Sundays with Kamala

July 21, 2019 | New York, NY

The only way, it seems, to make sense of anything these days is to accept the fact that nothing will ever really make 100% sense anymore. Things will always be just a little bit nuts. Human impact has made the Earth begin to wobble on its axis and in turn, we, too, are starting to act off-kilter.

It’s in times like these that we need people with conviction to lead us. People who’ll be the Trader Joe’s employees of our life paths, waving a bright green flag at the end of the line and telling us, “Here’s where you must stand! Here’s how you move forward.”

So today, we have Kamala Harris – senator, 2020 Democratic presidential candidate, and Joyful Warrior – here to tell us how she uses Sundays to keep her life on track. Kamala’s got it down.

__

Sunday morning, 6:00 AM: I open my eyes.

6:05 AM: I check in with myself. Life’s been dizzying lately. Need to think about who I am and who I aim to be. Am I a woman who collects lace Chuck Taylors? Yes. Am I a future president? Yes, if I have anything to say about it (and I do). Am I a writer? No, no, can’t go through that again. “The Truths We Hold” was hard enough.

6:07 AM: What was I thinking with that title? You can’t hold a truth. It’s not, like, a melon. It’s intangible. God, the one time I’m not literal.

6:08 AM: Truths, truths, truths…words sound funny when you say them over & over.

6:09 AM: Is this the real life, Kamala? Or is this just fantasy?

6:10 AM: Oh morning, Freddie. There’s a voice in my head that’s always speaking to me and it belongs to Freddie Mercury – another brown legend. My inner world is perfectly harmonized. As for the world outside me…

6:15 AM: To conquer the world, I must conquer my mind. And I am a shooting star leaping through the sky like a tiger. Defying the laws of gravity. I’m a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva. I’m gonna go go go. Sometimes I don’t know where my voice ends and Freddie’s begins. But I jump out of bed singing “Don’t Stop Me Now.” I think of my father saying, “Run Kamala, run!” when I was younger with the same amount of ambition. Yes! I run to the shower to begin the first day of the rest of my life.

9:30 AM: I stand at the kitchen counter feeling radiant, accomplished. 60-minute Soul Survivor workout? Check. Coffee brewed? Check. Almond milk poured into a bowl of Raisin Bran? Check. Kissed my husband good morning? Check. Now, some Me Time. Because too much love will kill you every time.

10:15 AM: I practice lightning round questioning in front of the mirror.

11:30 AM: Family dinner tonight – my favorite start to the week, a reminder that I’m in control of my life. Tonight, I’m making a multitude of pizzas. Pesto, Hawaiian, spicy Creole, a classic margherita. Our nation, it seems, is really just a bunch of unbaked pizzas. We’ve got all the ingredients, all the potential…but right now, everything’s kind of a mess because no one agrees on what constitutes a pizza.

“Our nation, it seems, is really just a bunch of unbaked pizzas. We’ve got all the ingredients, all the potential…but right now, everything’s kind of a mess because no one agrees on what constitutes a pizza.”

12:00 PM: One of my senior staffers calls to check in with updates and plan for the week ahead. I remind her that we are the dough of the pizza crust. We must always rise to the occasion. If we don’t, the pizza will not exist.

12:01 PM: She tells me I am 100% deserving of the Facebook group created in my honor “Slay, Kamala, Slay.”

12:30 PM: I knead the dough.

12:31 PM: We all need the dough, I realize, as I look out the window. People on the streets, people on the streets. It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about, watching some good friends screaming, “Let me out!”

12:45 PM: Pressure.

12:46 PM: Under pressure.

2:00 PM: News alerts pop up on my phone. There’ll be more debates soon. More scrutiny. No time for self-doubt now-

2:01 PM: What if I have to change my hairstyle? I love my hair.

2:02 PM: No, no, we’re better than this.

2:03 PM: What is ‘better’ though? What is ‘this’? Better yet, what is ‘is’?

2:04 PM: No, no – I am not going to be that president. No time for losers ‘cause we are the champions of the world. I am Kamoji, the animated superhero. I’ve been, in the words of one Barack Obama, “the best looking attorney general in the country.” I am mother freaking Momala, damnit.

“She tells me I am 100% deserving of the Facebook group created in my honor ‘Slay, Kamala, Slay.'”

3:00 PM: Pizza dough ready. Pesto made. Pineapples chopped. Andouille sausage sliced. Fresh basil acquired from local farmer’s market.

4:30 PM: I crochet a couple blankets for the chilly political cycle ahead. Along with mastering the art of a ferocious stare, I’ve also mastered needlepoint.

5:30 PM: Cory Booker sends me a supportive text.

6:00 PM: I curl up on the couch with a newly made blanket and a hot cup of chamomile tea, scrolling through Freddie Mercury’s greatest costume hits. God he really had that whole fiery statement jacket / shoulder pad thing down.

6:30 PM: What an icon.

6:31 PM: ‘Icon’ is just a letter away from I Can. I can win while inspiring young people to wear pearls. I can command respect on late night TV. Look how far I’ve come from being the ‘fun’ member of my college debate team.

6:45 PM: Anyway the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to me…to me. That’s not true Freddie, you sexy crooner. It all matters to me.

7:00 PM: My family calls. It’s time for dinner.