear and pain of a wildfire’s invasive touch.

If history truly is repeating, the people of Spokane should prepare to meet some new neighbors. A lot of new neighbors. I hope not though. Not because of an anti-Californian bias which is common around here. Not because we’re already struggling with the logistics of population growth even though we are. I hope for something different this go around because our nation is in crisis. Californians might not be the heroes we deserve but they could be the heroes we need.

We can laugh as a way to cope with tragedy but there is nothing funny about the massive and destructive force of nature in its cruelest moments. In lieu of jokes, I offer a proposal.

Take that fire insurance settlement and move to a red state. Hear me out.

States like Oklahoma, West Virginia, Indiana, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Kentucky are among the cheapest places to buy a house in America and they’re all red states. They also have some of the worst education systems compared to other states. They are most in need of improvement. A little insurance money can go a long ways in states like these.

Move there. Property is cheap. Buy a home and work remotely. Buy two or three homes and turn them into rental properties for ongoing income. As soon as you’ve met residency requirements, run for political office: school board, library board, city council, county commission. Or be entrepreneurial; start a small biz and join the town’s business association or Kiwanis club. Become a foster parent or sponsor a refugee family. Volunteer with a local chapter of PFLAG, Color of Change, or Citizenship Coalition. Donate to homeless shelters and organizations that help women escape domestic violence.

Whatever it is, where ever you go, use your money, time, and votes to make that place a little better. Transform your new hometown into a safer place for immigrants, people of color, and the LGBTQ community. Build grassroots foundations to create something even bigger and better, something blue wavyish. And maybe, just maybe, people like you are the ones who save us all from MAGA. Perhaps you would be the ones to actually make America great again.

I’m happy to share Spokane with you but you should spread the love a little. If all else fails, Spokane will still be here. Please though … try a red state first.

Escapism

As America aired the epic 2024 season finale, many citizens set resolutions to better themselves in the next season. Some of these are noble ventures: quit drinking, exercise more, lose weight, or end a toxic relationship. My goal for 2025 is less admirable.

Between our government’s chronic incompetency and the voting populace who have spent the better part of the last 40 years elevating ignorance as a virtue, we all might need a little escapism for the next one to four years. I know I will. If next year might be the USA’s series finale, no better way to go out than to be entertained.

My New Year’s resolution for 2025 is to take more hikes, read more books, and watch more movies. With all the farm work we’ve had over the last seven years, I have not been able to do either as frequently as I’d prefer. I attended the cinema more in 2024 than I have in years and I hope to continue that trend next year. With such goal in mind, here are the top twenty movies coming out in 2025 I am most anticipating - sorted least to most excited to see.

20: Captain America Brave New World (Anthony Mackie, Harrison Ford) Marvel’s next movie, set to release on Valentine’s Day, was higher on my list until rumors of dismal test screenings and reshoots have me nervous. I want it to be good but worried it might be the MCU’s worst.

19: 28 Years Later (Jodie Comer, Aaron Taylor-Johnson) Hot take: I’m not a big fan of 28 Days or 28 Weeks Later. I saw them, enjoyed them, recognize their influence, but have no emotional attachment to them. That said, I’m getting burnt out on zombie movies which used to be my favorite sub genre of monster movies.

18: Karate Kid Legends (Ralph Macchio, Jackie Chan) I understand if people roll their eyes at this. Nobody asked for this movie. But I’m interested to see the karate blended with kung-fu. Ben Wang was phenomenal in American Born Chinese and could help breath new life into the franchise.

17: Elio (Yonas Kibreab, Jameela Jamil) It’s been a while since I’ve been excited for a Pixar movie - probably 2020’s Soul. But this one has aliens. While definitely aimed at kids, Pixar is dipping back into nerd territory. Even if it’s a dud, my girls will enjoy it.

16: The Running Man (Glen Powell, Katy O’Brian) Oh yay, another remake of a mediocre 80s flick. I didn’t hate the original and I’m not sure we really need a new version. However this Stephen King adaptation has one big asset in its favor: Edgar Wright directing it as well as sharing screenwriter and producer credits. My biggest fear is the dystopian premise is more plausible today than it was 38 years ago.

15: The Life of Chuck (Tom Hiddleston, Nick Offerman) I know very little about this movie other than it is about the end of the world told in reverse chronological order based on a recent Stephen King novella. It’s also got a stacked cast that includes Karen Gillan, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Mark Hamill, and Matthew Lillard.

14: Wicked: For Good (Cynthia Erivo, Ariana Grande) My inner theater geek is showing. The first part of Wicked was brilliant. My whole family enjoyed it and I can’t wait to see the finale.

13: Death of a Unicorn (Paul Rudd, Jenna Ortega) My first knowledge of this A24 movie came in the form of a YouTube add last week and it is absolutely bonkers. Another movie with a stacked cast including Téa Leoni and Will Poulter, this kind of film was made for people like me. Ortega is a little over exposed and I’d be more excited with a different actress playing Rudd’s daughter, but I’m still stoked for this one.

