“We need so much less than we take. We owe so much more than we give.”—From “Homesick: A Plea for our Planet” in You Better Be Lightning by Andrea Gibson
I did not know anything about Andrea Gibson when news of their death broke in July 2025. A poet, Gibson had lived a life that inspired others, using words to draw out emotion and connection across several themes. But something changed after Gibson’s diagnosis of ovarian cancer. “Their writing,” as Gibson’s friend Amber Tamblyn described “moved beyond protesting the injustices of the world in binary political terms of right and left as they began to explore the problem of our shared inhumanity. Andrea could see what so many could not: that we are more fractured than ever, and that the only salve might be to lean into what sometimes feels impossible—to love and appreciate each other in spite of our differences.”
Tamblyn’s piece came out in October, around when I started thinking about how I wanted to reflect on 2025, and those particular words took root in my heart. I asked myself, how could I turn this piece from a lament to a balm, particularly when it had been, in so many respects, a terrible year.
Maybe, it is best to start by being honest.
Every single day of 2025, I worked to put one foot in front of the other while letting the steadiness of my heartbeat keep me grounded. By holding onto these constant physical reminders—proof of life so to speak— I comforted myself that I was healthy and living with a measure of personal stability.
However, even within that amorphous sense of safety, it was impossible to feel truly secure when faced with the pain of others, especially when everything felt (and still feels) in a state of cognitive dissonance. I tried to remember my intentions—focusing on perspective and perception—written in those last days before the grotesque funhouse mirror we call our country came into focus. I examined how I spent the next 340ish days struggling to hold onto that perspective, trying to trust my perception of events as they unfolded, even as others found ways to rationalize the choices of the corrupt and powerful.
To survive, I sought ways to step back from the firehose of news and focus in on what I could do as a historian, a woman, and a human being. I protested, I traveled, I wrote poetry (not every day as I intended but when my heart ached and my body sought an outlet). I sat in community with my friends and family, and I witnessed. I attended a teach-in. I looked for places to gather, to not feel so alone—allowing myself to feel this unyielding grief that has no remove; while not letting it overwhelm me. And when it did, I acknowledge, I sat myself in front of the television to escape, ceding sleep to stories that made me feel when the world was inciting me to numbness.
I allowed myself the grace of joy when it came my way, and accepted laughter as it stumbled towards me. And above all else I tried to center my humanity, and to acknowledge the humanity in others. Because that is one thing we are on the precipice of losing.
A little while after reading the piece on Gibson, I traveled to Oklahoma City for the launch of another huge professional project focused on Route 66. The event was at the National Cowboy Heritage and Western Museum, and as I meandered through the galleries I found myself arrested by a circular painting by Erin Shaw, a Chickasaw-Chocktaw self-described “artist of the borderlands, the spaces between worlds.” The painting, called Everything Belongs, is luminous. Against a background of blues and greens are a field of stories in the shape of individualized structures, animals, and symbols. It felt, almost like a yearning dreamscape, a call for imagination, a hoped for reality. One where we are all connected, and we all belong. And yet…
There is a phrase in the business of Artificial Intelligence (like so many I have been forced to learn more, and adopt this technology) about how it is a tool and that all must remember to “keep humans in the loop.” It is meant to be a reminder that as good as the tech can get, from an ethical standpoint human beings must be part of the system to ensure it is without error. The jargon says it is a moral checks and balances (though, what happens when the humans in the loop are agents of chaos? But I digress).
Consequently, in 2026 my intention is to keep humanity in the loop. It is a tiny difference, but it is one that asks us to remember that each one of us deserves to live a life free from pain, from hunger, from terror, and trauma. That everyone deserves a world in which we can thrive, and to not be afraid to move against the violence that is spreading unchecked across our country (and the world)—even as reality pushes the narrative that gleeful cruelty looks to be winning the day.
It must not be the case.
It cannot be the case.
As a historian, I believe fundamentally in the long arc of justice, know that change moves at the speed of generations, and that progress may no longer happen in my lifetime.* But we cannot stand still, we must be the agents for humanity. We must be the force for good, so that our voices rise higher than those that seek to shut it down.
There simply is no other choice.
In Case of Fire, Break Glass
I have ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, two ears,
one mouth, one nose. I am, I am, I am,
Human.
And you? You have ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, two ears,
one mouth, one nose. You are, you are, you are,
Human.
And them? They have ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, two ears,
one mouth, one nose. They are, they are, they are,
Human.
But through the looking glass, a distorted mirror. Translating
avarice and greed and making others into monsters. Cracks:
Where 7 years of bad luck has captured souls, creating fractures.
But believe this: We are more than our appendages.
We are a head. We are a heart. We are a part of
humanity.
Another option:
In case of fire, break glass.
I lift the hammer.
*Credit where credit is due: I look to the past for guidance and knowledge. These beliefs come from the actions, words, experiences of anti-slavery and Civil Rights era leaders, and other notable figures in Black history. I just serve as a vehicle to carry those legacies forward.
My Twenty Twenty-Five
Here is a look at all that I read, watched, experienced in 2025. For reasons I describe above, I wrote nothing for myself this year, so as a result my full thoughts on some things are taking up valuable real estate in my head. As a writer that is uncomfortable, so I’ll work on that.
Continue reading “Keep Humanity in the Loop in 2026”
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