When You're the Last One Standing

The freedom of feeling like there's nothing left to lose.

The last 12 months have been a fucking doozy. A year ago, I was nearing the end of a six-year romantic relationship, and was about to experience a level of betrayal that almost broke me. Eight months ago, I started EMDR therapy, and finally pulled loose some rotten things that had been poisoning me for years. Six months ago, I set out on a cross-country road trip to reconnect with friends and my wild solo self. One month ago, my mother died. And last week, America voted for Trump. Fucking fuck.

I felt paralyzed after the election, as so many of us did. But as the escalating misery of a second Trump administration becomes increasingly clear, there’s something bubbling up inside me. It’s connected to the death of my mother, which makes me the last surviving member of my immediate family, and also to the fact that Trump is going to fuck everything up in an immediate and horrific way. What’s bubbling is: I have nothing left to lose. And I can do whatever the fuck I want.

It’s an unexpectedly freeing thought. A friend texted me after my mother died, I’m sorry for your loss. And yet I’m relieved for you. Her acknowledgment broke me open. I wept for the loss of my complicated mother, for her release from pain and sickness, for my aloneness. I am relieved and grieving at the same time. How strange it is. Another friend wrote me a card that said Sorry to learn about your last man standing status. Glad you reconnected with the family of friends you built — I was glad to reconnect with you and be one. That also made me weep, as did a friend telling me that I’d find true freedom in this new era. I’m the Lake Baikal of tears over here.

He was right, though. I do feel a newfound power. I can fuck shit up in a way that I couldn’t have at any other time in my life. I don’t have to worry about my family, I don’t have kids, I’m self employed, I can pick up and go anywhere at any time. I can stand in front of someone who needs protecting, and not worry about what I’m going to lose. I’m getting into shape. I’ll be ready to punch fascists in the face, come January. There’s a serenity to it, somehow — punching fascists isn’t serene, obviously, but my ‘last man standing’ status, along with the full reveal of what the GOP’s plans for America are makes this fuck it all attitude feel exactly right, for now, anyway.

I’ve found Tarot extremely helpful this year. I’ve been pulling cards to meditate on change, grief, loss, trauma, passion, creativity, and death. This week, I did a Celtic Cross spread. The center card, which represents the heart of the situation you’re asking yourself about, was the 10 of Swords, arguably the most painful card in the deck. It’s about deep wounds, betrayal, loss, severing ties. It also means that the worst has already happened. I laughed when I pulled it because it felt so accurate. I had to laugh again when I pulled the Death card in the spot that represents the past. No fucking kidding, the worst thing happened: everyone died, and the shitstain on America’s drawers got re-elected.

The 10 of Swords from The Tarot of the Holy Spectrum

But! The rest of my spread gave me some interesting things to think about. The card overlaying the 10 of Swords was the 3 of Cups, which is about celebration, creativity, collaboration, community. It’s about mutual adoration and support, finding your girlies and filling each other’s cups up. And I’ve gotta say, I’m filthy rich in friendship, food, and love. I’ve been picked up at the airport and delivered to my door with Thai takeout; I’ve been fed grilled cheese sandwiches and empanadas and homemade tomato soup; I’ve been held, heard, and fortified. I want for nothing.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have your support as I process stuff by writing about it. I’ve been thinking about what I want to do next; I’ve got a little list going. One project is a workbook of sorts to help with all the things you need to know when someone you love is nearing the end of their life. I wish I’d had something like that when my sister got sick, and when I had to put my mother into care, so I’m making it, and will share it with you soon.

This is where I find myself as I near the end of a year of hurt and healing. I’m emboldened. I have stuff to say. I’m weirdly optimistic about what’s possible. I’m ready to punch fascists and kiss a sweetie. Am I a little unhinged? Sure! It makes me dangerous, in a good way — because I can do whatever the fuck I want.

Love, MJ ❤️