12: Wolf Man (Christopher Abbot, Julia Garner) How long has it been since we got a decent werewolf movie? As much as I enjoyed 1997’s An American Werewolf in Paris, I know it wasn’t a good movie. And subsequent attempts at cinematic werewolf offerings has been lackluster at best. Wolf Man might change the trend as it features a father who got bit trying to protect his kids and his wife trying to save their family.

11: Love Hurts (Ke Huy Quan, Ariana DeBose) Quan is damn near perfect in everything he touches. From Indiana Jones and Goonies as a kid to recent appearances in Everything Everywhere All at Once and Loki. I have zero reason to doubt this action comedy about a former hitman turned real estate agent being hunted by his brother. Adding Marshawn Lynch and Sean Astin to the cast is icing on the cake.

10: The Bride (Jessie Buckley, Christian Bale) / Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac, Jacob Elordi) Here’s a two for one as both movies share source material in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Both give me reason to be hopeful yet I have reservations for both. The Maggie Gyllenhaal directed offering revises the original gothic setting to 1930s Chicago which is a risky move. The second, directed by Guillermo del Toro, maintains the gothic roots. Del Toro is one of my favorite directors and his previous works with creatures of fairy tales and horror will be evident here as well. My only hesitation with his version is the inclusion of Mia Goth in the cast, one of my least favorite actresses.

9: The Fantastic Four: First Steps (Pedro Pascal, Vanessa Kirby) 20th Century Fox had four shots to get this collection of heroes right and they failed every time. With the film rights restored to Marvel, I have hope this might be the one to properly capture the magic, humor, and disfunction of Marvel’s first family. Pascal as Mr Fantastic wouldn’t have been my choice but I do think Kirby as Sue Storm and Joseph Quinn as her younger brother are perfect castings. I’m also excited to see Natasha Lyonne in an unnamed role as she’s one of my favorite actresses.

8: Thunderbolts* (Florence Pugh, Sebastian Stan) This movie could be a hot mess but I don’t care. I’m happy to see David Harbor and Hannah John-Kamen reprise their roles of Red Guardian and Ghost. The trailers so far have given me something to look forward to and even if it’s terrible I have a feeling I’m still going to enjoy it.

7: Novocaine (Jack Quaid, Amber Midthunder) Oh all the movies on this list, THIS one might have the most unhinged premise and reminds me of WTF movies like Guns Akimbo and Crank. Jack Quaid was brilliant in The Boys and I’m thrilled to see him play another lovable loser, but this time as a timid wallflower who can’t feel pain but snaps when his girlfriend is taken hostage in a bank robbery.

6: Mickey 17 (Robert Pattinson, Naomi Ackie) If we could remove the Twilight series from Pattonson’s filmography, he’d be considered one of the greatest of his generation. In this sci-fi outing, he plays a person so desperate to get off earth he accepts an experimental and dangerous position in space. How dangerous? He keeps dying. Every time he dies, a new body is regenerated with his memories intact. But something goes wrong when he survives his 17th death and the 18th Mickey wants to kill him.

5: Legend of Ohci (Helena Zengel, Finn Wolfhard) A24 has a great track record creating thought provoking and visually stunning movies. I suspect this will be more of what I expected from them. It’s a kid trying to rescue a dangerous creature while her family hunts it. I don’t know how to describe it other than throwing The Village, Pan’s Labyrinth, E.T., and Earth To Echo into a blender. The end result looks beautiful and unsettling and I am eager to take my tween out to see it.

4: Mission Impossible - The Final Reconning (Tom Cruise, Hayley Atwell) After nearly 30 years, this franchise is possibly coming to an end. Or at least I hope it is. As much as I love the M:I movies, I’m ready to see an epic conclusion to this preposterous series. Dead Reckoning ended with a massive cliffhanger placing every major character in dire situations so they better wrap it up right or I’ll be pissed.

3: Sinners (Michael B Jordan, Michael B Jordan) Jordan takes on double duty portraying a pair of twins returning home to home in the depression Deep South. They find their town consumed by evil - Jim Crow bigotry, vampires, and southern supernatural traditions. Jordan reunites with director Ryan Coogler who also wrote the script and is co-producer. This movie looks like it will be thought provoking and terrifying.

2: Superman (David Corenswet, Rachel Brosnahan) Zack Snyder destroyed any interest I had in Superman. And not just once but FOUR times. My expectations for the DCEU are low but lifted a bit when WB handed full control to James Gunn because he is, as a writer and a director, someone who understands the assignment. I wasn’t impressed by the first look image, even more so for the teaser to the teaser trailer. Everything changed with the full length teaser. Lex, Lois, multiple Green Lanterns, Hawkgirl, Mr Terrific, and Kelex the robot. Oh, Krypto too. Can’t forget the super-powered dog. This might be the best Superman movie since Christopher Reeves first wore the tights.

1: Better Man (Robbie Williams, Jonno Davies) This is an odd choice to be anyone’s most anticipated movie, especially considering how much hate Williams is getting on social media. I don’t care though. I’ve been a fan of his music since the mid 90s, although I did have exposure to his band Take That is years prior. With the movie directed by the same dude that directed The Greatest Showman, and the twist of a biopic’s protagonist portrayed by a CGI monkey, this movie seems like it was made for people like me. I’ll apologize in advance to anyone who watches this with me as I’ll probably be singing along with it.

