Wheels On Down the Road

Author: Levi

  • When the Seats Are Gone Before We Even Have a Chance: The Quiet Battle for ADA Accessibility at Concerts

    When the Seats Are Gone Before We Even Have a Chance: The Quiet Battle for ADA Accessibility at Concerts

    An article in the Star Tribune debated whether the 2025 Minnesota State Fair Grandstand lineup is “subpar” or just misunderstood. It had me thinking, but probably not in the way the author intended. The article focused on whether the lineup lives up to the musical reputation of the Fair, and honestly? I get the debate. Would I love to see a tier-one, stadium-filling act take the stage? Absolutely. But let’s be real—the Minnesota State Fair isn’t Live Nation. They’re not printing money behind the corn dog stand.

    This is a community-rooted event trying to appeal to a wide range of people with limited resources. And for what it’s worth, I think they’re doing a solid job. Minnesota is a musically rich state. It is home to Prince, Bob Dylan, and a thriving local scene. We still attract well-known, respected artists, which says a lot about our cultural pull.

    But while the debate rages about whether the lineup is exciting enough, I’m sitting here wrestling with a different question:

    Why can’t I even get in the door?

    This year, there was a show I was eagerly anticipating. It was Melissa Etheridge and the Indigo Girls. It sold out of ADA seating almost immediately. And when I say “immediately,” I mean lightning fast. No procrastination, no dragging my feet—I was there. I tried. But I still missed out.

    And this isn’t a one-time glitch. It happens again and again. If you’re a disabled person, trying to enjoy live music presents challenges. It often feels like your odds of getting a ticket are slim. In fact, it feels like they are almost none. And no one seems to be talking about it.

    Accessibility by the Numbers

    Let’s put it in perspective:

    • 1 in 4 Americans (26%) lives with a disability. (CDC)
    • Yet at many concert venues, fewer than 1–2% of seats are reserved as accessible.
    • A 2017 Government Accountability Office (GAO) report found that ADA ticket options are frequently resold. Venues rarely monitor whether those seats are being used appropriately. They also rarely check if the people using them actually need them.
    • Resale platforms (like StubHub or SeatGeek) generally do not verify disability status when ADA tickets are flipped. This creates a gray market. It further restricts legitimate access.

    ADA seats often disappear in the first few minutes of availability. This makes us wonder:

    • Were they sold to people with actual accessibility needs?
    • Were they grabbed by opportunists hoping to make a profit?

    The Bigger Problem

    It’s not just about fairness. It’s about dignity, equity, and inclusion. Being able to attend a concert—or a sporting event, or a theater performance—isn’t just entertainment. It’s part of participating in culture.

    And yet, the system is opaque at best, and exclusionary at worst. Many ticketing sites bury their ADA options behind unclear menus. Some require calling customer service (who has time to wait on hold for 45 minutes for one seat?). Others simply mark the tickets as “unavailable” without explanation. It’s frustrating. It’s disheartening. And it’s deeply isolating.

    What Needs to Change?

    Here’s what we should be asking of venues, ticketing platforms, and organizers:

    • Expand ADA seating capacity to better reflect the actual percentage of disabled people in the population.
    • Increase transparency around how many accessible seats are available and when they sell out.
    • Implement safeguards to reduce fraud and scalping—without violating privacy or dignity.
    • Design for inclusion from the beginning instead of retrofitting access as a checkbox.
    • Include disabled voices in planning and policy. Nothing about us, without us.

    What You Can Do:

    1. Observe and speak up. Notice how venues handle accessibility and don’t be afraid to call out poor design or treatment.
    2. Contact your local venues and fair organizers—let them know that ADA access isn’t optional.
    3. Support policy reform. Push for laws that improve ADA compliance and penalize misuse or scalping of accessible tickets.
    4. Amplify disabled voices. Share posts like this, read lived experiences, and help spread the word.

    Let’s Talk About It:

    I’d love to hear from others who’ve experienced this. Have you tried to get ADA tickets and hit a brick wall? Have you seen accessible seats taken by people who didn’t need them? What would you change?

    Drop your thoughts in the comments—let’s make this a conversation.

    Because live music should be for everyone. And that means we need to design systems that reflect that truth.

    Sources:

  • Writing What Moves Me

    Writing What Moves Me

    This was supposed to be just a Facebook post…

    I didn’t plan on writing this post.

    It started as a quiet, reflective moment. You realize just how much you’ve been writing lately. You start wondering why. Not just why you write, but why certain things strike that spark in the first place. Lately, it’s been the little things: a headline, a thought, an unexpected experience.

    Sometimes it’s something I’ve been chewing on for a while. Sometimes, it’s something that hits me in the moment. Either way, it always starts with curiosity and ends with a need to put it into words.

    From Flags to Elevators: Finding Meaning in the Everyday

    Last weekend, I read an article in the Star Tribune. It was about how some Minnesota cities are choosing not to fly the new state flag. That small decision triggered a lot of big questions for me: Why this flag? Why now? And why are local governments opting out? That led me to explore Minnesota’s flag history. More importantly, it prompted me to consider what symbols truly mean to the communities they are meant to represent.

     Flying Forward: Let’s Talk About the Flag Controversy

    During the same reading session, I came across another article. This one was about Elon Musk floating the idea of starting a third political party. Will he actually do it? I doubt it. But it opened up a much more interesting rabbit hole: what could a serious third party mean for the U.S.? Have we really been a two-party country forever? (Spoiler: not exactly.) I knew it wasn’t the post designed for clicks, but I wrote it anyway. Because it made me think.

    Not a Fan, Like the Plan

    Then came something a lot more personal. Jason got stuck in our apartment building elevator. In the basement. No way to get out. No easy way to communicate. That moment shook me, and not just because of the immediate concern for the person I love. I realized how fragile safety is when systems fail. It is easy for someone to be literally and metaphorically trapped without a voice.

