Skip to main content

American Revolutionary Spirit in Massachusetts

Ever since 45 won the election, which coincidentally dovetailed with the unfolding of the solar company I was a part of, I was pretty depressed.

As a growing female leader, I was devastated. Sick of sexist comments and constantly being underestimated at my place of work, I was looking forward to seeing America finally smash the ultimate glass ceiling.

As a passionate employee in the renewable energy economy, I was worried about my job. With a corrupt leader that looked to favor fossil fuel interests, how would investors behave?

As a global citizen I was terrified of the hateful rhetoric the US was so overtly embracing and what it would mean for the earth and everyone on it.

The time I put into work became symbolic for me. I fought hard. It felt good to fight until there was no fight left. Even though the fight looked like a losing battle. I fought because there was a team and contractors to think about. I care deeply about the skilled individuals and boots on the ground, that do all the real work of making solar possible. I wanted them to be treated with dignity. I wanted to protect.

It all feels a little naive and silly now, but my heart was so fully in it, and I was so angry at the world, that I didn't care to think to deeply on my choice. I didn't let myself go hunting for another job or think much about what would happen if it didn't work out.

It was a nightmare slog. I was burning on both ends. When I went home for the holidays my family and friends warned me to realize how much stress I was taking on. Some got frustrated with me for not being more present. I felt resolute, and single-minded. Nothing would sway me from staying focused on protecting and trying to keep things orderly for the team I loved.

At the Women's March, alongside my friends, I found catharsis and hope. I cried when we were asked to look an unknown neighbor in the eye and tell them, "I will fight for you." I painted warrior paint on my face and wore orange sunglasses. There was a delight in all of the signs, the sheer number of people, and the vibration of pure love in the air. I found, on the stomping grounds of America's founding, some American revolutionary spirit. I listened to the impassioned speech of activists. I fell in love for the first time with Elizabeth Warren. I got to know that my Mayor not only has a great accent, but is kickass. Markey did pretty great too. At dinner later, we watched as the TV screen flipped to all of the women's marches across the world, and then compared the pathetic turnout on 45s inauguration.

Months later, the layoff came, along with others on my team and nearly half of the employees at the company. To be honest, a welcome relief due to how difficult it was to maintain status quo. The timing could not have been more perfect as I hastily packed my bags for my two week trip to Iceland, Ireland, and Scotland.

As I've been searching for the next fit for myself, I've been relieved to have some time to simply think on what I want for my career and my life without the stress of the outcome for a company, or a team of people. I've been thinking about where I fit in the battle at this point in time - because it is a battle and I'm a really good fighter.

As I go through that exploration, I've made it my full-time job to resist 45s agenda. It feels right to be unemployed and digging into what I want while fully devoting my time to a progressive activist agenda.

To me, 45 is a symbol of everything wrong with the US. This presidency represents the ugly reality TV obsession America has - we literally voted in the guy who made money off of miss Universe and other TV programming.  He is a symbol of our fear of globalization and technological advancement, a symbol of our toxic masculinity, and a symbol of capitalistic collusion in politics.

I feel lucky to be in a progressive state. There are tons of events and communities to plug into.

I'm giving up my weekends this month because I need to be present and vocal about what is happening in our country.

On the 15th, I march to demand that 45 reveal his taxes. If he were not corrupt, we wouldn't have to fight something so simple.

On the 22nd, I stand up for science. Frankly, I am terrified by the dismantling of the EPA, the leadership that was put in place of key government agencies that serve and protect our lands and health, and the silencing of the scientific community.

On the 29th, I'm going to my first march on Washington to join the People's Climate Movement.

63% of Americans are represented by a climate denier in congress. 97% of Scientists say climate change is real.

We are the last generation that can make an impact before irreparable damage is done.

China and India have more aggressive targets to innovate and invest in renewable energy than the US. They know a thing or two about long-term strategy.

We deserve better representation and leadership. Marches aren't the answer, but they show bodies and the power of the people. They help keep us going.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

One Door Closes...

In coming to terms with the heartbreak of watching a solar company like Sungevity struggle, I'm looking at what made me love that place so much and why I fought so hard/stuck with it. It's because this guy, Danny Kennedy, didn't just build a business, he built a place with a lot of heart and soul that attracted a special kind of employee. Particularly at the end there, I woke up every day feeling like I was fighting for my colleagues and contractors jobs. It wasn't about me, it was about the collective. Shit got pretty emotional for me. In my on-boarding, Danny showed us the hidden stop sign in the Sungevity logo - a little reminder to all of us that amidst the daily slog of a job, we truly were working to stop climate change. The Black Lives Matter movement was just taking shape in Oakland and I remember him saying, "Black lives do matter, and I will be at that march." I also noticed that a solid portion of my incoming class was female - clearly they we...

A Tip of the Hat to California's Innovation

I don't really have a home. When my parents moved from the childhood home in the Central Valley, it was a bit of a relief, but I couldn't call the places they have lived subsequently to be "home." That idea of a place as a home has always been a bit elusive anyway. It tends to be the feeling I get when I'm with people who I have known for a long while and love dearly. The BART subway and all the diversity and humanity in it feels like home. Walking along the streets and visiting the locals I know so well feels like home. The coastline and scenery in the North Bay feels like home. Driving with my Dad in silence feels like home. A special apartment in San Francisco, a prior life of mine, still inhabited by friends feels like home. A dinner with the friends I've come to love and trust the most feels like home. Sharing a bed with my sister because there is no other bed when I'm at my parents house feels like home. Reading my little niece a story feels like h...