Let me know what you’re looking forward to and if any of these films are on your must-see list.

The Thing I Fear

For as long as I can remember, I was warned the Democrat candidate for president is the Antichrist. The earliest I remember hearing this is when Michael Dukakis won that label during his campaign against George HW Bush. Four years later, Bill Clinton was the new Antichrist, a claim I heard over and over for the next eight years. Through studying history, I’ve learned this phenomenon isn’t exclusive to my lifetime. John F Kennedy was also a target of Antichrist conspiracies. The same accusation was later levied against Al Gore then John Kerry.

By 2008, things changed. Discussions about the Antichrist running for president were no longer restrained to gossip in church hallways - it spread on the internet. Meme culture and Photoshop transformed Barack Obama into more than a rumored Antichrist into a visual representation of the satanic beast. Evangelical ministers were preaching warnings of Obama’s Antichristishness and posting videos of their sermons to YouTube. The unholy nature of Barack was a topic of conversation everywhere on social media, chat rooms, and message boards. Someone even published a book about it.

Internet amplified the religious fear mongering. It plagued Hillary Clinton and Joe Biden. You can even buy yard signs that say “Biden & his crime family are the Antichrist.” It’s now being applied to Kamala Harris – most recently demonstrated by David Rem at Trump’s Madison Square Garden rally last weekend.

It’s not true. None of it is. Sure some of these people have done things that conflict with Christ’s teachings or defy evangelical morals, but these people were not and are not THE Antichrist. So why did this happen? Why has the name Antichrist been bestowed upon every Democrat presidential candidate of modern times? Simple. One word: control.

This employment of fear has been ingrained in evangelical culture for longer than I’ve been alive. My dad told me stories of apocalyptic preaching and doomsday prophesies at revival services from his youth. I grew up with the threat of hell looming over me every time I dared question Sunday school lessons or denominational doctrine. I was raised in a constant state of terror, instilled with a belief dancing, uttering a curse word, watching an R rated movie, or a single sip of alcohol would topple me into a downward descent into eternal condemnation. This fear was used to control my behavior, programming me to dress a certain way, to talk like they talk, act according to expectations. Cloneliness is next to Godliness, right?

Fear arouses our fight or flight responses. It’s supposed to be a survival instinct, compelling us to act in times of danger so we might live to fight or flight another day. Do you know what happens when your formative years are spent in a in a constant state of agitated fear? Your psyche gets stuck in constant readiness to flee or do battle, your amygdala hyperactive in waiting for peril. Paranoia consumes you. Every criticism feels like a personal attack. You see boogie men around every corner. Any diversity of thought is a threat. Suddenly it makes sense any politician who doesn’t align with your moral compass becomes the antichrist and voting for them would be a one way ticket to the bowels of hell.

This perpetual horror isn’t healthy. It’s not good for our souls. It’s not good for our mental health. It’s not good for our spiritual communities, our workplaces, or our government offices. Fear is, as Frank Herbert wrote in Dune, the mind-killer and the little-death that brings total obliteration.

This year’s election feels different than times past. It seems as if everyone is scared – not just evangelicals. Liberals believe Donald Trump is a wannabe dictator intent on overthrowing the US government so he can rule like his friends Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, Kim Jong Un, and Mohammed bin Salman. Conservatives believe Kamala Harris is a demon and the Antichrist hellbent on sacrificing newborns, forcing children to get gender reassignment surgeries at school, replacing white people with illegal immigrants, and murdering Christians en masse.

The anxiety is palpable. Everywhere I go, I hear people expressing their fears about next week’s results. These worries range from understandable to absurd yet it seems everyone is afraid of something.

I still believe in a God who is love and that perfect love drives out fear. Yet I must admit I’m a little scared. Try as I might to do as the Bible teaches and cast my worries at the feet of my savior, I can’t escape the stressful and unanswerable questions of what will happen once all the votes are counted.

To clarify: I’m not afraid of history repeating itself. Records have shown humanity (collectively speaking) is not adept at learning from our mistakes. Dooming ourselves to failure is practically inevitable so this doesn’t scare me.

I am not worried a second Trump term will bring about the end of America. Empires rise and empires fall. If it doesn’t happen now, it will eventually.

I’m not worried Trump will blame a potential loss on cheating or fraud. He did it four years ago and he’s already laying the groundwork to do it again. Why be scared of something that is guaranteed to transpire? Likewise, I expect a repeat of the January 6th attacks if Trump loses. I know this so I’m not afraid.

Trump has said he’s going to use the full force of law enforcement to target his rivals and critics. Since I’ve often criticized Trump, that means I could be arrested and imprisoned as a dissident if he wins but even that doesn’t scare me. I know that if Trump is elected, he will follow the plans of Project 2025, a document that marginalizes people I love and threatens their safety and yet that isn’t the source of my alarm.