    Trapped Without a Voice

    Time, Connection, and the Quiet Things

    A few days later, it hit me that the week was already flying by. I blinked, and it was suddenly Friday. When I was younger, time felt like it moved through molasses. These days, it barrels ahead like it’s trying to break a land speed record. It’s unsettling. But also a reminder: if we don’t stop and notice our days, we miss them completely.

    The Speed of Time

    And then there was my neighbor, John. I hadn’t seen him in a while, but I’d been thinking about him just the day before. He’s in his nineties. He is still sharp. He still tinkers with classic cars. He still carries that calm, measured way that reminds me so much of my grandfather. There’s a quiet connection there, the kind you can’t explain but feel all the same. It reminded me how relationships, even the subtle ones, shape us.

    A Quiet Reminder

    So… Why Do I Write?

    Because I need to.

    Not for clicks. Not for likes. Not to chase trends. I write because something stirs in me. The only way I know how to make sense of it is by turning it into a story. A question. A shared moment.

    I write to reflect. To connect. To offer something real.

    If even one person reads what I’ve written and feels seen, my purpose is fulfilled. If they become curious or feel a little less alone, I’ve accomplished what I came here to do.

    What about you?

    What little things have made you stop and think lately? What everyday moments have sparked something deeper?

    I’d love to hear.

  • A Quiet Reminder: When the Universe Nudges You with Kindness

    A Quiet Reminder: When the Universe Nudges You with Kindness

    Funny how the world works.

    Just the other day, I found myself thinking about my neighbor John. He’s in his 90s, and I hadn’t seen him in a while. You know how it is when someone elderly hasn’t been around for a bit, the mind goes places. You hope they’re okay, but that little shadow of worry sneaks in.

    I don’t know John all that well. Our relationship has been stitched together by small, neighborly kindnesses.

    For a time, Surley and I would drop the Star Tribune at his door in the mornings. A few months ago, he stopped getting the paper. As those little routines tend to do, that small thread of connection quietly unraveled. We haven’t crossed paths in a while.

    John has always struck me as one of the good ones. Soft-spoken. Sweet. A gentle presence with a love for classic cars that’s stuck with him for decades.

    Cut from the Same Cloth

    And that’s where the memory of my grandfather, Garfield, comes rolling in.

    My grandpa Garfield, a mechanic in Benson, Minnesota. The smell of motor oil and the sound of a well-tuned engine were as natural to him as breathing.

    Grandpa Garfield was a mechanic in Benson, Minnesota—worked at the local Ford garage for years. The smell of motor oil, the sound of a well-tuned engine… those were as natural to him as breathing. He didn’t just love cars—he understood them. Working on them, talking about them, driving them. Engines were his language. He spoke it with a quiet and steady kindness. This kindness settled into your bones if you spent enough time around him.

    Last fall, I spotted John outside in the parking lot with one of his cars—he has a few. He was working on something under the hood, tools spread out on the ground, a rag in his hands. Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, completely in his element.

    And for just a moment, I saw my grandpa.

    The way John moved felt familiar. The gentle focus felt familiar. The way he spoke when I called out a hello felt familiar. Two men, decades apart, sharing a love that never really leaves the hands. The kind of love that smells like grease and perseverance.

    I truly believe Grandpa Garfield and John would’ve gotten along famously. They’re cut from the same cloth wrenches in one pocket, stories in the other.

    And the Universe Listens

    Surley and I were coming in from the patio. tonight Who did we run into but John by the elevator. Upright. Moving. Still smiling.

    The universe, apparently, had heard my unspoken thoughts and decided to drop a little reassurance right in front of me.

    Surley, of course, was hoping John might have a cookie in his pocket. He didn’t, but he was happy enough with the pet and the hello. Tail wagging, body practically vibrating with joy.

    As for me? I was just happy to see that sweet old man still here. Still a part of this building. Still himself.

    It’s strange how these small moments, the ones that sneak up on you, can carry so much weight. A hallway hello. A familiar face. A quiet whisper from the universe saying, 

    “Hey, I see you. I know what you were thinking.”

    We move through life thinking big thoughts. We chase big answers. Sometimes, it’s the smallest encounters that fill in the gaps. That remind us of who we love. Of who we’ve been. Of who’s still around.

    Sometimes the universe doesn’t need to shout. Sometimes it just smiles at you near the elevator.

  • The Speed of Time

    The Speed of Time

    There’s been so much happening this week that I didn’t even realize tomorrow is Friday.

    Wasn’t it just Tuesday?

    Next thing I know, summer will be over. The sun will dip behind the trees a little earlier each night. The evenings will turn crisp. And soon enough, we’ll be brushing snow from our coats and wondering where the warm days went.

    I’ve only gone camping once this year. Once. And I’d like to go again before the snow flies and the long stillness of winter sets in.

    Time is strange like that.

    When you’re young, it drags. You want to grow up so badly to reach that next milestone. You want to finally be old enough to drive, to graduate, to move out.

    It feels like everything worth having is just out of reach, waiting on some distant shore.

    Then you get there.

    In college and those early years afterward, time starts to pick up. It begins to move at a steady jog instead of a crawl. You’re chasing things: jobs, rent, friendships, maybe love. You’re figuring things out. Some days still feel long, but the years start to feel shorter.

    And then you hit 30.

    At least, I did. And from that point on, it’s like time strapped on a pair of rocket boosters.

    Now I’m 41. Almost 42. And I can’t help but wonder what is the speed of time going to feel like when I’m 60?

    Or 70?

    Or…God help me…90?

    Will it keep accelerating until months feel like days and years like a blink?

    I don’t know. But what I do know is this: moments are all we really get.

