End-of-Year Advice for Filthy Leftists
Self-helpy AF
Welcome to an advice column by me, Sara Benincasa, a person with many opinions. This column will not diagnose or “cure” anything. Hopefully, reading it will entertain and perhaps comfort you. Think of it as a gentle, consensual hug from the aged, decrepit Old Year. Send questions to saratoninnewsletter@gmail.com. If I use your question, I’ll keep you anonymous.
Hi, all. Since this is my last advice column of the year, I thought I’d take a moment to thank you all for reading. I’ve written for Wonkette on and off since 2009, and I’ve seen it grow and change under different leadership, with different writers, editors, and commenters. Just as every generation that moves to New York thinks it owns New York, every new wave that subscribes to Wonkette thinks they own it. I think that’s fucking beautiful.
The truth is that through your paid contributions, you help keep this place running. Yr Editrix Rebecca speaks with far greater authority and gratitude on said topic than I ever could, but when you see these subscription buttons and one-time donation buttons, know that your contribution really does matter. I won’t speak for the other folks who unleash the hot magma of their fiery brains here, but you’ve certainly helped make my life better as a freelancer and human, and I want to thank you for that.
HERE IS ONE EXAMPLE: I finished writing a pilot for the first time in a while, and who knows if it’ll get me staffed or if it’ll get sold as a show. Statistically, that’s highly uncommon. It’s happened for me in the past, but for every gig you book, there are a bunch more you don’t. I wouldn’t be able to pursue creative stuff that might never yield income if I didn’t have creative gigs that DO yield income. You make that possible (plus, like, paying for the lighting bill and stuff). And like THANK YOU MOST OF ALL TO REBECCA OBVIOUSLY.
Typically, I answer an email from a reader. In this case, I’m dispensing with that format and just handing out general advice because you filthy fuckaducks deserve it.
Listen to this beautiful song Jeff Tweedy wrote for Mavis Staples. He shared it in his newsletter Jeff Tweedy | Starship Casual this week.
Enjoy this gorgeous duet they did in 2010. Another version was used on “The Bear” (I forget if it was Season 1 or Season 2) and may the Virgin Mary and also the Sexually Active And Loving It Mary bless creator, writer, director and music supervisor Chris Storer as well as co-executive producer and music supervisor Josh Senior for giving the world a perfect mixtape in addition to a brilliant TV program (apologies if I missed a multi-hyphenate title!).
If you can give money, make a year-end contribution to a nonprofit or mutual aid fund that reflects your values. For me, that’s Miry’s List, INARA, RAICES Texas, and War Child USA. Your mileage will vary.
If you can’t give money, consider boosting your cause of choice up on social media, or just leaving a kind comment or sending a sweet direct message. When I’m not freelancing here or writing for TV or books or some such filth, I work full-time at a nonprofit. I don’t run their social media but I know it’s a big and busy gig. Kind words are always appreciated by social media managers. At a nonprofit, they’re usually doing a million other gigs too. So be nice.
Drink as much clean water as is healthy for you, if you are fortunate enough to have access to it.
You never have to make New Year’s resolutions, and I want you to remember that.
Every day is a day you can begin again, and I want you to remember that, too.
You’re not the biggest piece of shit the world ever revolved around and neither is the one you love the most, or the one you love the least. I want to remember that, so I’m putting it here.
Shit gets real dark sometimes. We do cruel things. Cruel things are done to us. We survive but we don’t always thrive. I don’t begrudge a soul who feels they need to leave this planet early. I will offer only this: The world can, in some way, be improved by your presence and by the mere possibility that you could get better, be better, and do better. I want us all to remember that.
The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline is always there. I have friends who’ve called it. Pass it on if somebody needs it.
Tip as well as you can, always.
Pay for your p*rn, dammit. Sex work is work, and so is lighting, editing, and filming said sex work. It’s not a charitable endeavor! If you don’t like it, DON’T CONSUME IT.
Support an artist from whom you’ve enjoyed free labor. Those beautifully designed and written and painted and spoken Instagram posts don’t make themselves! If they’ve got merch, swag, or a link in their bio, check that shit out.
Keep in mind, always, that the problems of the wider world are not all yours to solve. It is enough to do what you can, when you can, in the way that you can, with love and kindness and, yes, loving rage in your heart. If your anger becomes fuel to take actions that result in others’ healing, honor it.
And if you just need to punch a fucking pillow so you don’t put a hole through a wall, do that. The human burden is not lightened through suppression — not of feelings, not of opinions, not of speech, not of facts. This does not mean everyone needs to hear exactly what you or I think of everything. But we must move energy through our bodies or it gets stuck. We make ourselves sick or we make others sick. Let it move when it wants to move.
First do no harm (except maybe to a pillow, sorry pillow, you can handle it).
The next time you’re at a bookshop that stocks poetry, buy a chapbook or zine. You don’t have to read it. Pass it on if you wish. It’ll matter to somebody. Nobody remembers the poets — that’s a lie, but it feels like that sometimes. The poets won’t save our bodies but sometimes they do save our souls. And fuck it, you just bought yourself a new coaster for your beverage of choice.
I send you love, healing, peace, rest, and deep belly laughs. I send you the tears you’ve not been able to access because nobody taught you how to just let them loose. I send more kudos than you think you deserve. I send you the sweet, unexpected relief that comes from owning your mistakes and making what amends are possible, where possible, when possible. I send you the knowledge that you don’t need to hang yourself upside down and gobble liquid human shit from a giant hamster feeder in order to be worthy of your own forgiveness.
It is not a sin or betrayal to hold anyone accountable, including ourselves. It is not a sin or betrayal to stand up for ourselves at last, at long last. Others may ignore it. Others may push back. That’s on them.
I believe nothing is lost. It waits for us to remember if we need to remember it, and to process it if we need to process it, and to use it to propel ourselves forward to our next level of becoming.
As long as we stick around, we get to keep growing. After that, nobody knows.
I leave you with this blessing from my personal hero, Lord and Savior, NYU philosophy program graduate and second-best bouncer in all of America, James Dalton. I shared this in a previous column but it’s worth sharing again in this season of love and loss, gratitude and grief.
Sara's cat looks so much like Thornton!
@Sara: Will the Revolution Art Shop be stocking those shirts again, ever?