I don’t fear my religion being imperiled if Harris wins because I know she has no plans to threaten it. Even if she did, I know God’s got my back. I have faith no weapon formed against me will prosper.

Only one thing scares me and it has been gnawing at me ever since the MSG rally this weekend. I listened to the vile remarks of various speakers. Their words filled with hatred, racism, misogyny, and homophobia. When people say “Trump country” this is the kind of environment accompanying such claim. If Trump wins, I am terrified of what it says about my Christian siblings, my friends, and my biological family. Why? Because if Trump wins, it will be the evangelical vote that carries him to victory.

If Trump wins it means evangelicals love their golden calf more than their savior. If Trump wins it means Christians who supported and continue to support him believe his dishonesty, bigotry, jingoism, criminal convictions, fraudulent activity, and predatory behaviors are copacetic. If Trump wins it means the Christian moral standards are meaningless. If Trump wins it means the ends justify the results – that Christians are perfectly accepting of sin for a season as long as they are able to maintain their grasp on the reins of power.

In the Bible, Amos prophesied to the Israelites during an era similar to what the American church faces now: wealth and prosperity flourished, yet morality was fading fast. The poor were being exploited, the courts were corrupt, government leaders were evil, injustice was widespread, and vulnerable communities were oppressed.

Amos was the prophet of social justice. He condemned dishonest business practices, unfair wages, religious hypocrisy, and unethical treatment of others. He encouraged people to care for the less fortunate members of society and he demanded opposition to injustice, oppression, and exploitation of all forms. It is Amos who said “Let justice roll like a river, righteousness like a never failing stream.”

Jesus preached similar commands, most famously when he divulged the greatest commandment: to love God and love others. Jesus also commended those who fed and clothed the needy, provided hospitality to strangers, cared for the sick, and visited those in prison. He said “whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.” He condemned anyone who withheld service and support for those in need or imprisoned.

Elsewhere, the Bible instructs its readers to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly. It repeatedly instructs care for orphans, widows, and refugees. A thoughtful and diligent analysis of biblical teachings would reveal aid for underprivileged and marginalized people to be a primary focus of Christian faith. It would show an impetus to place the needs of the least of these above your own.

A Trumpian victory would demonstrate a modern church who places their own needs above the weak and needy. It would spotlight a church which perpetuates the cycles of injustice, exploitation, corruption, and oppression. It would expose a religious lust for power defiant of God’s commands. It would be an evangelical middle finger held high in the face of people Jesus commanded us to love.

This terrifies me.

As we wrap up the election season, I have an important question for my fellow Christians: who benefits from your vote? I’m not talking about the candidates, it’s obvious the person you vote for benefits if they’re the winner. Rather, who benefits from electing that person? If the people who benefit from your vote are people who look like you or people who share your beliefs, you’re misunderstanding the call of Christ to care for the least of these.

For me, I’m done believing the Democrat candidates are the Antichrist. I’m done falling for the cheap lies and fear mongering of those who are scared of losing power. If I take my faith seriously (which I do) I will follow the self-sacrificial call of Jesus and cast a vote that benefits those who have been persecuted and marginalized.

This is the path of Amos. Damn the man.

Wanderlust and the Source

Bedtime is sacred in our house. Not because it’s the routine shutting off all the lights and closing our eyes to sleep. Annie and I value it because these are the precious few minutes we can chat and connect free of interruptions from kids who don’t appreciate their bedtime as much as we do.

In these final waking hours of our day we share the best and worst parts of everything happening before we got home. We air the stresses we cannot share with anyone else. We comfort each other as lovers and encourage each other as teammates. We create to-do lists and bucket lists. We set reminders on our phones so we might recall those things our ADHD is prone to forget. We mutually doom scroll social media side by side, occasionally holding our phone to the side with instructions, “Hey check this out.” We ponder the benefits and challenges of various ideas. We talk religion, sex, and politics. We discuss plans for both the immediate and distant future. And, most importantly, we dream together.

This is the key ingredient for the magic binding us together. When we think of what life will be like five years ahead or fifty years from now, we envision our hypothetical future lives as a cohesive unit. These are shared aspirations, not individual exploits. We have had this ingrained in our relationship as long as we’ve known each other. On our second date, we talked about places we’ve always longed to visit. She said she wanted to go to Scotland to see her ancestral homelands. Two of my bucket list destinations (Paisley Abbey and Loch Ness) happen to be in Scotland. We laughed and smiled at the idea of going there together and fulfilling our dreams at the same time.

Annie and I both have an insatiable wanderlust. We feel the tug of the journey on our hearts. Places exotic to historic, from pristine wilderness to ancient ruins, waterfalls and temples, castles and farmers markets. We want nothing more for our lives to go, and see, and do. We yearn to wander foreign lands and disappear for a while.

Real, actual, legitimate picture of us.

Earlier this week, I told my therapist how I believe the best education we can receive is found outside our own culture. As much as I would enjoy a trip to Disneyland to hang out at Galaxy’s Edge, I would rather visit the original Tatooine Star Wars set in Tunisia. Given the choice between a week at Universal Studios or traveling to India during Holi, I would choose the later. Annie would do the same. The selection of culture over capitalism is an easy one.