    Little flashes. Fireflies in a jar. A dog curled up beside you. The crunch of gravel underfoot on a summer walk. The way the air smells before a storm. A cup of coffee in the early morning sun. A smile from a stranger.

    That’s all life is, in the end. A string of fleeting, fragile moments.

    So I’m trying, really trying, to enjoy them. To notice them. To breathe them in before they vanish.

    Because time doesn’t stop. But I can.

    Even if just for a moment.

  • Trapped Without a Voice: Elevator Safety for DeafBlind Residents

    Trapped Without a Voice: Elevator Safety for DeafBlind Residents

    Surley and I had quite the eventful morning.

    We started off with our usual walk through downtown Minneapolis and along the Loring Greenway. It was a beautiful day. We stretched our legs a little further and wandered through Loring Park. It looks strikingly different without the usual Pride festivities filling every inch.

    Then we crossed the Irene Hixon Whitney pedestrian bridge over Interstate I-94, Hennepin Avenue, and Lyndale Avenue. I stopped to snap a picture of Surley, who was looking particularly dashing in the breeze.

    Surley on the bridge.

    We entered the Sculpture Garden after rolling off of the bridge. This brought on a wave of memories. I remembered the time my Aunt Kate took my sister and me there one summer during a visit. She capped the trip off with Sebastian Joe’s ice cream, which triggered an instant craving. Nostalgia always knows where your sweet tooth lives.

    It had been a few years since I’d been there so I looked up the address on their website. I discovered they had affogato on the menu, espresso over ice cream, and that was it. We were going.

    After a few minor detours thanks to road construction in the area, classic Minnesota summer, we made it. I ordered affogato with chocolate peanut butter ice cream. Unexpectedly bold and delightful. Then I spotted the chocolate chip cookies and, well, you know how that goes.

    Chocolate, peanut butter, espresso is a deliciously dangerous combination.

    Cue: emergency mode.

    So there I was cookie in one hand, affogato in the other, soaking in the calm of a summer morning…

    …and then my phone buzzed.

    “help i am stuck in elevator”

    At first I was a little confused. It was random and out of the blue. I sent a follow up message seeking clarification. When I didn’t get a response, I sent another message. After not hearing back for about five minutes, I started to get worried. This was outside of his normal behavior.

    Jason managed to send another message with a few more details. He was stuck between the basement and first floor of our apartment building, where cell signal was weak. The elevator’s emergency call box was no help—unsurprising, given that he’s Deaf and has low vision.

    He also sent a brief video. From that, I called 911 and explained the situation: a Deaf and low vision person was trapped in an elevator. I let them know the office was closed and no one was answering the phone. Thanks to the video, I could tell the dispatcher exactly which elevator he was in and where it had stopped.

    Quick PSA: Many counties in Minnesota, including Hennepin, support text-to-911. It’s a good choice for folks who can’t speak or hear during emergencies. But not everyone knows it’s available, and it doesn’t always work well underground.

    Once help was on the way, I woke Surley from his nap on the cool tile floor and jogged home.

    Surley napping on the cool tile floor at Sebastian Joe’s.

    Poor Surley, tongue lolling and tail wagging, worked hard to keep pace. He trotted beside me as we walked home at mach 10 like a champ.

    By the time we returned, Jason had just gotten out with help from the fire department. He was headed to the store with a friend. He was okay: hot, sweaty, but safe.

    Afterwards

    Later, we sat down. We talked through everything that had happened. The more I heard, the more disturbing the story became.

    Jason had taken the elevator down to grab some things from his storage unit. When it stopped in the basement, the doors didn’t open. He tried hitting the “door open” button. Nothing. He attempted to go back up to the first floor. He swiped his fob for access to his floor. Still nothing.

    Because of his low vision, he had trouble seeing what floor the elevator thought it was on. There were no audible cues. He pressed the emergency “help” button. He wasn’t sure whether it activated. The indicator was too small and hard to see. He backed up further and got on his knees. Only then was he able to see the blinking red light. He used text-to-speech on his iPhone. He said, “I’m Deaf, stuck in elevator.”

    He also tried live captioning on his phone to transcribe the audio from the speaker. He hoped it would tell him that someone was on the line. No matter where he placed his phone nothing came through clearly enough to be transcribed into words. Even though he is deaf, he can hear static and muffled sounds when using his hearing aids. However, he cannot make out words in detail.

    He stayed surprisingly calm, even though his hands were shaking, which made texting and filming difficult. He immediately noticed somewhat bright yellow light just below the floor display. It was a fire dept override. This reassured him that the fire department was here. It put him at ease that they were working to get him out.

    Eventually, the fire department and an elevator tech arrived and got the doors open. Jason had to step up about a foot to climb out: hot, rattled, and understandably frustrated. But he was, in his own words later, “unfazed.” (Though I think he was being generous with himself.)

    Surley resting in the AC after the day’s events.

    After the dust settled, I spoke with our apartment manager.

    I explained why I called 911. They told me I should’ve left a message on the office line. They assured me they would have responded promptly.

    Now look I get the desire for tenants to follow procedure. But here’s the thing: there was no one in the office. No one answered the phone. The voicemail simply said, “Leave a message for maintenance emergencies.”

    This wasn’t a dripping faucet. A Deaf and low vision resident was stuck in a sealed metal box. There was no clear way for him to call for help. He was starting to overheat. I wasn’t about to wait and hope someone checked their voicemail.

    If I hadn’t answered his text message what would’ve happened? How long would Jason have waited?

    He pushed the “help” button in the elevator. He was using text-to-speech to relay a message. Did the dispatcher realize they were speaking to someone who couldn’t hear them? Was the dispatcher aware of the communication barrier? Did they think it was pressed by accident? Would they have done anything?

    I didn’t want to find out the hard way. So I called 911. And I’d do it again.

