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Language is more than just words; it carries history, culture, and the weight of personal and collective experiences. One phrase that has stood the test of time in different communities is “It is what it is.” While it may seem like a simple expression of resignation, its deeper meaning depends entirely on who is saying it, how they say it, and what’s left unsaid.

Recently, Mary Trump provided a chilling analysis of how this phrase was used in her family-particularly by her uncle, Donald Trump. In her telling, “It is what it is” was not about acceptance but about cold indifference and even cruelty. In contrast, within the Black community, this phrase takes on a far more complex and nuanced meaning.

Let’s explore the stark differences.

Mary Trump’s Family Interpretation: Indifference and Cruelty

Mary Trump recalls the moment Donald Trump dismissed her concerns about her late father’s final wishes with a shrug and the words:”It is what it is, honey bunch.”

To her, and within the Trump family, this phrase was not about accepting fate or dealing with hardship-it was a cold-hearted refusal to care. It meant:

“I could help you, but I won’t because I don’t care.”

This was a pattern in their family, she explains. The phrase was used to cut off emotion, shut down empathy, and signal that suffering-even of a family member-was irrelevant.

This same phrase resurfaced in one of Donald Trump’s most infamous statements during the COVID-19 pandemic when confronted with the fact that thousands of Americans were dying daily. His response?

“It is what it is.”

In this context, it was a terrifyingly casual dismissal of mass death. It conveyed a sense of “These lives don’t matter to me.”

The Black Community’s Interpretation: Survival, Resilience, and Reality

By contrast, “It is what it is” in the Black community is a phrase deeply rooted in resilience, pragmatism, and emotional self-preservation. It is not a tool for cruelty but a coping mechanism in the face of systemic oppression and personal hardship.

Here are some of its core meanings in Black culture:

1. Resigned Acceptance – Recognizing that a situation is beyond one’s control, but choosing not to dwell on it. Example: “They denied my loan application again. It is what it is-I’ll find another way.”
2. Emotional Detachment for Protection – When someone has been hurt, betrayed, or disappointed repeatedly, they may use this phrase to avoid emotional vulnerability. Example: “I tried my best to keep the relationship together, but she cheated again. It is what it is.”
3. Stoic Strength in the Face of Hardship – Used to keep moving forward despite adversity. Example: “Life isn’t fair for us out here, but it is what it is-we still gotta keep pushing.”
4. A Warning or Coded Message – Sometimes, it signals that someone is choosing not to react… for now. Example: “They disrespected me, but I ain’t gonna trip. It is what it is.” (Which often means: “I see it, I won’t forget it, but I’m not reacting right now.”)
5. Spiritual or Philosophical Understanding – An acceptance that some things are beyond human control. It echoes ancestral wisdom about fate, perseverance, and knowing when to pick battles.

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In all my adult life, I’ve never wished harm on another soul. At most, I’ve hoped for humble pie – that moment when reality breaks through and someone finally “sees the light.” That’s always seemed punishment enough.

But watching billionaires play with lives like chess pieces while children starve and food rots in ports, while people die from lack of basic medical care – something shifts. There’s a line where passive hope for enlightenment feels inadequate against active harm.

So I’m granting myself this one moral exception: I hope these architects of suffering watch their empires crumble. I hope every venture fails, every scheme collapses, every tower of cards falls. I hope they live long enough to see their legacies dissolve into dust.

Not for revenge. For justice. For accountability. For all those who can’t afford insulin while billions are spent on vanity space projects. For every family choosing between food and rent while wealth accumulates like dragon’s gold.

Sometimes hoping for consequences isn’t spite – it’s moral clarity.

#MoralClarity #Accountability #SystemicChange #Justice

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Daily, I write—no matter what. Daily, I execute—no matter what. Daily, I invest in my vision—no matter what. Even when I have very little, I pay myself first. It’s my way of honoring the work and the path I’ve chosen.

