Harry Potter and the Perfect New Year's Advice for 2025

You never know what might speak to your condition.

How was your Christmas? Was it a good Hanukkah? Did you have a nice Kwanzaa, or at least a Festivus with a satisfying airing of grievances and feats of strength?

You ready for 2025?

If not, it doesn't matter: it's here anyway.

After a nice but uneventful holiday, Dave and I slowly descended into the nebulous, commitment-less, stuck-between-time week between Christmas and New Year's. I achieved my goal for the vacation - to become unaware of which day of the week it was. Dave's goal for the week was to begin organizing and editing his first book in earnest, and while we made some progress, it almost certainly wasn't as much as he wanted.

And now that strange, outside-of-time week has ended. It's 2025.

Oh, sure, we paused our NYE Harry Potter movie marathon to watch the ball drop in New York City's Times Square, even though it was only coming up on 9 PM for us. Every couple in the crowd kissed as long and as hard as they could while the camera zipped around. Floating above the mayhem was Frank Sinatra’s immortal reminder that, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.

And all could think was: January 20. Less than three weeks.

Donald Trump won this election fair and square, popular vote and everything - although he's already disappointing some of his fans, who apparently believed he somehow controlled the price of eggs. He's sent his son's former paramour packing via a very questionable ambassadorship to Greece. He's also attempted some truly objectionable admin picks: men who stand credibly accused of stomach-turning crimes and conduct unprofessional in the extreme.

Trump has once again suggested, like, conquering Greenland? Does he want to start a war with Denmark?! Something certainly will be rotten there if he does.

On the other hand, I'm prepared to accept his remarks about annexing Canada as jokes of an order not typically indulged in by other presidents. That's OK: By the second time around, we know Donald Trump is not a typical president.

And anyway, having lived there, I can assure you we are not nearly good enough to be joined with Canada in any way. Even Zellers, it seems, is considered better than Target. I was there when they got Target, and trust me: That’s saying a lot!

But most distressingly, it sure seems that Trump has gotten what he needed from Vice President-elect J.D. Vance, who is absolutely nowhere to be seen. While I don't care for the man, I certainly hope he's not stuffed in some Mar-a-Lago broom closet, along with all the classified papers.

No, rather than sticking to the VP candidate who gamely served as his attack dog throughout the home stretch of campaign season, it appears that Trump now plans to gift not the title, but certainly the vice-presidential privilege, and maybe even some of the practical procedure, to Elon Musk, of all people.

Then again, perhaps it does make some sense: If the whole administration is going to be a coked-up, sexual-assault-y mess, Musk will fit right in.

Plus, he's another (ahem: a real) billionaire with absolutely no experience working in government, expecting to jump in at the highest level. I've been saying for years that we're lucky Musk is foreign-born, but I guess he's used his powers of, umm, genius to find a way around that.

So that's fun.

All this plays out against the backdrop of a deadly attack in New Orleans today whereby some jackass flying an ISIS flag on his vehicle drove into a crowd on Bourbon Street and killed 15 people, injuring dozens of others.

And two weeks ago, a private Christian school in Wisconsin experienced the tragic shooting deaths of a teacher and a student at the hand of a 15-year-old female school shooter.

Finally, there is the unambiguous and astonishing perversion of justice and human decency that has scores of Americans cheering on the murderer of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson on December 4. Nope, I'm not going to name him. But it does little not to: The man has become a full-fledged folk hero in the space of less than a month.

Yep, people are so fed up with the state of healthcare in America that they're thrilled with the murder of one healthcare CEO - even though another one will pop up in his place; it's not like the company will be forced out of business - by a dude who wasn't even insured by the company his murder victim ran!

What, it's OK because shit’s expensive and the shooter was hot?! He's so beloved by the masses that, despite the fact that he does not need money, nearly $215,000 has been raised for him via GiveSendGo. This is a lesser-known crowdsourcing site, and apparently it's just trashy enough to host the fundraiser. There are T-shirts, stickers, and exhortations to donate to his account at Metropolitan Detention Center, Brooklyn, so that he can buy mp3s each month!

God, it's just too depressing to link to.

So … no, this is not the kind of year that I feel like welcoming.

Am I catastrophizing? I know that, no matter who is president, no matter what domestic terrorists do, there will be joy in 2025. There's always joy, especially at the personal level.

I know that, in 2025, I will swim in the cool of the Pacific Ocean. I know I will publish books. I know I will snuggle my dog and delight in seeing her romp over rocky beaches, through sandy desert dunes, and in dense forests. I know I will squeeze the hand of the person I love, and I'll feel his hand squeezing back.

I will edit. I will write. I will spend free time futzing around. I will easily get food and hygiene supplies when they're needed, and I'll get medical care if I'm ill. I will travel, passing in and out of borders when I want to. I will shop. I will have a home. I will sing and play my piano. I will love the people I love. And I am very sure I will eat chocolate.

Still, I'll always be a little bit uneasy: afraid that the guy who's driving may threaten some of these everyday freedoms - these pleasant but forgettable ways of passing hours that are actually what life is entirely made of - for populations of vulnerable Americans. Especially since I know it is only happenstance that I am not one of them.

Time marches on, as it must. I huddle in the long shadow of my 40th birthday, which is approaching in early February. The older I get, the less I want to have spent eight years of my life in a panic. That's a fifth of my lifetime: a long time to spend honked off in a partisan snit.

It's just that I'm afraid some of my panic could turn out to be founded. You see, the problem is not really Trump.

It's never been Donald Trump: not the figurehead or the actual guy, who must still be in there somewhere, deep down. He was raised to compete for attention from his father, so it's not surprise that he still seeks that attention, even later in life.

Donald Trump loves being famous, and I realize that he is playing a part. His whole life has been a series of Roles of a Lifetime: the chosen child. The kid making good. The mogul. The reality-TV star. The president. And now, finally, the emperor.

I know he has no clothes. But not everyone does. So no, it's not him: It's the people who don't know it's all just a bit - and the very nasty fraction of that group that he emboldens to follow their most hateful tendencies.

Dave and I are on the sixth Harry Potter film right now: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. That means this quote spoken by Albus Dumbledore has been flopping around in my head for two installments now:

"Dark and difficult times lie ahead. Soon we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy." - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

I'm going to pray it doesn't come to that. I don't want it to. But I'd like to think I’ll be ready - just in case.