I’m an American who regularly leaves her home. It can definitely happen to me. So what now?

Welp! The first thing I’ve done is accept it. A friend talked to me about what she’ll do if she’s ever in a shooter situation. What do I plan to do if I’m ever in a shooter situation? I plan to do a lot of bleeding. I have no delusions about surviving a mass shooting. I’m not focused on what I’ll do if that ever happens to me. I’m focused on what I’m going to do with the time I have before it happens.

So, given that a white supremacist could mow me down next week, what are my priorities? I’ve already completed a legal will and set beneficiaries for my financial accounts. Next: I imagine that if I were to lie bleeding on pavement, I wouldn’t think about the desserts I didn’t eat or the sex I never had. Those moments would be about the people I loved and the people I wish I’d loved more.

So today I sent texts to several people I haven’t seen in a while. They said things like,
After El Paso and Dayton, I realize I really COULD die on any day that I leave my apartment, so I’m going to stop putting off some things I’ve wanted to do. One thing I’d like to do is get together with you. What do you say to doing that, so if one of us is killed by a white supremacist, at least we’ll know we had one last conversation?

I got very welcoming responses, although I only managed to make a date with one of them. I’ll work on the rest (and I won’t let them get away).

Another thing I believe I have decades to take care of is publishing my writing, but if there’s an SKS/AK-47 type assault rifle out there with my name on it, forget decades. Now I want to publish as soon as possible. And even if there aren’t six or seven bullets out there looking for me, what am I waiting for?

I have two book manuscripts “in a drawer” and I’m going to work on self-publishing a book, at least an e-book. I have nothing to lose by doing this wrong. I have no expectations of being an author. I don’t even need my writing to be successful, whether measured by profit or popularity. I just want to publish one book, in any form, before I die in a violent and horrifying way.

There’s little fear in this: I mainly feel urgency. It’s as if I just got diagnosed with a fatal disease and now I need to accomplish my bucket list, except that my bucket list only has two things on it: re-connect with people I want to be closer to and publish my writing in book form. When I’ve achieved these goals, the next self-hating white asshole can take me.

Share this post: on Twitter on Facebook