I Guess I'm Not OK

I thought I was okay.

I thought I would just pick myself back up and move on. But today, I’m realizing I was wrong. As I walked Teddy around the block in Los Angeles this morning, I felt something shift. The air was heavy, and the usual lighthearted greetings I exchange with neighbors were met with somber faces and half-hearted smiles. I caught myself wondering, Why does everything feel so surreal?

This city I know so well suddenly felt like a different place. I didn’t know anyone personally on the walk, yet there was a shared sense of tension in each nod and glance. It felt as if, somehow, we were all bracing for something—something unspoken yet deeply felt. The morning sun was beautiful, casting a warm glow on the neighborhood, and yet it did little to lighten the atmosphere.

Then I ran into a friend—a neighbor taking her kids to school. As we exchanged pleasantries, emotions welled up in my eyes. I turned away, but my chin began to quiver. She noticed immediately, ran over, and wrapped me in a hug. And that’s when I broke down, sobbing in the middle of the street.

I guess I was wrong about being okay.

I’ve been awake since 4:30 a.m., spiraling through a series of “what ifs” about the future. I wonder what would happen to Joel, to Teddy, to our home, if things keep moving in this uncertain direction. Where would we go if, someday, our door is the one that’s knocked upon? How would our neighbors react if they saw us in that situation? I imagine them saying, “Wait, why is this happening? I just wanted cheaper groceries!” The irony and sadness of that hypothetical response—it’s hard to shake off.

Should I be planning a way out? Do we start thinking about asylum, about selling and moving far away to find safety? Thoughts like these are unsettling, yet they persist. As a gay man in America, the future suddenly feels tenuous, with rights I once considered secure now hanging in the balance. The possibility of marriage rights being contested again—it feels surreal, unjust, but somehow plausible in today’s world.

And then my mind drifts to the idea of safety. Should I even consider buying a gun, something I never imagined myself doing? Or should I adopt a symbol of defiance, like flying a “Gays for Guns” flag outside our home? These thoughts feel foreign to me, yet they highlight the quiet desperation that’s building.

A straight, white, Jewish friend of mine has shared his own fear with me, particularly about what’s happening in Gaza and Israel. He’s deeply concerned about the rhetoric he’s hearing, the chants and the slogans, fearful that it’s just the beginning. And while I listen, I can’t help but remind him that my community, the LGBTQ+ community, often finds itself first in line when freedoms start to erode. Yet here we are, united in our anxiety, each of us wondering if our worlds are truly safe anymore.

This tension reminds me of my own work, which, on the surface, may not seem revolutionary. Arts and crafts—simple projects that bring warmth to people’s homes. It isn’t world-changing or life-saving. Yet, perhaps there’s more to it than meets the eye. In times like these, even a small act of creativity or a piece of homemade pie can offer a brief respite from the heaviness. It’s a reminder to stay grounded, to find joy in small things, even when the world feels upside down.

But there’s something deeper here, too. As neighbors, as communities, we have to keep extending kindness, despite our differences. I think about Kamala Harris, who recently emphasized the importance of welcoming even those who don’t share our views to the table. Her words have stayed with me, reminding me to avoid letting hatred creep in, to resist the bitterness that so easily seeps in during times like these.

At the end of the day, we’re in this together, whether we agree or not. In times like these, when our nation feels more divided than ever, perhaps it’s kindness that will help us rebuild. My world isn’t theirs to shape with fear or hatred; it’s ours to nurture with resilience and kindness. I refuse to let bitterness and cynicism harden my heart.

To show my solidarity and offer comfort to others, I’m placing a "helping hand" sign in my window. This hand symbolizes that my home is a safe haven—a place where anyone feeling threatened, alone, or in need of refuge can find comfort. If someone is in trouble, they can take refuge with me. Growing up, this helping hand symbol was part of our local PTA program. Homes displaying the hand meant that if kids were in trouble or scared, they could find a trusted adult there to help them.

That symbol became so meaningful in my neighborhood back then, a quiet assurance that we’d be looked after, no questions asked. Now, I’m hoping it can again serve as a signal of solidarity and safety for anyone who needs it. If this resonates with you, I invite you to join me. I’ve created a downloadable version of the helping hand symbol for anyone who wishes to display it as a sign of support and unity. Together, we can signal to one another that we’re here, that we’re not alone, and that we have each other’s backs.

Self-Care List: Small Steps to Lift Your Spirit

1. Go Outside: A simple walk can help clear your mind. Being in nature, even briefly, can provide a fresh perspective and lighten your mood.

2. Connect with Someone: Reach out to a friend or neighbor. Even a quick chat or a comforting hug can remind you that you’re not alone.

3. Create Something: Whether it’s a small craft project, a recipe, or a sketch, creating something with your hands can bring a sense of accomplishment and joy.

4. Breathe: Take a few moments for deep breathing. Sometimes, just a few breaths can calm the nervous system and create a sense of peace.

5. Find Humor: Watch a funny video, listen to a comedy podcast, or call a friend who makes you laugh. Laughter is a powerful way to relieve stress.

6. Practice Gratitude: Reflect on three things you’re grateful for, however small. This can shift your focus from worries to what’s good in your life.

7. Treat Yourself Kindly: Sometimes self-care is simply being gentle with yourself, letting go of expectations, and allowing yourself to feel what you feel.

And so, in the spirit of resilience, I’m sharing a simple recipe for homemade lemonade. It’s my way of saying, “We can do this.” We can keep going, keep creating, keep choosing kindness over fear. Here’s to turning lemons into lemonade, one day at a time.

Homemade Lemonade Recipe

Ingredients:

• 4–5 large lemons (about 1 cup of lemon juice)

• 1 cup sugar (adjust to taste)

• 4 cups cold water

• Ice cubes (optional)

• Fresh mint leaves for garnish (optional)

Instructions:

1. Juice the Lemons: Roll the lemons on your countertop to help release the juices. Slice them in half and use a juicer to extract the juice, aiming for about 1 cup of fresh lemon juice.

2. Prepare the Simple Syrup: In a small saucepan, combine 1 cup of sugar with 1 cup of water. Heat over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar dissolves completely. Allow to cool slightly.

3. Mix the Lemonade: In a large pitcher, combine the lemon juice, simple syrup, and 3 cups of cold water. Stir well, and taste to adjust sweetness or add more water if desired.

4. Serve: Fill glasses with ice (if using), pour in the lemonade, and garnish with a sprig of fresh mint or a slice of lemon.

Take a sip, and let this lemonade remind you that sometimes, life’s sour moments can be softened, sweetened, and shared. Here’s to all of us choosing kindness, courage, and community, even when it feels like the world is shifting beneath our feet.