At sea

Shortly after the results of the 2024 Presidential Election were announced, I began to pack. Mere moments after the inauguration, US democracy began to deteriorate and has crumbled steadily under the wrecking ball of the Trump administration. Each day brings a new nightmare.

My country is not what I thought it was. If nothing else, Donald Trump has served to reveal it as greedier, more fear-driven, more cruel than I ever thought possible. Trump and his minions have turned over the welcome mat and revealed its hideous underside, replete with centipedes, maggots and mold. Take a look; you'll see what I mean. There's no need to enumerate the sins of this dark breeding ground. A glance at the headlines is enough to send most of us careening to the momentary respite of funny cat videos and fully-fatted ice cream. Always in the background, the question of 1938 Germany echoes: Why didn't they leave when they could?

This afternoon, I boarded the Queen Mary 2 and will spend the next eight days crossing the North Atlantic to Southampton, England. I am escaping to a liminal zone, which I hope will make the break from my birthplace to the lands of my forebears less of a wrench. 

My ancestors crossed the North Atlantic in search of a better life. Now I am doing the same. Like them, I am down in steerage (or what passes for steerage on this luxury liner--I do not think my antecedents found champagne and chocolates upon boarding). Our paths cross over the wreckage of the Titanic, an apt reminder of the unpredictable disasters brought on by hubris.

I am excited and terrified. I am 72 years old. This is not how I envisioned my retirement. But as my father was fond of saying, what is is. And we'll see what comes to pass.