Unfortunately, Annie and I grew up believing travel was for other people. Both our families were poor and the expense of overseas excursions was too daunting - an unobtainable wish left to wither on the vines of our dying hopes. This wanderlust ached in our bones and called our spirits yet we felt confined to weekend roadtrips and local attractions. We wanted to see the world but doubted we would ever be globetrotters.

All it takes is one little break to shatter the exoskeleton of false beliefs. Two and a half years ago, a new job sent me to Tampa Bay for three weeks of training. Annie and our two youngest girls flew out to visit a weekend while I was there so we could partake in a family Florida adventure. It was the nudge we needed to shed the idea we weren’t meant to travel. How could we hold on to such a concept while doing the thing we thought we’d never be able to do. A few months later we went to Waikiki to celebrate birthdays of mine and Steven’s. Then a month later we were on a cruise boat to Alaska for our belated honeymoon. Since then we’ve made a return trip to Hawaii along with little jaunts to Cheyenne, Boise, Portland, Cranbrook BC, and multiple trips to Tacoma/Seattle/Everett.

We’re not ready to quit. Between now and the end of the year, our feet will tread ground in Mexico, Costa Rica, and Columbia adding three stamps to our passports. Not long after, I’ll be headed to Phoenix with one of my best friends for a DJ gig. Next year, Annie and I have plans to take the family yurt camping for a week and we’ve already booked a vacation to the Bahamas.

Over the last few years, we’ve suddenly began living a live we never imagined would be possible for either of us. We’re finally able to sate that insatiable wanderlust. Our journey begun, we’re only getting started.

After explaining all of this to my therapist, he shared with me a quote from Carl Jung:

According to my therapist, this is what I’m experiencing. After turning forty, I began to truly discover who I was and define my priorities. Now forty-five, I’m finally able to be the person God created me to be. Everything before this was just research. He thinks it’s awesome to watch me discover myself, to see joy unfold in real time. He’s had a front row seat to witness anxiety and depression melt away as I become the real me.

So here we are, Annie and I are world travelers, dreaming of distant shores. But I think I’ve always been one even before I was one. My wanderlust had to come from somewhere.

I was never a good student. I was lucky to get a B in anything. Through most of my academic career, I barely held on with a C average. In sixth and seventh grade, my report cards were filled with Cs and Ds. I got my first A in eighth grade - not just a basic A - but perfect scores throughout. I ended this class with 100%, an A+.

Annie and I chilled last night, enjoying our bedtime routine. I brought this up with her: my discussion at therapy, how excited we are about upcoming travel plans, and other places we want to go (side note: she’s been looking at cheap airline rates to various European locales). Then I posed the question about my school days. After a string of barely passing grades, in which class did I get my first A? She responded without hesitation.

“Geography.”

Correct answer. I struggled in traditional education until the geography class mandated for all junior high students of my generation in the Marysville school district. For the first time in my life I didn’t just succeed, I thrived.

Perhaps I missed my calling as a tour guide or a travel agent. Maybe that is my life in an alternate universe. In this dimension though, I had to wait until my 40s to figure out I was always meant to be this person. Looking back though, I should have known all along. I should have realized this fact about my personality when I was a teenager. I grokked geography because deep down my soul hungered to be there. Every map, every capital city, every monument we studied was a potential destination. I was meant to fly, or drive, or float to anywhere other than here. Or teleport if such technology ever becomes viable.

When Inspiration Strikes

What does it take to be a writer? Some would advise writing a thousand words every day. The logic is sound. Composing words at such a rate would allow an author to compose a new novel every three months. Other suggestions include setting a schedule, regular time slots each (or every other) day dedicated to your craft. A few authors are lucky enough to consider writing their main source of income and they treat it like a day job with built in weekends and vacation. My recommendation? Define what it takes on your own.

I say this because I am not a normal writer. The odds of becoming a writer were never in my favor. Let me explain.

Photo courtesy of Gratisography

As a kid, I loved to read and was able to consume books well above my grade level. However, I had (have?) a learning disability making reading a slow process. I must read and reread paragraphs and pages for the sake of comprehension. My brain often rearranges word order or insert nonexistent vocabulary changing the meaning of texts on the first read. My ADHD imagination frequently distracts me from the subject matter before me, either predicting what will happen next, question what I would do in similar circumstances, or drift entirely into unrelated universes. Despite my challenges, I’ve always craved a good story; it’s been a lifelong pursuit since childhood.

Reading is an essential skill for authors. Readers are better writers because they are influenced by the syntax and cadence of other authors. If you read my work, you might see my influences from the masters of horror: Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Anne Rice. You could recognize the blend of fantasy and mythology I’ve learned from JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, and Max Brooks. A little deeper and you’ll discover how my skills were shaped by the poetic approach of Jackie Hill Perry, Sho Baraka, and Jason Petty (AKA Propaganda) and the inspirational works of Rob Bell, Carlos Whitaker, Rachel Held Evans, and Donald Miller.