    But it raises some real concerns.

    People with disabilities are often left out of emergency planning. Even when the systems are technically in place, they don’t always work when you truly need them. This includes systems like text-to-911 and live captions.

    WWYD (What Would You Do?)

    So, I pose this question to you:

    If you were in my shoes…
    Would you have called 911?
    Would you have left a voicemail and waited?
    Would you have done something else?

    Let me know in the comments. If you live in an apartment building, especially one with older elevators, take a minute. Check what your emergency plan looks like. Talk to your neighbors. Learn your options.

    Because accessibility shouldn’t depend on luck. It shouldn’t hinge on a single person being available to answer a phone. It should be built in — thoughtfully, thoroughly, and proactively.

    Call to Action

    If you didn’t know about text-to-911, now you do. Check your local county’s website to confirm it’s available where you live. Share this post with someone who might not be aware. Accessibility starts with awareness.

    Resources

  • Flying Forward: Let’s Talk About the Flag Controversy

    Flying Forward: Let’s Talk About the Flag Controversy

    A few days ago, the Star Tribune published an article titled “Not a ‘Greater Minnesota’ flag? Detroit Lakes latest city to refuse flying state flag.” It covered the growing number of cities. These cities—including Hastings and Detroit Lakes—are opting not to raise Minnesota’s new state flag.

    I followed the redesign process with cautious optimism. I found the piece frustrating. Not everyone needs to love the new flag. However, so much of the conversation continues to miss the point.

    This is what I had to say in the Star Tribune comments:

    I understand the desire to honor history and the comfort of the familiar. While some believe the previous flag honored our past, others saw it as a symbol of racism. Another fact is the old Minnesota flag was frequently confused with others because it lacked distinction as it was just the state seal on a blue background. I don’t love the new design, and I do think there’s room for improvement, but the old flag wasn’t serving us well. One clear advantage of the new flag is that it can actually be recognized as Minnesota’s something the previous design failed to do. Change is uncomfortable, but it’s also an opportunity. It has given us the ability to have a conversation. If people feel passionately about changing the flag again take the initiative to make it happen.

    A New Emblem for a New Era

    Minnesota’s new state flag was officially adopted on May 11, 2024. It replaced the blue banner bearing the state seal. This banner had flown in one form or another since 1957. Its design lineage goes back to 1893.

    The new flag features a deep blue field symbolizing the night sky. A light blue curve represents Minnesota’s lakes and rivers. An eight-pointed star evokes the state motto, L’Étoile du Nord (“The Star of the North”).

    Looking Back: A Brief History of the Flag

    For the first 35 years of statehood, Minnesota had no official state flag.

    1983

    That changed in 1893 when the Auxiliary Board sponsored the creation of an official flag. The design selected came from Amelia Hyde Center, a Minneapolis artist and leather worker. This original flag featured a white front and blue reverse, which made it expensive and less durable.

    1957

    In 1957, Minnesota redesigned the flag to have a blue field on both sides. This change simplified production. They updated the floral elements for botanical accuracy. They replaced the original moccasin flowers with pink-and-white lady’s slippers. The pink-and-white lady’s slippers are the official state flower.

    1983

    The flag saw another redesign in 1983. Designers lightened the blue. They also updated the seal to include imagery such as the Mississippi River, St. Anthony Falls, and pine trees. This reflects the state’s natural heritage.

    Over time, the 1983 flag drew criticism. It was seen as overly complex and visually confusing. It resembled other state flags that simply feature a seal on a blue background. Critics also raised concerns about the symbolism of the seal, which some viewed as a representation of Manifest Destiny.

    Design Debates and Grassroots Alternatives

    Minnesota’s flag redesign hasn’t been without controversy or creative alternatives. In 1957, Representative John Tracy Anderson and Major General Joseph E. Nelson proposed a star-based flag with red, white, and blue tribands, though it was rejected by the legislature.

    More recently, the North Star Flag was created in 1988 by Lee Herold and Reverend William Becker. It gained grassroots support with its meaningful colors. Its simple and distinctive design also contributed to its popularity. While never officially adopted, the North Star Flag has remained a beloved unofficial symbol. It was even presented to the redesign commission in 2023.

    The Redesign Process

    The push for a new flag gained official momentum starting in 2021. A Wayzata High School student approached State Senator Ann Johnson Stewart with the idea.

    This led to legislation establishing the State Emblems Redesign Commission in 2023. The commission is charged with proposing new designs that reflect Minnesota’s shared history, resources, and diverse communities. It explicitly prohibits symbols that represent only a single group.

    The commission includes representatives from Indigenous, African Heritage, Latino, and Asian-Pacific communities, as well as members of the general public. The commission presented a new flag design after careful deliberation and public input. The legislature adopted this design on May 11, 2024.

    The Refusals and Reactions

    Some People Love It

    As with any change, the new flag has its fans. Many appreciate that the design is clean, modern, and—most importantly—distinctly Minnesota. The new flag doesn’t just look nice on paper. It’s practical and recognizable. It is also far less likely to be confused with any other state’s banner. For decades, people saw a blue flag with a complicated seal. Few could identify it. Now, Minnesota finally has a flag that can stand on its own.

    Some People Don’t

    But of course, not everyone loves the new flag. Some cities, like Detroit Lakes and Hastings, have refused to fly it. Critics often cite nostalgia for the old flag and a desire to honor the past.

    Others see the old flag’s imagery as a reflection of Minnesota’s history. They acknowledge its warts and all. They worry that the new flag erases or sanitizes that story.

    Some also point out that the new flag isn’t perfect and could be improved. And that’s fair—no flag is flawless, and every design involves compromises. The truth is, flags are symbols, and symbols carry different meanings for different people.

