The Gloves Are Off!

Some Thoughts on War and Rest and Dancing

January was long—felt like it lasted for eons.

The news, an onslaught of circus acts. Fascism, no longer diet. Now we’re being raw dogged by our oppressors. As a leftist, I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. I’ve spent the past four years organizing for economic justice. My class consciousness has expanded to the point where I knew the Democrats’ hollow promises of more status quo wasn’t going to sway a public that had fallen deeper into financial ruin (Americans now owe 17 trillion in household debt). Still, it stung to read headline after headline, Elon Musk’s Nazi salutes and Trump blaming DEI for everything.

Still, I spent January waking up at the butt crack of dawn to hit the heavy weight bag. I signed up for boxing bootcamp because I knew I’d need it. I’d need to attack with precision. I’d need the aching muscles, the sweat on my forehead, the heavy breathing. I’ve been boxing for several years now. It is a deeply psychological process for me. I actually started my boxing workouts after a life-altering breakup. One of those heartaches that unearths deep wounds, things you swore you’d “gotten over.” I navigated psychological abuse. Abandonment. The wind being knocked out of me psychically was as shocking as a family member being snuffed out, their memory flickering like a tiny ember before going dark. My artist alias is MADlines because anger requires that we pay attention. I hit the heavyweight bag because we’re all shadowboxing something most days. I bob and weave and memorize the combinations. It reminds me of dancing.

Maya Angelou said, “everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.”

As an abolitionist, some of the hardest betrayals are the ones where you realize you’re not only unfree in society, you’re also unfree in your intimate spaces, the policing knows no bounds—its in your head and in your bed. It’s like walking through life with two left feet. Boxing gives me strategies for refining my warrior tendencies. I practiced my right punch, my left hook. I jump roped like I was eight again. And the little girl inside me re-learned how to stand up for herself. I’m not afraid of fascists because I’m versed in standing up to bullies, whether they threaten my physical or psychic self.

So here is one way to stand up to the mayhem. To make heaven out the havoc:

Embrace Discipline

I’m not gonna lie, the word discipline is triggering. I think of Catholic school, marine corps, people yelling obscenities in my ear as I pant and groan. It stirs up a sense of shame because the opposite of discipline is to be sloppy, lazy and chaotic. And I am a messy bitch. I’m also very rebellious. Sometimes I rebel against my own sense of order. That’s a cop out though. Discipline requires consistency. Discipline can be an alchemy where you get curious about what habits you want to pick up and which ones you want to abandon for good. The trick is not to take it too seriously at first. For example, I made a commitment to go to boxing Monday - Friday. I signed up. I paid the fee. I didn’t make it to every single class (I caught a stomach bug one week). But I still got into the habit of waking up early and exercising.

Artists, pick something that sustains you, that strengthens both your physical self, your mental wellbeing and your creativity. Next, try to engage with it on a consistent basis. That might mean ten minutes of meditation and walking to the grocery store three times a week. Maybe you miss a couple days. Learn to rest not to quit. You see, there’s going to be many battles ahead and we don’t want to burn ourselves out. We want to remain agile.

When Muhammad Ali said “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee”

he was referring to the grace it takes to “dance” around the dangerous ring in anticipation of the sting. It is a great way to look at life under an oppressive government, one that wants you to give up, give in and surrender your power. One of my favorite images of Ali is when he’s underwater, holding his breath, but maintaining an elegant pose. None of the manosphere podcasters will tell you that, not only are alphas not a thing, but true warriors dance, they’re graceful. Welcome to February 2025. Yes, it is #BlackHistoryMonth, but it is also a time when we are reminded that the past is brimming with tools and tactics for fighting back against authoritarians. And if you feel like a tsunami is crashing towards you, don’t forget that waves dance. Maybe discipline is just finding your rhythm amidst the madness.