On Being Under, and Over, the Weather

Sundays

Sometimes the best thing we can do is stop or, failing that, slow down. I came down with a relatively mild case of bronchitis last week, which coincided with the arctic freeze that paralyzed the northeast for the last two weeks. That’s made it easier to slow down as well. The bronchitis kept me in bed for a couple of days, and that turned out to be exactly what I needed. (I rarely make such choices of my own accord.)

It’s warmed up considerably over the last couple of days, but there are still ice floes in the Hudson River and it feels as if the cold has seeped into my bones. I am very ready to be done with this brutal season, but it’s served its purpose.

It turns out, when you slow down, even if it’s because you’re forced to, it’s easy to get a clear sense of just how chaotic and overwhelming are the times in which we live while having the luxury of not being caught up in them.

The first year of Donald’s second term was an unmitigated disaster, but as of January 3^rd 2026, when Donald ordered the United States to launch a strike against Venezuela and kidnap President Nicolas Maduro and his wife, it feels as though this country has fallen off a cliff. Every day I’ve struggled—and often failed—to find the most important developments to write about, because how do you do that when everything feels important?

That has been one of the trickiest and most enduring problems of the Trump regime—most of the time, almost everything they’re doing to distract us whether internationally—kidnapping Maduro; threatening to invade sovereign nations; undermining the NATO alliance; abandoning Ukraine; siding with autocrats to upend the post-World War II alliance (the list is so long)—or domestically—unleashing ICE; attempting to steal the 2026 election; grifting in an utterly gobsmacking way—is of legitimate concern.

The best way to approach these simultaneous assaults on our alliances, our democracy, and our senses is to understand that they are all of a piece; the best way to understand them, is to connect the dots.

And that is often easier to do when you take a step back—voluntarily or, as the case may be, under duress. Slowing down allows for a new perspective; slowing down lowers the heat and the sense of urgency; slowing down allows us to pay attention to those things that may not incessantly demand our attention but, honestly, more often deserve it.

And sometimes slowing down—or taking it slowly—allows for the possibility for connections we weren’t sure would ever happen.

Ronda and Millie have been together for almost eleven years, but Millie didn’t move in with us until July. Being an optimist, I was convinced that Linden (more likely), and perhaps even Cap would become fast friends with her in short order. We did everything by the book: we kept Millie and the cats separate from each other for a couple of weeks; we put a gate up for several more; we let Linden and Millie, and then Cap and Millie, in the room at the same time under strict supervision. But months in, there were still some scary moments—somebody would get spooked and all hell broke loose.

Then, slowly over time, after progress and setbacks and a lot of patience, this happened:

There is always hope if we give ourselves and each other time. We just need to be patient with each other, and ourselves.