I Live Here Now

I had a dog, his name was Marleau. He was a Boston Terrier, and he just wasn’t that smart. His nickname was “Derpity Doo” because he was was that derpy. We all loved him a lot. One day, we visited my parents, and we brought the Derp along. We got in the house, let him off the leash, and forgot about him.

Important note about the Derp. He wanted to see the world. Unleashed outside of the house, he bolted in whatever direction suited him, and he kept heading that direction until he found a friend. A new best friend. Literally anyone in that direction. Derpity Doo had a GPS collar because of this repeated behavior. We mostly no longer panicked when he vanished, we just waited for the phone call from whoever that Marleau had derped his way into someone else’s heart.

Two hours into the parental visit, someone asked, “Where’s Marleau?” Nowhere to be seen. We checked the house, called for the Derp, walked the property, and eventually resigned ourselves to wait for the call, which did not come. We eventually left to home without Derpity Doo. The call came an hour later from an unexpected source: my mother.

“Yeah, so I opened up the pantry closet next to the kitchen, and Marleau was just sitting there.”

I repeat: Marleau had somehow gotten locked in a closet and then sat there for four hours. Fifteen feet away from where everyone was sitting. Didn’t make a sound even when we were hollering for him on the other side of the door.

The joke we told and retold, because Marleau just wasn’t that bright, was that he checked out his surroundings in the closet, saw there was no obvious exit, sat down, and decided, “Well, I guess I live here now.”

And that was it. He was fine. Calm acceptance.

My anxiety regarding the world has shifted from an unhealthy “it’s time to move elsewhere to an undisclosed location with an abundance of trees and a distinct lack of humans” to a semi-precarious “Ok, I can check the news for five to ten seconds, but I’m mostly devoid of hope. But I can smell hope… It’s wafting in from somewhere.”

What’s behind the change? It’s not clear. It’s some version of “time heals all wounds,” or maybe it’s just that I’ve sorted the assundry horribleness into the correct buckets as opposed to just sitting there… unblinking… thinking “What. The. Fuck.”

But I think it’s mostly the sad realization and acceptance that “I live here now.”

Yes, absolutely, we should not accept the current circumstances. Consistent, principled action is required from a great many motivated humans, but a good place to start is to recognize and accept your circumstances.

Two Slack emojis are my go-to responses to complex situations. The first is the Dancing Penguin. He’s one of the reasons you see a penguin in much Rands schwag. The other is the Chonky Sad Panda.

He’s so chonky and he’s so sad. Defeated, but not destroyed. I’ve used this emoji for years to acknowledge, yes, we are in an unfortunate situation — we will act, but for now let’s recognize this is deeply sad. Let us accept that we live here now.

I commissioned a t-shirt worthy version of Chonky Sad Panda, which you can now purchase on Cotton Bureau. Thank you to Marina Lisova for the amazing work. I am doubling all profits from the sales of this shirt (and all Rands schwag) and donating to Press Forward, a non-profit focused on strengthening local news, because we need relevant and research-based truth more than ever.

It’s not a Boston Terrier, it’s a Chonky Sad panda, but when I see the chonky sad defeat, I think of Marleau trapped in the closet. He’s not freaking out. He’s zen. Maybe he’ll start barking, but for now, he’s oddly complete, having chosen to accept his unfortunate, yet temporary circumstances.

A grounding first step. Calm. Situationally aware.

Preparing. Perhaps a deep breath.

Now, the bear wakes up.