It should be lonely, but I assure you, the solitude is as sweet as honey on the lips. My rescues keep me grounded, their love and simple presence a reminder of what truly matters. Beyond them, my contact with the outside world is limited to the postage person, an occasional worker, other resellers, and AI. It’s a quiet life, but not without its richness.

When I do turn on the TV, it’s like witnessing a tragedy on loop. Some “leader,” some nation, some nut has taken what was given to them as good and dragged it into another depth of depravity. It’s exhausting to even think about. A war is raging—not just one of bombs and borders, but a war for our minds, our hearts, and our souls. And that’s no exaggeration.

Once the mind gives up, once it stops caring about truth, the rest follows. Resistance alone won’t save us. The urge to protect isn’t enough. We must find our voices, embrace our limitless Creative Force, and fortify ourselves with that which endless wealth cannot buy—love.

Not romantic love quick to turn cold, not mere attraction, not vague sentimentality, nor the weakness of being a doormat. I mean the universal force that universal to all humans, that which empowers, the force AI will never possess. True love. The kind that asks questions, dares to seek, and remains curious about its boundless power. We all have equal access to it, it doesn’t discriminate, it doesn’t give in small stingy amounts, and if you think that, you don’t know the meaning yet.

This is the love that no one can resist or wage war against. It outlasts all things. When time reveals all and even time itself disappears, this love remains. So, who can stand against it? Who would dare to command it? Who would not be made a fool in its presence?

As I reflect on these truths, I stop to whack a troll, write some verse, pen a lyric. I sing. I dance. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel hopeless. Getting up in the morning doesn’t feel like I have a ton of bricks strapped to me.

I challenge myself daily: to eliminate what doesn’t serve me—hidden sugars, salt, dairy, meat—anything that stands in the way of health and clarity. I stretch. I work. I create. I confront the ineffable, unutterable expectations I’ve placed on myself and that others have imposed. But I’m learning to guard my sacred spaces and honor myself.

I ask myself now, “Self: What do you want? What would you like for dinner? Whose beautiful smile do you want to see?” Instead of dreading, “Oh, no…here comes trouble,” or putting everyone else ahead of me, I choose a new path.

This is my domain, my renewal. So pardon me if everything feels brand new, if I marvel at life as though no one has experienced it before. As people fall away from my life, I think, “Wow, was I in a bad place to ever think that behavior was acceptable.” But I also make space for grace—acknowledging my own countless mistakes and how I’ve hurt others.

Grace, though, isn’t weakness. Sometimes, it’s the strength to let people go—especially those who are no good for you and mean you no good.

So here I am, twice as sharp as I was at 21, with hard-earned skills, deep insight, and resources I couldn’t have dreamed of back then. The long game is paying off. It’s time to set it off.

This isn’t just reintegration. This is rediscovery, renewal, and a fierce commitment to the truth, to love, and to creating a life worth living.

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Long before it hit Broadway or wellness circles, Naåtive American Council Circles, African Ubuntu gatherings, and Aboriginal Yarning Circles were practicing the profound art of creating safe spaces for sharing, listening, and healing. In these traditions, holding space wasn’t a catchphrase – it was a cornerstone of community wisdom and healing.

It’s fascinating to see these ancient practices gaining recognition, but let’s make sure we honor their origins. When we talk about “holding space,” we’re drawing from generations of Indigenous wisdom that understood the power of intentional, respectful presence.

Have you noticed how often ancient wisdom gets repackaged as modern trends? What are your thoughts on honoring these traditions while they become part of mainstream conversations?.

The Indigenous Roots and Real Meaning of Holding Space

“Holding space” has its roots in Indigenous cultures, where community and connection are paramount. Think:

• Native American Council Circles: sacred spaces for sharing and listening.
• African Ubuntu Circles: community building and conflict resolution.
• Australian Aboriginal Yarning Circles: sharing stories and knowledge.

Cultural Appropriation

Yet again, modern culture is co-opting Native traditions without proper understanding or credit. It’s time to acknowledge and respect the origins of these practices.