The reading prerequisite of becoming an author is in my wheelhouse, even if it takes me much longer to read a single book than most people. However, I’d argue the content of the books I consume stick with me longer than most audiences. I can still explain plot point by plot point my favorite book from fourth grade and the novel I loved most when I was 21. My brain is disordered but it’s also Pandora’s box for trivial things.

Ask my elementary and junior high teachers if I had the potential of becoming an author, most of them would laugh at you. They might tell you I had the imagination to tell stories but lacked the attention span to actually write a book. Worse, every single one of my former testers would tell you how much I hated writing. You would hear testimony of how I actively avoided writing at all costs, even skipping homework if it required too much pencil to paper labor. They would show you examples of my horrendous penmanship, bad enough to make the sloppiest handwriting appear legible in comparison. Maybe if you’re lucky, you would meet the lone teacher who discovered I could accomplish more completing assignments and tests orally than if I had to write it all on printed worksheets.

In addition to my learning disability and my diagnosed ADHD, I was also functioning (I use that term loosely) with undiagnosed autism. By default, I interacted with my peers and saw the world differently than neurotypical kids. Without an official diagnosis, I had zero supports to navigate my environment as an autistic individual. I had to figure out how to learn on my own terms because what schools were doing for me wasn’t working.

Imagine if you will: a neurodivergent nerd with learning disabilities, from an impoverished home life, who hated writing and was a slow reader, churned through a failing education system, and frequently the target of emotional and physical bullying. That child has more potential of becoming a comedian than an author. The odds were stacked against me. But look at me now.

Wait. I still do not like my odds. I am a parent with a full time job who moonlights as a DJ, is a licensed minister, enjoys taking my wife out on dates, and lives on a farm. Where do I find the time to write? No clue. There isn’t an adequate answer for that question. It’s a thing I do without understanding how I do it. Like I said, I am not a normal writer.

My autism and ADHD do not allow for boredom, turning hobbies into obsessions and often leading down rabbit holes. My slow reading rate takes me a month to complete a book a speed reader could burn through in a couple hours. My obligations chew through time like The Very Hungry Caterpillar eating its way to the end of its story. I don’t have the freedom to set aside a few daily hours for writing or research. I don’t have the time, patience, or energy to scribble down one thousand words every day. I can only write when inspiration strikes. I’m sure other writers also work in similar spurt patterns and yet I still feel abnormal. I’m not sure how common my revolving periods of calm and flurry is inside the writing world.

My first book, ‘Kingdom of Odd’ took a little over two years to progress from the composition of the outline to completion of the first draft, and another year to slog through three revisions after feedback from beta readers. During that time, my now eleven year old was compelled to invent her own story idea for an early reader book called ‘A Unicorn Wish.’ She created the characters and setting then I helped her create an outline. Sometime while writing ‘Kingdom of Odd’ my ADHD got eager and thought of a few (several) other ideas for future books including a Christmas themed ghost story, a science fiction tale about superpowers in a global pandemic, and a picture book about love and global cultures. Those thoughts were jotted down in my phone’s notes app and I continued to focus on Kingdom of Odd. By focus, I mean I got distracted again. Inspiration struck and my autism said “Now or never buddy.” I opened a new Word document and I frantically typed a full first chapter for ‘Only for a Day’ (the superhero/pandemic one) based on the brief outline I had stored in my phone a few weeks earlier.

Nothing to worry about though. I dove back into completing ‘Kingdom of Odd,’ provided copies to some beta readers then awaited their responses. With feedback pending, I fleshed out the outline of ‘Only for a Day’ and picked up composing story where the first chapter ended. This should be the path normal authors follow: write a book, finish a book, start the next book. But I’m not a normal writer. Because I also used this time to write a complete outline for ‘The 12 Ghosts of Christmas’ including character profiles for each of the twelve ghosts. My brain also invented a few more (several) book ideas: alien invasions, dystopian futures, alternate dimensions, revenge, time travel, ghosts, and a lot more.

It’s OK though, I was focused on ‘Only for a Day.’ Then the notes and recommendations for ‘Kingdom of Odd’ were delivered and I went through rounds of edits and revisions. In January of this year, I started querying the completed manuscript to agents and returned to writing the first draft of ‘Do Dragons Sleep?’ I know what you’re thinking, that’s not ‘Only for a Day.’ Correct. But I had the idea, I created an outline and had to start the new project or else my mind would revolt. So now I’m querying a young adult medieval fantasy novel, and juggling two rough drafts, one a modern science fiction for adults, the second a young adult coming of age story with Norse influences.

Sweet. I can bounce back and forth, right? Then my wife threw me a curve ball. She thought of a horror story and wants me to help her write it. We spent a couple nights compiling an outline and character profiles. I wrote the first chapter. Now I have three works in progress. Annie wasn’t done though: she also had a plan for a children’s book. She wrote the first draft then I proposed some revisions. We got feedback from friends and family, I rewrote the tale and she set out to complete all the artwork. Once she finished the pictures, I began formatting ‘Polly was a Wog.’ So four WIPs.

