A Tunnel of Light

Welcome to Bliss Notes. If you're new to my newsletter this is a good place to start!

Dark nights can be scary, let’s lend each other our light.

I’m launching my newsletter near the Winter Solstice of 2024 during the days when darkness is increasing. And it’s not just the hours of darkness that are increasing—the vibes in general are feeling dark lately. As the parent of an almost grownup trans person the times have been feeling darker ever since the first trans healthcare bans were passed a few years ago. And just last week the House passed the yearly US military spending bill, a bill that is usually passed quickly and easily, with a clause that prevents Tricare, the health insurance for military families, from covering gender affirming healthcare for minors. This is not a national ban per se, but with a majority in the Senate, this bill will likely become law, and families in every state in the country will soon be dealing with the fallout of an ambitious conservative movement to discontinue healthcare for trans people (PS This passed in the Senate). So I’m inviting you into a tunnel of light I’m making for us.

We need each other now more than ever

You may or may not have a transgender child. But I bet you are facing a challenge in your life that is making you feel truly stressed. Maybe you have an aging parent who needs care, a teenager with a mental health issue, a financial challenge that is keeping you up at night. Maybe you are facing your own health crisis or you are just facing the state of the planet and the country and feel helpless and overwhelmed. All of these are real stressors that cause real grief. And what I have learned advocating for my trans child and then caring for my husband with ALS is that any dark time is lighter when you keep good company. When we share ideas and strategies and stories and laughter, and maybe even more important when we share a silent hug when there is nothing left to say…we eventually our way even if we don’t end up where we thought we would.

Keep good company

What I mean by keeping good company is that we all need to stay connected to people who light us up—the people who help us do hard things, who remind us of who we are (it’s shocking how easy it is to forget who we are), and who make us laugh. I hope this newsletter will be good company and that you’ll join me or at least be entertained by the various experiments I run to do better and feel better even when it seems like “just ok” might be impossible. A fellow ALS caregiver calls these efforts (antics a lot of times) “fighting for joy.”

Here are some experiments I’ve run recently:

I’ve started keeping a hand written primer (an idea from Austin Kleon) and I try to enter a new quotation every day.

I traveled for two and a half weeks (the first time I left my husband who is totally paralyzed and on long-term-mechanical ventilation at home for more than a few days).

I pitched an OpEd to the New York Times, Washington Post, Sacramento Bee, and Huffington Post (which did not get picked up, a bummer, but ok—I think of it as practice).

I sent a red parrot to a friend to make them laugh.

I bought a hot pink winter hat with a light in it for night time walks (honestly it’s not that good don’t bother).

I spent two months not exercising at all because it did not fit with what my life was like even though I try to work out almost everyday (at 52 this was an experiment I don’t want to run again, not because of the weight gain which uh, yeah that happened, but because my body ached with little kinks and knots that were no fun).

I got on a zoom call with a local group of parents of trans kids to vent and to brainstorm about what in the -f- we do now.

And, here’s one…

I asked for a six month delay in the publication of my debut memoir, because I’m just not ready. Spoiler: the publisher said yes and so now About Bliss, which is a story and guidebook about transgender care for minors will come out in Pride Month of 2025, which is an outcome that is better than I could have imagined.

What to expect

If you subscribe you will receive my newsletter about once a week in your inbox. There will be entertaining, but shameless book promotion. I wouldn’t be a debut author if I did not ask you and everyone you know to buy my book until you and everyone you know have purchased my book. To counterbalance shameless self-promotion, I’ll also be sharing books, essays, videos and other Substack newsletters I think you’ll enjoy.

Walking through the dark in a tunnel of light

As I was thinking about what I wanted my Substack to be, I kept thinking about the Christmas display I went to recently. A friend took me to see it one night, and it was so great I went back a second time with other friends. Filoli Gardens, a local historic site puts out an astonishing display of holiday lights. Starting at sunset the old mansion and its out of season formal gardens become a twinkling fantasy. A field of pink paper lanterns, a pathway of dark blue lights ending at a full moon to create Moon River, a hilltop dotted with glowing globes, and yes, a tunnel of light. It was magical. The thought that I had while strolling the grounds was that without the darkness of the season this enchanting environment would never have been imagined or created. The dark is a necessary condition for creating such spellbinding visions out of lights. So I asked myself, what could I make in the dark that could lighten hearts and carve a way through, what could be my tunnel of light? This newsletter is one idea. But there are more, for me and for you and for all of us. Our imaginations are unlimited. What magic will we create in this darkness? What witchy spells will we cast? What stories will we tell to get through? What parts of ourselves will become brighter? I’m scared these days—of the new administration, of the course of ALS, of my own aging and the state of the planet. That’s all real. But also I can feel myself bumping into curiosity, a then sometimes when I see holiday lights, wonder. And to tell the truth, alongside those there is also a healthy dose of rage. It spits up from an ancient fire. It transforms wood into warmth, food into fuel, dark into light. And it gives me strength to set boundaries, to be in motion, to get to work. With all my might I will write down the light. I will report on the dark skeletons of trees made visible with strings of lights, the parade of boats draped in red and yellow and purple cruising across a dark bay, the star I saw fall from the sky driving home from a recent ALS hospital trip. I will remember the fire I saw tear across Maui.

I don’t want to just survive these years. I want to blaze.

Want to join me?

Cristina

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