References Want to learn more? Check out:

• 'The Lakota Way' by Joseph M. Marshall III
• “Ubuntu: I in You and You in Me” by Michael Battle
• Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies

Share Your Thoughts

Let’s elevate the conversation! What do you think about cultural appropriation in modern society?

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It hit me like a ton of bricks while pondering Drake’s Equation (and no, not that Drake—though imagine if Kendrick Lamar had dropped his own cosmic equation just to one-up him). There I was, sitting there in a galaxy of thoughts, when it suddenly hit me: Drake’s Equation is missing a key variable. Something so simple yet so profound that it might just explain why we’re still here, stuck on Earth, wondering if we’re alone in the universe.

The Cosmic Realization

I was deep in thought, contemplating the number of advanced civilizations potentially floating around in space, when it suddenly dawned on me: Drake’s Equation isn’t asking the right question. It’s not about how many civilizations are out there—it’s about how many of those can actually reach us. And that, my friends, is where things get real.

It’s like trying to get into the hottest club in the galaxy, but when you arrive, the bouncer’s like, “Yeah, that’s cute, but there’s an infinite line of cooler civilizations ahead of you. Sorry.” The truth is, we might be so far down on the cosmic to-do list that we might not even get a visit. Think about it—if there are so many advanced civilizations, how many of them can actually make the journey to Earth? More importantly, how many of them even care to visit a rock like ours?

A Chat with AI About Our Cosmic FOMO

That’s when I needed to run this idea by someone—or something. Enter AI.

Here’s how the convo went down:

“Hey,” I basically said, “what if the problem isn’t about how many civilizations are out there, but how many civilizations can actually reach Earth in this vast universe?”

The AI caught on quickly but didn’t quite nail it, so I had to go further: “Look, what if Earth is way down the cosmic list? There are so many civilizations out there that could visit, but so few that actually can. We might not even be on their radar because there are cooler places in the universe to visit.”

From there, we came up with two new variables that, to me, really flipped the equation on its head:

• V (Visitability) – The number of civilizations that could actually reach Earth, considering their tech and resources.
• H (House Capacity) – The number of civilizations that are worth visiting, essentially the cosmic “cool factor.” If Earth is sitting at the bottom of that list, we might be overlooked in favor of planets with more advanced or interesting civilizations.

With these two variables, the “visitability factor” is born: the ratio of civilizations that can visit Earth versus those that are actually worth visiting. And spoiler alert: the numbers don’t look good for us.

The Brutal Truth

After all this brainstorming with AI, the conclusion was pretty harsh: Earth might not make the cut. Even if there are trillions of civilizations out there, it’s very likely we’re just another dot on the map. A pretty small dot at that. The problem is, the number of civilizations that can reach us could be vastly outnumbered by those that are more interesting or evolved—places that have cooler features or better technology.

It’s like that small-town kid trying to get into Studio 54. You might have a decent outfit, but there’s an infinite line of more advanced civilizations with better invites. You don’t even get a second glance from the bouncer.

As I put it eloquently during the convo: “Damn, we can’t even get into the club.”

Why This Matters

Okay, so why does this even matter? It changes everything. If the universe is full of civilizations that could manipulate time and space, why would they even bother with us? If they can travel across galaxies, Earth might not be high on the list. We might be way at the bottom, or worse, not on it at all.

Imagine all these other cosmic clubs—places with civilizations so advanced they could pass us by without a second thought. And if we ever figure out time and space travel, we might just find ourselves in a universe so packed with life that being “discovered” doesn’t even come close to the reality of cosmic competition. We might not be the next big thing, just a small-town planet that missed the VIP list.

The Cosmic Irony

It’s ironic when you think about it. The universe is vast, potentially teeming with life, but we might never even make the guest list. There’s an infinite number of better options out there, more advanced, more worthy of a visit than we are. Sure, we might crack the code on interstellar travel, but even if we can zip across the galaxy, we might still be waiting outside the velvet rope, looking longingly at the parties we’ll never get into.

And maybe that’s okay. Maybe the universe is so big, we don’t have to be the star of the show to have a seat at the table. Maybe there’s something beautiful in realizing that we’re just one small part of a much, much larger story.