Then a couple weeks ago, I was listening to a discussion on a podcast about the fear of death. Naturally this spawned an idea for another book so I added it to my notes app. However my special blend of autism and ADHD couldn’t leave a small spark alone. A day later, my mental processes stoked the embers into a consuming fire leaving me no choice than to write an intro and first scene of ‘Thanatophobia,’ a home invasion horror story and my fifth WIP.

Here’s where I stand. One book in the query trenches, three books in progress (one without an outline), and one book written but unformatted. I still have horses to feed, kids two raise, a wife to love and cherish, two more DJ gigs scheduled, a two week vacation booked with foreign travel, occasional visits to an open mic night, blog posts to publish, and weekly therapy. I haven’t even mentioned my recent foray into spoken word poetry. How do I do it all? I really, truly do not know.

Grounding

Something interesting happened at San Diego Comic-Con. The cast of Fantastic Four: First Steps graced the stage as a part of Marvel’s big presentation. That’s normal though. Nothing spectacular in what Marvel doing what they have been doing for more than a decade. The most intriguing moment is what transpired while they were on stage. During the F4 segment, actor Pedro Pascal had a moment of panic and reached out to touch the arm of co-star Vanessa Kirby. Understanding what was happening, she took hold of him and the two continued hand in hand.

To the inexperienced eye, this might seem like an innocent gesture, perhaps even romantic. After all, they do portray a married couple in Fantastic Four. It wouldn’t be the first time an onscreen couple developed a real life relationship. However, those of us who battle anxiety, depression, PTSD, and/or autism witnessed something familiar. We recognized the change in Pascal’s demeanor. We watched as one moment he was smiling and totally fine then a second later he most definitely was not fine. His look of panic has also flashed in our eyes. Sometimes for obvious reasons but often without cause. As we’ve struggled with mental health, we have faced occasions where our amygdala short circuited and triggered our fight or flight instincts. One second we’re OK then the next we need something to bring us back to earth.

Pedro Pascal has been open about his mental health struggles. He’s admitted anxiety being a part of his psyche since he was a child. In press interviews and red carpet events, you’ll often see him with his left hand over his chest, a coping mechanism he’s learned to keep himself centered. In extreme moments of panic, he needs to hold someone else. Not inappropriate touching condemned by HR offices everywhere, but a steady and platonic grasp - like holding the hand of a colleague. Vanessa Kirby understood the assignment and allowed Pascal to ground himself through her.

Unfortunately, the trollish side of the internet is mocking the situation. Some are claiming Pascal’s experiences with anxiety are fantastical inventions of his imagination. Others are saying it’s a sign of weakness. Meanwhile, I’m over in my corner of the universe with nothing but respect for Kirby and Pascal. One human in crisis expressing their vulnerability, and another human reciprocating their need with kindness. I have never wanted to be friends with Pedro Pascal more than I do now.

If the toxic half of the internet could shut up for a few minutes, there’s a couple lessons we could learn from Pascal’s interaction on the Comic-Con stage.

First: depression, anxiety, and trauma do not discriminate. It can strike anyone from any socio-economic class. It doesn’t care about your politics, your race, your gender, or your religion. No amount of success, wealth, fame, or acclaim can protect you from mental illness. It strikes rich and poor. It affects beautiful people as much as the ugly dudes. It weighs on the hearts and minds of CEOs and janitors. It is a curse upon the righteous and the unrighteous. And here’s the weird one - even happy people can struggle with depression. I know, because I am one of those happy depressed folks.

Pedro Pascal has a career many actors envy. He’s been the lead actor in celebrated franchises for Star Wars, DC, Marvel, Kingsman, Game of Thrones, and The Last of Us. He’s won a Screen Actor’s Guild Award, two MTV Movie & TV Awards, and a People’s Choice Award. He’s been nominated for Golden Globes, Emmys, Teen Choice Awards, and more. He’s universally loved and respected by those who work with him. He’s made enough money to retire comfortably. Yet despite all his successes, accolades, admiration, and popularity he still battles anxiety.

The other moral of Pascal’s time at Comic-Con is the importance of grounding. Electricians know grounding as a safety method of connecting a powered system to the earth. The therapeutic definition is much the same, but instead of electrical components it connects humans to the terrain. Grounding grounds us. In the simplest sense, grounding is nothing more than touching soil. Walking barefoot through grass or along a sandy beach, wading into a lake or river, lying down in a field or meadow.

One of my favorite podcasts shared a story from a listener who overcame a phobia by grabbing a handful of dirt and allowing it to fall through her fingers every time she had a fear induced panic attack. I have a therapist friend who advocates taking your shoes off outside at least once a day to improve your mood. I’ve even discovered an odd calmness after running my fingers through needles on boughs of pine, fir, cedar, and spruce trees. Psychologists and patients in treatment have praised the use of grounding to treat a wide variety of both mental and physical conditions: depression, anxiety, PTSD, insomnia, hypertension, and chronic pain. It’s not a cure for anything, but it’s an excellent boost when in distress. Kind of like a shot of espresso for a sleepy driver in the middle of a road trip.