    My Take

    I understand the desire to honor history and the comfort of the familiar. While some believe the previous flag honored our past, others saw it as a symbol of racism. Another fact is the old Minnesota flag was frequently confused with others. It lacked distinction because it was just the state seal on a blue background.

    I don’t love the new design. I do think there’s room for improvement. However, the old flag wasn’t serving us well.

    One clear advantage of the new flag is that it can actually be recognized as Minnesota’s. The previous design failed to achieve this. Change is uncomfortable, but it’s also an opportunity. It has given us the ability to have a conversation.

    Flags Aren’t Sacred. They’re Evolving.

    Plenty of iconic flags have undergone change:

    • The U.S. flag has changed 27 times.
    • Canada didn’t adopt its maple leaf until 1965.
    • South Africa’s current flag, widely recognized today, was finalized in days.

    Designs come and go, but the values we attach to them can deepen over time.

    Discomfort is an Invitation

    As I wrote before in my Star Tribune comment:

    “Change is uncomfortable, but it’s also an opportunity. It has given us the ability to have a conversation.”

    Don’t like the flag? Great. Say so. Offer your vision. Start a petition. Participate in the next redesign cycle. But don’t opt out of the conversation entirely.

    Because flags don’t just represent where we’ve been. They shape how we see where we’re going.

    Minnesota is big enough to hold multiple truths. To love parts of the past while acknowledging its harms. To critique a design without discarding what it stands for. To fly a flag that looks forward, not just backward.

    If you don’t feel represented by the new flag—make your voice heard. But don’t assume that refusing to fly it is the same as standing for something noble. Sometimes, progress looks like a banner that’s unfamiliar. Sometimes, unity starts with a little discomfort.

    And sometimes, the bravest thing a flag can do is change.

  • Not a Fan of the Man But Like the Plan

    Not a Fan of the Man But Like the Plan

    Why Elon Musk’s “America Party” Could Shake Up U.S. Politics

    I am a big fan of Elon Musk. Let’s just get that out of the way up front.

    His contributions and support in the past of President Trump have been problematic. His handling of public infrastructure and social programs has also caused concern.

    Additionally, he casually toys with systems people actually depend on, both in the U.S. and around the world. These actions have done real harm. That’s not a small thing. And it’s part of why I approach anything he does with a healthy dose of skepticism.

    But then he threw a wrench into American politics yesterday by announcing his new America Party. Whether you love him or hate him, you have to admit it’s a bold move. Even if you mostly just wish he’d stay in his lane, it’s a bold move. One that’s already sparking debate, and it’s definitely got me thinking too.

    I may not be a fan of the man, but I like the plan. It’s not his plan specifically, at least not yet. It’s the bigger idea.

    This country deserves more than two political parties playing tug-of-war with our future. This moment prompted me to reflect on our history. I considered the role third parties have played in shaping American democracy. They could still play an important part.

    We Weren’t Always Just Red and Blue

    American political history has always been a bit messier than the red-vs-blue binary we’ve come to expect. The U.S. used to have vibrant (and sometimes downright bizarre) political alternatives. Some shaped the nation. Others burned fast and weird.

    Here’s a quick tour through notable political parties that once stirred the pot:

    Party NameYears ActiveNotable For
    Federalist Party1790s–1820sThe original pro-central government party; Hamilton’s legacy.
    Democratic-Republican Party1790s–1820sJefferson and Madison’s vision; states’ rights-focused.
    Whig Party1830s–1850sAnti-Jackson coalition; produced four presidents.
    Know-Nothing Party1850sNativist, anti-immigration movement.
    Free Soil Party1848–1854Opposed slavery’s expansion.
    Progressive Party (Bull Moose)1912Teddy Roosevelt’s breakaway reform movement.
    Socialist Party of AmericaEarly 1900sPushed labor rights; Debs ran for president from prison.
    States’ Rights Democratic Party (Dixiecrats)1948Segregationist Southern breakaway group.
    American Independent Party1968–presentGeorge Wallace’s ultra-conservative party.
    Reform Party1995–presentRoss Perot’s fiscally conservative, anti-corruption effort.
    Green Party1984–presentEnvironment, peace, and social justice.
    Libertarian Party1971–presentSmall government, civil liberties, and personal freedom.

    Want to go deeper? Full list on Wikipedia

    What Elon Musk Just Did

    As reported by The Guardian, Fox News, and CNBC:

    • Musk launched the America Party via X (formerly Twitter), saying it would reclaim power for the people.
    • Framed it as a response to the “uniparty” — a dig at both Democrats and Republicans.
    • Criticized Trump’s $3.3 trillion spending bill.
    • Declared he would target 2–3 Senate seats and 8–10 House seats, not the presidency (yet).
    • Claimed the party would represent the “80% in the middle.”
    • A poll on X showed 65% support — but no voter verification.

    Why a Third Party Could Be a Good Thing

    • Centrists feel homeless. Millions of voters don’t feel represented by either major party.
    • Accountability improves. A strong third voice can hold both sides in check.
    • Elections could get real. Ranked-choice voting and open primaries could gain traction.
    • New ideas. Politics could become about solutions, not just brand loyalty.

    But… There Are Some Big Problems

    • Ballot access nightmares. Every state has its own rules and deadlines.
    • No ground game. Musk has no party infrastructure or grassroots support.
    • Spoiler effect. Could split votes and backfire — especially in tight races.
    • Brand confusion. What does the “America Party” even stand for?

    Even If It Fails, It Sends a Message

    If nothing else, the America Party proves there’s a real hunger for something new. Maybe Musk’s version fizzles — but maybe it opens the door for better third-party efforts in the future.

    Perhaps it encourages changes to ballot access laws. These changes would help minority parties, such as the Green and Libertarian Parties, gain access to local, state, and federal races.

