u/Jealous-Signature971

As a young trans Latina living in Minneapolis, I’ve experienced so much of the beauty that the political left can offer—not just in terms of policy, but in community. I’ve seen what it feels like to be surrounded by people who affirm my existence, protect one another, and offer a glimpse of what this country could become.
For years, my political priorities have centered on Palestine and the advancement of LGBTQ rights. But lately I’ve been asking myself a difficult question: Does investing my time and energy into helping the Green Party grow—as it has in places like New York City and parts of the West Coast—actually move us closer to the future I want?

As November approaches, I find myself confronting something I haven’t wanted to admit: I’m exhausted.
I’m exhausted by the fear, outrage, and division that dominate our politics. Both major parties engage in it, but I feel especially exhausted by the rhetoric and policies coming from much of the conservative right. Outside of Minneapolis, where there is a strong LGBTQ community and many trans women, I often don’t feel safe. I don’t feel held. I don’t feel protected. I don’t feel loved.

At the same time, it feels like we’re competing against algorithms that increasingly amplify conservative voices. Whether through social media platforms or influential billionaires shaping public discourse, I see younger generations being exposed to ideas that would have seemed unthinkable not long ago.
Then I look at the bigger picture.

Two of the nine Supreme Court justices are approaching 80. If vacancies arise over the next few years, who do I want appointing their replacements? A Democratic president working with a Democratic Congress and Senate? Or another conservative administration in 2028 appointing younger justices who could shape the Court for another generation?

Beyond the United States, I watch countries across Latin America and elsewhere elect increasingly conservative governments. It leaves me wondering: what is happening? Is the political pendulum simply swinging worldwide, or are we witnessing something deeper?
It also forces me to ask whether my investment in the Green Party, however sincere, is the most effective use of my energy at this moment. I don’t subscribe to the argument that “a vote for the Greens is automatically a vote for the right.” Our numbers simply aren’t large enough nationally for that slogan to explain everything. But I do wonder whether there are moments when strengthening Democratic majorities could create more space for progressive ideas to survive—and perhaps eventually allow Green voices to grow in healthier political conditions.

The United States still has enormous influence. Whether we like it or not, much of the world watches what happens here. If Americans move toward more progressive leadership, does that send a signal internationally that there is another path besides nationalism and right-wing populism? Could stronger action on climate change, poverty, healthcare, labor rights, and the struggles of the middle class become more politically possible? Could governments begin serving ordinary people instead of primarily catering to billionaires and concentrated wealth?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’ve spent years focused on global injustice—especially Palestine. That focus makes sense. For many people in my generation, it has become the defining humanitarian crisis of our political lives. But lately I’ve also been asking myself: what about our own backyard?

Turning 30 has given me a different perspective. I still disagree with much of the Democratic establishment. I wish it were bolder, more progressive, and less beholden to corporate interests. But if I’m being honest with myself, I fear the direction of the contemporary conservative movement far more than I resent the limitations of the Democratic Party.

So I’m wrestling with a question I never thought I’d seriously ask:

Is the right path for me to continue supporting Green candidates in local races—where they have real opportunities to grow and influence politics—while supporting Democrats in national elections, where the stakes feel existential?

I genuinely don’t know the answer.
For those of you who have remained committed to the Green Party through years of slow progress, how do you deal with that frustration? How do you stay hopeful while movements so fundamentally opposed to your values continue gaining power—not only in America, but around the world?

These feel like the times of dragons, and I’m trying to figure out the wisest way to fight them without losing sight of the world I hope we can still build.

Any Fiverr promo codes that work lovely People?

St. Teresa:

I’m in tears listening to this stunning song, as if I myself have been pierced by an arrow. There is so much here—the experience of unconditional Divine Love, the embrace of a Higher Power, and the melting away of shame as the final obstacle to receiving that love.

What moves me most is how fearlessly the song enters the sacred territory of grief. It feels like a lament for miscarriage, for a life dreamed of and loved before it could fully arrive. The sorrow is immense, yet it is held with such tenderness that it becomes something holy. Rather than turning away from the pain, the song walks directly into it.

I keep hearing the myth of Persephone and Demeter woven through its heart. Demeter’s anguish at the loss of her daughter becomes a journey through the underworld of grief itself—the barren winter of the soul when nothing seems capable of blooming again. Yet the story reminds us that love is stronger than loss. Persephone returns, spring returns, and what seemed dead begins to flower once more.

This song understands that grief is not something we overcome; it is something we descend into, allowing it to transform us. Like Persephone, we do not emerge unchanged. We return carrying the wisdom of the underworld, the knowledge that loss and love are forever intertwined.

Our girl has grown tremendously to be able to channel this level of soul-genius. There is a depth, vulnerability, and spiritual maturity here that feels both profoundly human and deeply transcendent. The song becomes a prayer, a myth, a mourning ritual, and ultimately a testimony that after winter, spring still comes.

What a gift.

I’m working on an album about social issues in America, and because I’ve traveled through 40 states, I’ve collected so many stories, contradictions, and moments that feel like snapshots of where we are right now—this strange era of collective shadow, division, and reckoning.

One of my favorite albums of all time is Scarlet’s Walk by Tori Amos. I was originally planning to make something completely different, but I kept coming back to the idea of creating my own kind of travelogue album—something inspired by that spirit. I started thinking about calling it Kenny’s Walk. I was 12 when I discovered Tori’s music and it made such a huge impact so when Scarlett’s walk came out, I was in high school and it exploded me in every way shape or form. I am talking neurons detonating in my skull. I knew that I wanted to write socially conscious music.

It would be a tribute to the emotional and narrative journey of Scarlet’s Walk, though musically it would live in a very different world—more alternative rock, darker, more politically charged, maybe more mythic and confrontational. The “walk” would still be there: songs as postcards, confessions, arguments, roadside revelations.

The record explores issues like book banning in the South, the opioid and addiction epidemic, trans identity through the lens of a father learning to truly see and accept his child, burning flags and the complicated meaning of patriotism, religion, masculinity, loneliness, and what it means to belong in a country that often feels like it’s’s tearing itself apart.

All of it is seen through the eyes of a character I want to call Kenny—a gay Hispanic centrist moving through an America full of noise, fear, contradiction, and beauty. He encounters people from every walk of life: tenderness in unexpected places, cruelty where he hoped for love, and strange grace in the middle of collapse.

There’s darkness in it, but I think there’s hope too—maybe a kind of dark hope. Not naïve optimism, but the belief that human beings can still find each other underneath all the noise.

I’d love thoughts from fellow Ears With Feet—especially on the concept, the title Kenny’s Walk, or even alternate album titles if something stronger comes to mind. I’d love to have fun with this and hear what resonates. So throw some titles out and let’s have fun before I record these bad boys in the studio.

And when it’s finished, I’d be happy to share streaming links—or even free copies of the album—with anyone who wants to come along for the journey.

This song is like a mantra whose message at the core I think is “keep going don’t give away”. There is gasoline here if you need it. I can’t stop listening lol.