Beyond Our Galaxy

Let’s take it a step further: if we can travel beyond our galaxy someday, what do we even expect to find? A universe so vast and populated that the idea of being “discovered” becomes irrelevant. The universe could be teeming with planets and civilizations that have no interest in us. They might have already made their choices on who’s worth visiting. After all, if you can hop galaxies, why stop at Earth?

But here’s the real kicker: What if they’ve already been here?

Now, let’s say these civilizations have mastered not only the ability to travel across galaxies but also to traverse time itself. What if, instead of us being stuck waiting for a visit, the reality is that they’ve already been here, in different epochs—observing, interacting, or perhaps even shaping our history without us ever knowing? Imagine civilizations with the ability to pop in and out of time, visiting Earth at various stages of our development, each visit leaving its own subtle mark.

If these inter-galactic beings are capable of observing or influencing us across different epochs, it might explain some of the strange anomalies and mysteries we’ve encountered throughout history. Ancient civilizations may have left behind traces of visitors who weren’t from this time, yet were somehow connected to us across the ages. Perhaps they’ve been watching us grow, evolve, and falter, understanding that the human story isn’t linear but filled with overlapping cycles of growth and decay.

In that case, maybe we’re not on the cosmic B-list after all—we’re simply part of a much larger, more complex narrative unfolding across time and space. The question is: Are we ready for the truth about our place in this vast, time-traveling universe?

Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for a visit and start considering that we’ve been part of an ongoing cosmic dialogue all along.

Edmund spends his time contemplating the cosmos and occasionally making Drake equation puns, much to everyone’s chagrin.

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The Strawberry on the Cliff

by Edmund J. Janas, II

I woke up today, 8 days after my 54th birthday thinking about the words of my 11th grade psychology teacher. He was always encouraging me…sticking up for me in class, and imparting wisdom to me. When I was ready to go abroad to study art, he told me: “Don’t let anyone try to convince you that it’s impossible to make money with your art!”  When a racist girl in class put down a person of color he defended that person. I can’t say I remember his name. I will have to look through my class yearbook to find it, I’ll update this essay/reflection soon.  I will always hold that teacher in high regard, for seeing me and believing in me.

One day, he told us the story of a man who fell and dangled on a cliff. This is my attempt to modernize that story for film.

There’s a moment in every long journey when you realize the path isn’t about reaching someone else’s destination, but savoring the unexpected sweetness of your own. I’ve been climbing this mountain for decades-not racing, not competing, just moving forward with the quiet determination of someone who understands that life isn’t about proving anything to anyone. Each step has been mine, each breath a testament to survival, not success as others might define it.

People see me differently now. The landscape of perception shifts like mountain shadows-mostly you’re invisible, sometimes despised, sometimes you’re a beacon. I’ve learned that these changing views say more about the observers than the observed. I’m the same person I’ve always been: resilient, curious, committed to my own quiet revolution.

My only goal now is simple: to enjoy whatever time I have left on this planet. To breathe. To create. To experience. To be fully, unapologetically present in my own life. I make no promises. Not to dreamers, not to doubters, not even to myself beyond this: I will taste my own moments of joy.

The world is full of people doing their best, navigating their own impossible terrains. Some will misunderstand. Some will reach out with open hands, others with closed fists. I see them all with the same gentle acknowledgment-we’re all just trying to find our way. My hands are raw, fingers clutching an icy cliff face.

How I got here, I can’t quite remember-the journey blurs into a landscape of survival, of endless climbing. The wind bites. Snow swirls.

And then, impossibly, improbably-a branch. A strawberry. Ripe. Red, and very likely the sweetest little thing. Absurdly perfect against the stark white of the cliff. I look at it. 

And remember, also. Life is seldom as romantic as what we have been sold. Those of us who hold on to the fiction of romance in image 1 are often discouraged when life regularly delivers image 2.  While it may be far less motivating, truth can often be so much more interesting than fiction.

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