    More choices.
    More voices.
    More ideas.
    More democracy.

    Join the Conversation

    Where do you stand on this? I want to hear from you:

    • Could a serious third party get your vote?
    • Do you think Musk’s money makes this a real threat or is this just political cosplay?
    • Which defunct party do you wish was still around?
    • If you could create a party what would it’s name be and what would you stand for?

    Drop your thoughts in the comments — I’ll be reading.

    Sources and Further Reading

  • Independence for Whom? Reflecting on the Fourth of July in 2025

    Independence for Whom? Reflecting on the Fourth of July in 2025

    It’s the Fourth of July, 2025. Across the country, grills are sizzling, boats are cruising, and coolers are cracking open. The night skies will soon erupt in fireworks. For most Americans, this holiday means freedom, family, and summer fun.

    But I’ve gotten older. Our country has grown louder, more divided, and frankly, more dangerous. And lately, a question keeps echoing in my mind: What does the Fourth of July really mean anymore?

    A Brief History of Independence

    Let’s start with what this day is supposed to commemorate. On July 4, 1776, the Continental Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence. This bold move declared the thirteen colonies free from British rule. It rejected tyranny and laid the foundation for a self-governed nation.

    We still cling to the ideals of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But here’s the truth: those rights weren’t originally meant for everyone.

    A Revolution That Wasn’t for Everyone

    The Founding Fathers declared that “all men are created equal” while holding others in chains. The government claimed to defend liberty. Yet, it stole land from Indigenous people. It silenced women. It also excluded poor, disabled, and queer individuals from public life.

    In reality, the revolution granted freedom only to a privileged few.

    The story of America since 1776 has been long and painful. It shows a struggle to expand that freedom. The aim has been to include the people left out. The abolition of slavery was not handed down. Women’s suffrage and the Civil Rights Movement were not freely given. The Stonewall Riots and the Americans with Disabilities Act were claimed through struggle. People fought for them alongside those who rose up.

    They were won by those who refused to be erased.

    I write and advocate from within the LGBTQIA and disability communities. For many of us, the fight still isn’t over.

    The Ongoing Attacks on LGBTQ+ Rights…Especially Trans Youth

    Across the country, we’re seeing a coordinated assault on LGBTQ+ rights, particularly targeting transgender individuals. And it’s not happening in shadows—it’s happening in full public view.

    Much of this legislation focuses on minors, stripping away access to gender-affirming care under the false banner of “protection.” But let’s be honest: this isn’t about safety. It’s about political control. It’s about fear. It’s about forcing children to live in bodies and identities that cause them pain.

    Most trans youth seeking care are not undergoing surgeries. They’re being prescribed puberty blockers—safe, reversible treatments that offer something simple and profound: time. Time to think, to grow, to become.

    Instead of trusting doctors or supporting parents, lawmakers are imposing one-size-fits-all mandates on children they’ve never met.

    What happened to freedom?
    What happened to parental rights?
    What happened to that “small government” so many once held sacred?

    35 Years Since the ADA

    This year marks 35 years since the Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law. It’s a landmark civil rights achievement that changed the legal landscape for millions. I was just finishing kindergarten in 1990. I had no idea then how deeply the ADA would shape my path—or how far we’d still have to go.

    Because the fight didn’t end in 1990.

    If you need a refresher on how we got here, here’s a brief history of the ADA. It still matters. A lot.

    As someone who belongs to both the disabled and LGBTQ+ communities, these issues aren’t abstract to me. They’re personal. They’re real. They’re urgent.

    Even with the ADA in place, accessibility remains inconsistent. Healthcare is broken. Now, under the current Trump administration, programs that support disabled people are under attack.

    These aren’t luxuries. They’re lifelines.

    Today, crucial programs for people with disabilities face funding cuts. Leaders are trying to balance the books. This comes after giving massive tax breaks to billionaires and corporations. Their choice? Slash services for the most vulnerable among us.

    What We Teach And What We Erase

    We say we value freedom, but we whitewash our history to make it more comfortable.

    We teach about the Declaration of Independence. We give a brief nod to the Civil Rights Movement. But what about the Stonewall riots? What about the 504 Sit-In, where disabled activists occupied a federal building for nearly a month?

    Why do we erase the truths that make us uncomfortable?

    Some states are now passing laws that allow parents to pull their kids from school activities that mention LGBTQ+ families. A picture book about two dads becomes “controversial.”

    Look—I support the right of families to hold personal beliefs. I also believe education should prepare kids for the real world. It’s a world full of diverse people, relationships, and identities.

    Pretending they don’t exist doesn’t protect kids. It confuses them. It primes them to respond with fear—or hate—when they meet someone different.

    Independence in a Nation Built by Immigrants

    We are a nation of immigrants. But you wouldn’t know it from today’s political discourse.

    Let me be clear: I support deporting people who commit serious crimes after entering illegally. That’s not controversial—it’s common sense.

    But millions of immigrants—many undocumented—are holding up the scaffolding of our daily lives. They’re working in fields, hotels, kitchens, janitorial services. Jobs many Americans scorn—while depending on them.

    And instead of treating these workers with dignity, we vilify them. We build walls and cages. We pass policies that dehumanize.

    Meanwhile, billionaires and corporations are shielded from taxes, oversight, and even basic accountability.

    The Boiling Pot We Refuse to Notice

    The average American is being played.

    We’re told to fear immigrants. Disabled people. Trans youth. Anyone “different.” We argue among ourselves. Meanwhile, lawmakers pass legislation that benefits the ultra-wealthy and large corporations. This leaves the rest of us scrambling.

    Social safety nets are unraveling.
    Corporate profits are protected, while food assistance, Medicaid, and disability programs are slashed.

    It’s like the old frog metaphor:
    If you slowly turn up the heat, the frog won’t notice it’s boiling.

