I spent the final weeks of 2017 wondering if I could keep writing this column. At several points over the last year, it’s felt like a Herculean effort to continue publicly pondering the state of our world, and the ways in which we could and should be resisting the morally bankrupt oligarchy that is our government. As our world seemed to spin ever faster on its axis, each day’s news cycle stretched the limits of reality. As the holidays approached, I wondered if there could ever be a point in the future where I would look back in relief, as if this time was merely a chaotic blip on the timeline of our country’s history.

Honestly, I don’t think any of us will, and that leaves me with an even more alarming sensation — the strangely hopeful feeling of nervous anticipation for the kind of future an active and organized progressive party may bring. This isn’t to say I don’t feel utter despair at times over the openly racist and bigoted rhetoric spouted by the corpulent wad of chewing gum and hair leading our country. I do. Every day.