Every day, something happens in Trump’s America that should bring people flooding into the streets. But days pass and we don’t turn out.
I get it.
We’re all just trying to make it through another week, holding onto whatever normalcy remains.
Over the past 18 months, I’ve watched the real-time authoritarian takeover of my home country – mostly from abroad. The cruel ICE raids. A senseless, ongoing war. The gutting of federal agencies. The Epstein files that keep getting buried. And an unprecedented daily erosion of rights, norms, and institutions that were once the bedrock of our government.
Americans – and the world – are exhausted.
Even the most committed activists I know are struggling to keep up. While many are still in the fight, many never joined. And that’s a big reason why I keep finding myself out of the country.
Currently, I’m living and working remotely in Colombia — it’s my third time back in the city I affectionately call “Magical Medellín.”
In 2024, I had an unexpected dance reawakening here, rediscovering a passion I’d set aside for well over a decade while building my career. What keeps drawing me back is the way Paisas, the local people of Medellin, fully live in the present. And nowhere is that felt more than the city’s thriving dance community.
A lively song that lifts your spirits. A stranger’s hand reaching for yours across the dance floor. An effortless syncopation that happens between you and your partner. And a neverending sea of people moving together — every age, race, body, and background — all in harmony.
I returned this year not as an escape, but as oxygen. There’s a difference.
Even though I’m far away, I’m far from checked out. If anything, I’m more clear-eyed than ever. I keep taking action, however I can — imperfectly, but consistently. I write. I speak out. I contact my representatives.
Earlier this month, I spent $55 to send my absentee ballot priority mail for Virginia’s special election. The narrowly-passed referendum levels the playing field in response to Trump’s attempted power grab in other states. With its passing, Democrats have a real shot at taking back Congress in the November midterms — meaning we, the people, can possibly restore qualified leadership, and some semblance of normalcy, to our government.
Casting my vote was worth every penny. Because the sober truth is, there’s very little within our control right now as everyday Americans.
We can protest, speak out, boycott Trump-supporting companies, call our elected officials, and vote. These are our tools — and our only real leverage. Yet most people aren’t using them, and that inaction has a cost we’re already paying.
For me, distance isn’t apathy — it’s what makes sustained engagement possible.
Something Has Shifted
For the past decade, I’ve experienced a full spectrum of emotions about the state of our nation and the direction it’s heading in. Sadness. Frustration. Despair. And a profound grief I honestly didn’t know could exist.
I am, by nature, an emotional person. My close friends know I can cry at the drop of a hat — from sadness, yes, but also from overwhelming joy.
But since Trump’s re-election, a single feeling has risen to the top:
Rage.
Generally speaking, “angry” is not one of my personality traits. My therapist often tells me it’s okay to feel your feelings… and I believe that. But I’ll be honest, this new emotion feels so raw and unhinged, it’s been distressing to confront.
Initially, my rage had clear recipients: Trump, his administration, and the MAGA faithful who, no matter what evidence has been presented, remain devoted to this horribly corrupt individual. A man who is a convicted felon, adjudicated rapist, unapologetic racist, credibly accused child predator, and lifelong con man who incited an insurrection — then got handed the highest office in the world. Twice.
That anger isn’t going anywhere.
What’s harder to reckon with is that the anger has spread. It has spilled over, the way overflowing water does, finding every available channel.
I’m angry at members of Congress — people in legitimate positions of power who can actually change our trajectory — but instead, do absolutely nothing.
I’m angry at media outlets and journalists performing the intellectual pretzel of “both sides” coverage, despite one side clearly being openly fascist.
I’m angry at celebrities and influencers who remain silent, even though their platforms could motivate millions of people to take action.
But my rage doesn’t end there. And this is what I’ve been most reluctant to admit — to myself and publicly. It has also shifted toward an unexpected audience:
Good people.
People who I know are opposed to Trump; who are upstanding citizens — community-minded, family-oriented, and kind to their neighbors. These people believe that “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” is a right, not for a certain subset of Americans, but for everyone.
Yet these same people wouldn’t describe themselves as “activists.” They wouldn’t think to attend a protest, call a representative, put out a yard sign, or express a political opinion publicly.
Some are nervous. Some feel it isn’t their place. But I imagine most simply believe that being a good person is enough.
And therein lies the problem.
Quiet neutrality isn’t benevolent. In this era of our nation’s history, passive silence has actively helped hand our democracy to the very people dismantling it.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. understood that silence in the face of injustice is not neutral — it’s complicity. Political activist Angela Davis stated: “it’s not enough to be non-racist. You have to be actively anti-racist.”
That same logic applies now.
Privately opposing fascism while doing nothing about it is still doing nothing. And not-doing has consequences just as real and serious as doing. We are living inside those consequences right now.
The Decision To Move
After Trump’s re-election, I didn’t have a plan. I just knew, after a decade of active resistance, I had to move — literally. And that decision has saved me, along with my sanity.
Living abroad offers me perspective and a nervous system that isn’t constantly in crisis mode. Being a world away doesn’t lessen grief, but it does help to manage it. And in a place where dance is integral to daily life, it’s also given my rage somewhere to go.
There’s something cathartic about moving your body in sync with others when the world feels irreparably out of sync. Night after night, song after song. The rage isn’t disappearing — but it’s transforming.
Becoming, in its own way, something beautiful.
Proof that joy is not a retreat from hard things. It’s what makes hard things survivable. It’s what keeps you in the fight when the fight demands everything you have, for longer than you ever imagined.
This Moment Needs YOU
Here’s what I want to say — not to the people already in the streets, doing the work, speaking out and showing up — but to the ones on the sidelines. The ones I know truly care, quietly and deeply, but have convinced themselves that silent empathy is enough.
Multiple truths can exist at the same time.
We can grieve what is happening and still get out of bed and do something about it. We can feel paralyzed and still take one small step: a conversation, a call, a vote.
Whether you’re a college student, stay-at-home parent, small business owner, retiree, or someone who has never once attended a protest or thought of themselves as “political” — you are exactly the person this moment desperately needs.
There’s no need to become someone else or be an official activist. In fact, taking action is often the antidote to ambivalence — not the other way around.
What we cannot do — and what none of us can afford to do — is nothing.
Discover what moves you.
It might be running, painting, cooking for people you love, tending a garden, singing at the top of your lungs in your car — anything. The point isn’t the specific act, but that you tend to yourself with enough care that you have something left to give.
Then give it, wholeheartedly. Not because you have to, but because you want to. And because you know that if you don’t, for certain, nothing will change.
How We Keep Going
Democracy is not a spectator sport. And finding joy in your life isn’t either.
Feel the sadness and speak out anyway. Feel the frustration and make the call anyway. Feel the hopelessness and vote anyway.
Feel the rage and dance anyway.
These things can coexist — indeed, they have to. Because the alternative is burning out before this is over. And we’ve still got a very long road ahead. The world is watching. History will not forget.
So find your dance floor. And get in the fight.
Take Action
November 3, 2026: Midterm Elections — These elections will determine whether Democrats take back control of Congress — our most immediate opportunity to restore congressional oversight of this administration. Make sure you’re registered to vote. Talk to your family, friends, neighbors, and colleagues about why showing up matters. Voting blue up and down the ballot isn’t a political preference — it’s the most powerful thing ordinary people can do right now to right the course of this nation. Confirm your registration at iwillvote.com.
For more on the state of U.S. democracy, read my other essays: Wake Up, America (January 2026); Why I’m Leaving the U.S. (Again) (December 2025); To Be An American (July 2025); The Mourning After (November 2024); A Nation Adrift (January 2025); News or Noise (June 2024)