    That’s where we are as a country.
    And the water’s getting hotter.

    Final Thoughts

    So what does the Fourth of July mean anymore?

    For me, it’s not fireworks or flags. It’s the chance to remember that the dream of freedom isn’t finished. It’s unfinished business.

    The work of building a more inclusive, just, and fair country belongs to us now.

    Not just today—but every day.

  • Cheers to Clarity: What Grief, Generational Patterns, and a Non-Alcoholic IPA Taught Me About Choice

    Cheers to Clarity: What Grief, Generational Patterns, and a Non-Alcoholic IPA Taught Me About Choice

    Author’s Note:
    This began as a casual Facebook post. It was just me, a can of non-alcoholic beer, and a quiet summer evening on the patio. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized this moment wasn’t casual at all. It was part of a larger story about grief, generational patterns, and learning to choose—really choose—what supports me best. Sometimes that looks like a cold drink. Sometimes it looks like not having one. And sometimes, it looks like sitting still with what hurts, and making a mindful choice anyway.

    A Quiet Evening, A Different Kind of Cold One

    It’s a quiet evening on the patio. The sun’s fading out slow and golden, and I’m sitting with a cold one in hand.

    But not that kind of cold one.

    This one’s a Free Wave Hazy IPA from Athletic Brewing Company. Non-alcoholic, but every bit as satisfying as the real deal. Bright. Citrusy. Complex. It hits all the right notes—just without the mental fog or emotional whiplash.

    These days, before I drink anything alcoholic, I pause. I check in with myself. And I ask a question that’s become surprisingly important:
    Why do I want this?
    Is it for the taste? To unwind? Or… am I trying to dull something I don’t want to feel?

    When Grief Shatters

    After Dempsey passed in the summer of 2022, something in me broke.

    Not just cracked—shattered.

    He wasn’t just a dog. He was my service dog. My companion. My lifeline. Dempsey was the one creature on this earth I could trust completely. I trusted him with my safety and with my disability. I relied on him with the quiet parts of me that don’t always have words.

    Grief wasn’t kind. It wasn’t poetic. It was heavy and raw and relentless. And in the middle of it, I found myself craving alcohol. It wasn’t to celebrate or relax, but to feel less.

    Less pain.
    Less loss.
    Less of that deep, marrow-level heartbreak that doesn’t let up just because the world keeps spinning.

    But I knew that craving. I knew its edges. And I knew where it could lead.

    Because I come from a family with a history of alcohol misuse. Even though the people I love found their way to sobriety, those patterns still echo. That kind of history doesn’t disappear. Instead, it lingers in the background. It shapes how you respond to stress, grief, and loss. Even if you never pick up a bottle, you still inherit the instincts.

    So when I felt that whisper—Just one drink. Just take the edge off—I recognized it. Not just as a moment of grief, but as part of a longer story. A story I want to write differently.

    Choosing Wisely: The Power of Options

    That’s where drinks like this come in. That’s why I sing the praises of Athletic Brewing like they’re saving lives. Sometimes, having a non-alcoholic option helps me stay sober in spirit. It is not just about alcohol content. It helps me stay grounded. Stay honest.

    And let’s be clear: I’m not anti-alcohol. I’ll still have a drink now and then. But the rule I’ve made for myself is simple—if there’s even a fraction of hesitation, even a 0.00001% chance that I’m reaching for it to numb instead of enjoy, I choose something else.

    That isn’t weakness. That’s wisdom. That’s clarity. That’s care.

    Even now, Surley is by my side. My mental health is better supported. There is more stability and joy woven into my days. Still, those urges whisper sometimes. That itch still sneaks in.
    And when it does, I don’t shame it. I meet it with honesty.
    I ask the question again. Why do I want this?
    And if I’m not sure, I choose the option that keeps me rooted.

    My Choices, My Rules

    You might think all this sounds excessive. Or overly cautious. Or dramatic.

    That’s okay.

    You’re not living my grief. You’re not carrying my history. You’re not holding my DNA or my memories or my triggers. I am.

    These are my choices. My rules. My safety nets. Built not just to keep me upright, but to keep me honest with myself.

    So tonight, I raise a glass—a cold one, sure, but one that supports the life I want. The healing I’ve worked for. The clarity I’ve chosen.

    Cheers. 🧡🍻
    To grief. To growth. To generational healing.

    If you’ve been affected by grief, loss, or struggles with alcohol, you’re not alone. Feel free to share your story or thoughts in the comments below. Let’s support each other with compassion and understanding.

  • Always Becoming

    Always Becoming

    A Pride Month Reflection

    I had written the meat of this post over a month ago but hadn’t published it yet. The reason I’ve been sitting on it is simple.

    I was nervous.

    I know I’ve shared a lot of my life here. However, there are some things I’m still working through with my therapist. Even at my age, I’m learning there’s always more to discover about yourself.

    Pride Month is nearing its end. The Twin Cities Pride Festival is upon us. It feels like the right time to share. Pride is often associated with the LGBTQ+ community. However, I believe it’s for anyone who has ever struggled to find themselves. It is also for those who now live in their authenticity.

    Pride isn’t just about rainbows, parades, or a single community. It’s about the courage it takes to live authentically, no matter how long the journey. It’s about the quiet moments of realization. It’s about the words we finally find for ourselves. It’s about the love we give and receive along the way.

    Whether you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community or simply someone learning to live more fully as yourself your story matters. You matter. And I hope, like me, you’ll keep becoming.

    A Journey Through Identity, Writing, and Self-Discovery

    In the recent months I’ve learned more about myself than I expected. Therapy has helped me feel more comfortable exploring who I am. Having family and friends who listen without judgment has made a huge difference.

    Writing has opened the door even further. It’s allowed me to think about things on a deeper level, to connect dots I hadn’t known were there. And through that process, I’ve started to see myself more clearly.