Another form of grounding is human contact. My dad preaches the benefits of a good hug. As for Pedro Pascal, finding balance is as simple as holding someone else’s hand. There are times when the feel of the earth isn’t available, no forest or beach or lawn near enough to touch. In those moments, what you need most is the gentle kindness of someone else’s grasp.

It is my hope if you ever find yourself in a time of suffering you have someone like Vanessa Kirby near you, a person understanding and willing to hold your hand to steady your nerves and anxieties. I pray I never reject the needs of a fellow human when their emotional state necessitates a stable platonic touch.

Bless the Artist

In the process of deconstruction, my relationship with the Bible changed. It evolved out of necessity. While some people deconstruct to get away from God, I deconstructed to follow God. I had to figure out how I could still take the Bible seriously when the loudest Christians around me (including many who taught me biblical lessons when I was a child) were not living the way scripture says they should.

How could I believe in the Jesus of the gospel when so many Christian influencers portrayed him to be a gun-toting, power-hungry, hate-filled, bro-dude wearing a red hat? How could I follow the texts so many of my elders claimed to be the exact voice of God when those same leaders actively defied the instructions contained in those supposedly sacred words? How could I embrace Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth when much of the religious right wants to use it as a weapon to harm and control people I love?

This was not an easy exercise. It wasn’t (as celebrity pastor once Matt Chandler called it) a sexy thing to do. Deconstruction is often lonely and terrifying. It is painful and difficult. You lose friends, confuse family, and get ridiculed by the church faithful. In the end, you hope to find truth and freedom but those elements come with a cost. It changes you.

I won’t bore you with the step by step details of how I arrived at my renewed fondness for scripture. Instead, I’ll share the end result because it is (in my opinion) more stunning than anything I was taught in childhood Sunday School.

When I began this journey, I already knew the Bible was a collection of books: stories, poems, letters, records, and law written by at least 40 different authors over a time span of fifteen centuries. I understood every author wrote these books for a specific historical audience for a very distinct reason. It would be foolish to believe we (modern peoples) were the target demographic for these biblical writers. To better understand scripture, you must discover why the stories were originally told.

As I researched a way to answer this question of why, I began to see a pattern, an ongoing theme. Yes, it’s about Jesus. And yeah, it’s about how all these individual authors related to God. But there’s more. My faith was revived when I realized the Bible – start to finish – is a story of creation.

Most church folk will tell you the creation story is the first chapter of Genesis but it stops there. That can’t be it though. As you read the Bible (all of it and not just the parts that make you feel good) God is constantly doing something different. God is relentlessly creative. Sure it starts with creating something from nothing – the heavens and earth, the times of day, birds and fish, all of the animal kingdom, and people created in God’s image. After resting on the seventh day, God had more to accomplish. God wanted to make all things new.

The word “new” appears 280 times in the Bible (NIV translation), and you see this newness everywhere. When Adam and Eve left the garden, they were given new instructions separate from the rules of Eden. After the flood, God did something peculiar – a divine assurance was made, something not done by any other gods worshiped by humans. When God called Abraham, there was a promise a new nation would come from Abraham’s descendants. When the Israelites left Egypt, they were given new laws and new territory. God installed new leadership, new judges, new kings, and new prophets to lead the new nation into a new way of existing. The prophet Isaiah quoted God as saying “behold I am doing a new thing … making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” When Jesus came, God established a new covenant. Jesus regularly spoke about new things. He told the crowds “You’ve been taught to do this, but I tell you something new and better.” He demonstrated a new way of living. At the end of his life, Jesus told his followers to change their focus from the nation of Israel to all nations. Peter was given visions which convinced him to break old laws and traditions in favor of something new. Paul was given a new name and a new profession. In his letter to the church in Corinth, he said we are made new creations in Christ. He told the Galatians church old traditions didn’t matter - what mattered is the new creation. The author of Hebrews detailed a new way of doing religion, a way we could approach God directly, making the old rituals of the high priest obsolete. And the book of Revelation foretold of a new heaven and a new earth.

This is beautiful to me. If God is real, then God is a creative God. If God is real, then God makes all things new. This is something I can believe in. This is something worth living for.

In the gospels, Jesus told his followers “If you believe in me, you’ll do the work I’m doing - and you’ll do even greater things.” To believe in Jesus, who Christians claim is God in human flesh, to follow him we will do what he did. To follow the footsteps of someone who taught new things and new ways, we must do the same. Jesus gave his followers instructions to continue God’s work of creation. Creating something new is perhaps the most holy thing a Christian can do.

So God bless the artist, the sculptor, the painter, the doodler. God bless the storyteller, the novelist, the raconteur, the poet, the bard. God bless the singer of songs, the vocalist, the rapper. God bless the musician, the instrumentalist, the producer. God bless the rhythm maker, the drummer, the beat boxer. God bless the photographer, the videographer, the audio engineer. God bless the crafter, the woodworker, the jewelry maker. God bless the actor, the actress, the costume designer, the director. God bless the artist.

Now ...