My friend Jane (not her real name) and I met for a walk on a recent Sunday morning. It was sunny and warm and I was feeling particularly, if misguidedly, hopeful about the arrival of Spring. As we turned out of my driveway and my dog Ernie (his real name) started rooting around in the leaf litter for signs of our resident fox, Jane asked in a tone of concern, “How are you holding up with all this?” For a second I thought, “what is she talking about?” But I quickly remembered: Right, All This.

I took a deep breath and told her that I’m ok. I knew she had been distraught over All This, as it is a recurring theme in our text messages. Having recently started a new job, Jane was uncertain if her colleagues would be sympathetic to her occasional outbursts of news-induced rage, so I suggested she direct them my way. Though I want to run screaming from the room when my husband goes on a rant about whatever idiotic thing that has just come out of Washington, when Jane texts (and to be fair, it’s not frequent), I admit to feeling a tiny bit flattered. Mind you, I am not impervious to the never-ending and increasingly alarming news cycle. I might just as honestly have told Jane that I’m freaking out, preparing for a revolution, and having vengeful fantasies of the sort I really ought not to share. But, in that moment, walking into a mild southern breeze with my dear friend and my joyful dog, I really was ok.

My equanimity is a choice. In the days after the 2024 election, as I reckoned with the outcome and what it might mean for the future, I reflected on the rage that consumed me back in 2016. Like a lot of women, I was furious. And afraid. Then the pandemic came. People were dying, my business was in peril, and Americans were in each other’s faces and at each other’s throats. It was an upsetting time. With my twenty-something kids at home, grappling with their own fear and disappointment and in need of a target; my employees manifesting stress and anxiety I was unequipped to quell; and family and friends all having disparate responses to the pandemic and social upheaval, it seemed that every relationship I had was fraying under the strain of it all.

Fast-forward five years, and to my surprise, it’s mostly a blur. Personally, I experienced grief and conflict, but they have dispelled. More broadly, America will always have its original sin and new pathogens will continue to pop up. In the really big picture, like the 100-or-so billion humans who came before us, we 8 billion alive today have and will continue to experience a dizzying array of hardships that make the challenges of the last decade seem unexceptional. Our resilience is astounding.

With the threat of authoritarianism on the rise and daily news stories of one or another government agency being gutted by an unelected plutocrat, I am disturbed, but also aware that I can choose my emotional response. I will use my voice to express disapproval and to encourage my representatives to oppose the President, but I will not despair.

Boston College historian Heather Cox Richardson, author of numerous books, including Democracy Awakening, a superb explanation of precisely how we arrived at this point, tells us that, “authoritarians cannot rise if there are strong communities and people are acting with joy.” I admit that this sounded Pollyana-ish to me at first, but she goes on to say that an aspiring authoritarian feeds on the despair and anger of the people. “Don’t stop doing the things that you love because you’re scared, because that actually is a form of resistance.” Since not one thing changed between 2016 and 2024 as a result of my personal anguish, I’m going to embrace Richardson’s advice and commit to living joyfully.

So, if you see me walking my dog on a sunny day, smiling like an idiot at the daffodils my neighbor plants in the scrub along our road, or yapping with a customer about a book we both loved, that’s just me being ok. I hope you will be, too. Together we will endure.

Becky Dayton lives in Cornwall and owns Vermont Book Shop in Middlebury. In addition to being a voracious reader, she is an enthusiastic runner, cyclist, sculler — and joyful dog-walker.