    Childhood & Disability

    As a child growing up in a small Minnesota hometown, I quickly learned that I didn’t quite fit. Disability was rarely visible, and the world around me wasn’t designed for bodies like mine. Navigating that space taught me resilience and adaptability. I became skilled at adjusting—at molding myself to fit into places that hadn’t anticipated my presence. I bent without breaking.

    But I wasn’t just molding to fit into the world—I was also molding to meet my family’s expectations. I performed the version of myself that felt safe and acceptable. That pressure, though quieter, was heavier. It was about survival. And sometimes, it came at the cost of my authenticity.

    What I didn’t realize at the time was how deeply these early experiences would shape my understanding of self. Learning to adapt to a world that wasn’t built for me didn’t stop with disability it became a pattern.

    That same instinct to “pass,” to suppress discomfort, followed me into every part of who I was becoming. Into how I loved. How I moved through gender. How I showed up—or didn’t—in my full identity.

    I’d spent my childhood learning how to bend myself to fit into other people’s definitions. It would take me years to learn how to define myself on my own terms.

    Coming Out, and Coming Into Myself

    At a young age the early signs of queerness began to surface even if I didn’t notice. I remember a relative who adored New Kids On The Block. I must’ve been five or six when I casually mentioned liking Danny from the band. At the time, it felt natural, but looking back, it was a small rebellion. A quiet truth surfacing.

    At a similar age, starting in kindergarten, there was always a girl, or girls, I liked. I never thought girls were “yucky;” I just knew there was something about them that drew me in.

    In fifth or sixth grade, there was a boy in Sunday school. He gave me the same fluttery feeling in my stomach that I’d felt around certain girls. In my early teens, I attended summer camp. That was the first time I truly felt something deeper for another boy my age. Still, I could not fully say the word “gay” to myself until high school. Even then, it felt more like a question than an answer.

    In high school, I wrote a paper on same-sex marriage. It stirred up a lot of conversation first among classmates, then with some family members. Questions about my own sexuality began to surface. I deflected by saying I had a lesbian aunt, which was true, but also conveniently deflected the spotlight. It gave me a way to speak up without fully stepping out. A shield wrapped in truth.

    I didn’t come out to most of my family until college. It wasn’t a big, cinematic moment. There were no joyful embraces or heartfelt cheers. There were tears, but not the kind that come with relief. It was raw and complicated, tangled in confusion and unspoken expectations.

    At first, identifying as gay gave me something solid to hold onto a label, a sense of belonging. But as time went on, I realized that label didn’t always fit. While others seemed to find a home in their identities, mine kept shifting, stretching in different directions.

    I’ve felt attraction to people of different genders and across age differences. Some connections were romantic or sexual, others weren’t. There were also times I felt no sexual attraction at all. Those patterns gently opened the door to the asexual spectrum. They showed me there was more room to explore than I’d once believed.

    Gender, Clothes, and the Words I Didn’t Have

    As a teenager, I remember my sister had a pair of maroon faux leather pants. I thought they were the coolest thing. I wished boys could wear something like that without question. It wasn’t just about fashion—it was about the freedom that came with it.

    In college, I found myself drawn to musicians like Ani DiFranco, Ellis Delaney, and especially Melissa Etheridge. Her look leather jacket, worn jeans, quiet confidence hit a nerve.

    I did a drag performance as Etheridge in college. When I stepped into that outfit, and out onto the stage it didn’t feel like a costume. It felt like stepping into something honest. Something that had been waiting to be seen.

    In my mid-twenties, I started questioning my relationship with gender. I felt discomfort in my body and wondered if I was transgender. I’m thankful I had a therapist who, though not an expert in gender dysphoria, helped me work through those feelings. Through deep conversation, I realized that I was mostly comfortable in my body. There were parts I didn’t love, like body hair or the physical complications of being in a wheelchair.

    I wasn’t seeking to transition from one binary to the other. I was seeking something outside the binary entirely. At the time, term non-binary wasn’t yet in the common language within the queer community.

    When it became common to share pronouns in bios or intros, I hesitated. He/him didn’t feel right. They/them felt a little closer, but still not quite it. I didn’t feel like a he or a they—I just felt like me. Just Levi. And for a long time, that made me feel like an outsider. But slowly, I began to understand that being just Levi was enough.

    As pronouns became more common, the concept became clearer. Friends came out as non-binary. It was like a crack in the door I didn’t realize I needed to walk through.

    The Mirror of Writing

    Writing has always been a mirror. A way to show myself back to myself. Characters with ADHD tendencies, with anxiety, trying to figure out where they fit in the LGBTQIA spectrum. Characters who are hesitant, loyal, or unsure of where they belong. They’re all extensions of me. These characters emerged from my subconscious before I ever had the words to describe those parts of myself.

    These stories have helped me process, understand, and articulate feelings that were once nebulous. Through storytelling, I’ve found a deeper clarity and a quiet acceptance. I’ve realized I don’t need to chase a destination. I only need to keep chasing the road.

    Becoming

    I’m not sharing this as a final declaration. I am not sharing this as another coming out. I’m sharing it as a snapshot. A step in the process. A truth for today. Because identity isn’t fixed it evolves. It deepens. It grows with us.

    I’ve never had one label that felt like home. Maybe I was never meant to be defined by a single word.

    Maybe I’m not a noun.
    Maybe I’m a verb.

    Always becoming.

    You’re Not Alone: LGBTQ+ and Mental Health Resources

    If you’re navigating identity, struggling with mental health, or just looking for community—these resources can help:

    Image Disclaimer:
    The featured image was created using DALL·E. It is OpenAI’s legacy image generation model. ChatGPT provided conceptual guidance and design direction for this collaboration.