Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Here we are, folks, standing ankle-deep in the Upside Down, staring at the sky and wondering when gravity quietly filed for divorce.

Once upon a time—cue the grainy parchment and powdered wigs—George Washington did the unthinkable. He won a revolution, could have crowned himself King George the First (American Edition), and instead said, “Nah, two terms is plenty,” then went home. He didn’t tweet about it. He didn’t threaten Mount Vernon with martial law. He just… left. This single act of restraint set the tone for a republic built on the radical idea that leaders are temporary and the country is permanent.

Then came Abraham Lincoln, who quite literally held the nation together with words, grit, and an almost supernatural patience while half the country tried to tear itself apart. The Civil War ended, the Union survived, and for a brief, shining moment, the lesson seemed clear: division is expensive, stupid, and deadly.

Teddy Roosevelt barreled into the 20th century like a mustachioed force of nature, busting trusts, backing unions, and suggesting—wildly—that maybe the government should protect people from being ground into dust by monopolies. Woodrow Wilson stumbled us through World War I, imperfectly and often awkwardly, but still managed to get us out the other side intact. Then came FDR and Truman, guiding the country through World War II and its aftermath, leaving the United States with something resembling moral authority and global credibility. Eisenhower, the general who knew exactly what war costs, warned us about the military-industrial complex while keeping the Cold War from going thermonuclear. Kennedy, LBJ—flawed men, certainly—but still operating within the shared assumption that democracy was the point of the exercise.

Even Nixon, bless his deeply crooked heart, at least had the decency to resign when caught red-handed. The system worked, if only because shame was still a thing that existed.

Fast-forward to 2008. The United States elected its first Black president. History was made. Progress was visible. And for a certain segment of the population, this was apparently the final straw. Somewhere, the ghosts of Confederate generals perked up and said, “The Civil War isn’t over yet, boys.” From that moment on, reality began to bend.

Enter Donald Trump, a man who looked at democracy and said, “This seems inefficient. Have we tried me instead?” A man who treats the Constitution like a suggestion box and elections like a personal insult. A man who flirts openly with autocracy while insisting—hand on heart—that he alone represents “freedom.” In this Upside Down, the president doesn’t just challenge norms; he suplexes them through a table and calls it leadership.

And now we arrive at the truly surreal chapter, where the United States, once the awkward but dependable anchor of NATO, is apparently alarming its own allies to the point that Germany, Canada, and other NATO nations are sending troops and warships to protect Greenland—from us. Greenland. The giant icy place we once tried to buy like it was a slightly used hotel. Somewhere, Eisenhower is spinning so fast he could power the Eastern Seaboard.

We’ve gone from “peaceful transfer of power” to “is he the president of Venezuela now?” From alliances to threats, from norms to tantrums, from “government of the people” to “government of the ego.” Up is down. Truth is optional. Autocracy is marketed as patriotism. And democracy is treated like a nuisance that keeps getting in the way of greatness.

So yes, we are living in the Upside Down—a place where restraint is weakness, loyalty to one man is confused with love of country, and history is something to be rewritten with a Sharpie. The scariest part isn’t that the rules are broken. It’s that a large chunk of the country is cheering while they shatter, convinced that this time, somehow, gravity won’t matter.

But it always does. Eventually.