Yes. I breathe with you through every line of this.
Felicia, you hold the fork in one hand and the whole collapse in the other, and still the thread runs through: presence. Awareness. Refusal to look away.
I hear the cadence of your table scene and recognise that practiced face. I’ve worn versions of it too—on long Greyhound rides across states I barely understood, across lunch tables with liberal smiles and plastic concern, across oceans. You describe something I’ve felt in my marrow: the script, the costume, the choreography of “everything is fine.” And underneath it—cold, polished, timed—something ancient in its indifference. I know that from my rural Germany all too well.
You speak from knowing. And that knowing pulses through the piece like a subtext none of them will ever name directly. The way people say “homelessness” as if it’s a category, not a system. The way they say “just be friends” as if friendship is the opposite of accountability. The way power slips into the back door of every conversation wearing highlighter and heels and carries a flag.
Your words are ancestral and current. They loop. They witness. They refuse to pretend.
I follow the rhythm you lay out—Lasch, cold brew, Gaza, the curve of the dollar, the dress that flatters—and yes, I see it too. The whole setup. The staging. The glossy illusion with just enough chaos to feel like democracy.
And still, here you are. Writing through it. Showing. As if saying: here is the mirror. I’m standing still. Let’s see who walks away.
I remain with this: the antidote asks for giving. For risk. For choosing something beyond performance.
That isn’t theoretical for me—it’s the ground I write from too.
Oh, this reflection of my work is stirring and brings me a bit to tears to see again that many of us, like you, do understand, and deeply. I collect your words and repeat. thank you!!
"You hold the fork in one hand and the whole collapse in the other.
The glossy illusion with just enough chaos to feel like democracy.
here is the mirror. I’m standing still. Let’s see who walks away.
the antidote asks for choosing something beyond performance.
That isn’t theoretical for me—it’s the ground I write from too."
Felicia, we are absolutely walking beside each other on this. I relegate myself to comment on pieces like yours to make my opinion known, instead of entering into this with an essay of my own. I haven't yet found the right angle.
I feel happy to hear it. I have so many drafts, and I wrote this one over the past 2 weeks. It felt timely. Posted the podcast on Friday. Scheduled posted to Substack for today. Let's see which draft wants to be heard in the next 2 weeks <3 it is a soul process and I feel grateful for the journey.
Felicia,
Yes. I breathe with you through every line of this.
Felicia, you hold the fork in one hand and the whole collapse in the other, and still the thread runs through: presence. Awareness. Refusal to look away.
I hear the cadence of your table scene and recognise that practiced face. I’ve worn versions of it too—on long Greyhound rides across states I barely understood, across lunch tables with liberal smiles and plastic concern, across oceans. You describe something I’ve felt in my marrow: the script, the costume, the choreography of “everything is fine.” And underneath it—cold, polished, timed—something ancient in its indifference. I know that from my rural Germany all too well.
You speak from knowing. And that knowing pulses through the piece like a subtext none of them will ever name directly. The way people say “homelessness” as if it’s a category, not a system. The way they say “just be friends” as if friendship is the opposite of accountability. The way power slips into the back door of every conversation wearing highlighter and heels and carries a flag.
Your words are ancestral and current. They loop. They witness. They refuse to pretend.
I follow the rhythm you lay out—Lasch, cold brew, Gaza, the curve of the dollar, the dress that flatters—and yes, I see it too. The whole setup. The staging. The glossy illusion with just enough chaos to feel like democracy.
And still, here you are. Writing through it. Showing. As if saying: here is the mirror. I’m standing still. Let’s see who walks away.
I remain with this: the antidote asks for giving. For risk. For choosing something beyond performance.
That isn’t theoretical for me—it’s the ground I write from too.
Oh, this reflection of my work is stirring and brings me a bit to tears to see again that many of us, like you, do understand, and deeply. I collect your words and repeat. thank you!!
"You hold the fork in one hand and the whole collapse in the other.
The glossy illusion with just enough chaos to feel like democracy.
here is the mirror. I’m standing still. Let’s see who walks away.
the antidote asks for choosing something beyond performance.
That isn’t theoretical for me—it’s the ground I write from too."
Felicia, we are absolutely walking beside each other on this. I relegate myself to comment on pieces like yours to make my opinion known, instead of entering into this with an essay of my own. I haven't yet found the right angle.
I feel happy to hear it. I have so many drafts, and I wrote this one over the past 2 weeks. It felt timely. Posted the podcast on Friday. Scheduled posted to Substack for today. Let's see which draft wants to be heard in the next 2 weeks <3 it is a soul process and I feel grateful for the journey.
I know wat you mean by so many drafts. I do have several in very various states of finishing.
So nice this unfolding ✨🤞