Unpopular Opinion: Hate In Your Heart Is Not Always A Bad Thing
It's not just normal, but healthy to hate frivolous things like the Grateful Dead, Derek Jeter, and Spirit Airlines.
Hi, repeat offenders!!
Ask and ye (not that Ye) shall receive! Particularly if the givers are people that work with you and have less of a choice in the matter (sort of kidding). I mentioned here recently that we had been receiving fewer submissions in the Unpopular Opinion category and now I'm thrilled to say that I have yet another one for you today! Argue about it in the comments if you want to and don't if you don't want to. I love you either way!
And then send unpopular opinions of your own (of which I hope you have many!) to me, jane@anotherjaneprattthing.com, so I can publish yours here too and pay you a princely sum for them.
Also: I love Charlie so much.
Also: Speaking of unpopular opinions, I am Team Seed Oils. Are you?
Jane
I am a hater. Down to my very core.
I hate people, places, and things. I hate general concepts and -isms. I hate the rivals of my favorite sports teams, and from time to time, I hate my favorite sports teams even more. I hate airlines, subway lines, and almost all automobiles. I really, really hate the Grateful Dead, perhaps most of all. I simply love to hate.
It’s like what Andy says in his letter to Red at the end of Shawshank, “Hate is a good thing. Maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” Please don’t fact-check this.
The point is that for most of my life, I’ve gotten joy out of hating things. For me, it’s a fairly healthy way to vent frustration as long as I follow one caveat — my hate is never real hate.
As much as I talk about hating Derek Jeter with the burning intensity of 10,000 suns, I really just think he’s an overrated ballplayer, a horrible defender, and a bit of a dope. This is what I mean by enjoying my hatred; there’s nothing wrong with it when it is so frivolous.
These days, my hate has taken on a new form. It’s not silly, irrational, or fun. It’s strong. It’s real. It’s all-consuming. And it is eating me alive.
Every day seems to bring some new horror — tariffs crashing the stock market, photo ops at a gulag, ICE kidnapping people off the streets, war planning via group chat — and with each one, a new member of the Trump administration smirkingly defending it in all my feeds. In other words, a new person to hate.
The part of my brain that stores all of my petty grudges, song lyrics, and the roster of the 1989 Oakland Athletics has been inundated with a sinister roster made up of vile humans I loathe. Soon, I won’t be able to remember Todd Burns because he’s been pushed out of my memory to make room for Stephen Miller; I’d far rather remember an unspectacular relief pitcher with one great season on his resume than the vitriol-spitting ghoul behind so many unconstitutional attacks on immigrants.
For a little while I channeled my inner Arya Stark and started reciting a list of my most hated before going to bed (Trump, The Couch Fucker, Rubio, Miller, Musk, etc.), but it’s hard to get restful sleep when you’re furious.
The healthiest solution would be to unplug for a while, but that feels too much like turning a blind eye. More than that, it’s pretty unsustainable for a person with two jobs that both involve being on the internet.
It’s not that I have a problem with holding this hatred in my heart — I’d have a far bigger issue with myself if I wasn’t deeply affected by these charlatans dismantling my country — but I need to find a way to manage it. Not just to make the inside of my head a more pleasant place to be, but to channel my vitriol into something positive. Because it isn’t the hate that is bringing me down, it’s the hopelessness that accompanies it. Raging against such powerful foes always leaves me feeling impotent. What could I possibly do to upset an asshole like Miller one iota as much as his very existence upsets me? I’m not David fighting Goliath in this scenario; I’m a flea clinging to David’s leg.
The day before the inauguration, I wrote about how I was fighting off the dread of four more years of Trump. It feels like a million years ago, and my words now ring hollow and naive. At the time, I was disheartened by Republicans threatening to withhold wildfire relief from Los Angeles, and now Trump has sent in the Marines to, in his words, “liberate Los Angeles.” There’s no amount of grassroots causes I can donate to or actions I can take that will quell the all-consuming hatred I have for these baby-brained psychopaths and their kink for wanton cruelty.
I’m still donating to causes and I’ll was at a protest last weekend — I’m not completely abandoning the previous plan — but I need something else to keep my blood pressure down. Working out helps a little. Writing helps a little bit more. Ranting with my friends and talking through our feelings is more of a mixed bag; sometimes it riles me up even further, but there are moments of catharsis in there. The most successful solution I’ve found has been spending time in nature.
Now, my version of “spending time in nature” is probably not at all what you’re picturing. I’m not talking about going to the woods (too many bugs/too far away) or dipping my toes into a pristine body of water (have you ever even looked at the Hudson?). No, my little version of paradise is found on the side of a road, in a roughly five-yard-wide patch of grass and overgrown plants nestled against an abandoned railroad embankment. My wife and I call it “The Shire.”
At the end of my work day, I like to go there and relax. The green calms me down. I stare at the ivy for a little while and try my best to empty my mind. I guess one could call it meditation, but that label doesn’t feel right when half the time I’m listening to metal in my headphones (Pelican and Baroness have been dominating recent playlists) and the blaring of traffic lined up for the Holland Tunnel the rest of the time. But mostly I just stand and stare. It ain’t Yosemite by any means, but it’s a block away and the other people I run into almost always have a dog I can pet, so it’s pretty darn nice.
Then I walk home with a little bounce in my step, my heart just a little lighter than it was before. I know the rage will return, probably far sooner than I care for, but I try to ride the wave for as long as I can.
I wish I had more answers, better answers, but this is all I’ve got. Hating these dimwits is my patriotic duty, I can’t give that up, but every second spent thinking about literally anything else is a gift. We take our wins where we can find them. Have you found a particularly productive way to deal with your rage? Please let me know in the comments so I can spend a little less time staring into the void on the side of a road in New Jersey.
I have always loved your hate, Charlie. Partly because it is so different from the way I tend to look at things. (Though I appreciate your backing me when I do write something hate-filled, because I don't consider myself practiced or even good at it, so your approval there, master of it that you are, feels amazing.) Here is one thing I think about a lot and I really believe:
Whatever you focus on grows. And I always remember this related theory that came about when the Loud family was being featured in that incredible documentary series An American Family on TV (don't worry if you have never heard of it - it was in the '70s and predated even my TV watching days). The theory was that things in their lives devolved even more quickly than they would naturally because of the microscope being held over them - with so many people paying attention to the negativity and therefore magnifying it.
So all of this is to say what sounds so stupidly simplistic: You could try ignoring the hateful things and thinking about the great things (like petting the doggies) and see if the hateful things diminish on their own. I get the feeling of responsibility to tackle the actually harmful ones and it's part of what I admire about you, but thinking about them and keeping them in your heart is probably not helping anything and it's potentially hurting your tender-no-matter-how-hard-you-try heart.
Let me know if you hate this.
And thank you for your always thoughtful and interesting takes.
One more thing Charlie —- and sorry if I took over your comments section (this truly is my happy place don’t tell Jane I said happy place) — I love your Shire. I think you should try to make Shire time daily, maybe even 2x a day. A place you can go and let the hate out. I rage walk and happy dance that’s how I get it out but whatever that is that helps you metabolize that anger, do it more. And please write more here because you’re really an interesting and honest human 🩷