Look, I'm not going to sugarcoat it—we're living in some truly bizarre times. And I don't mean "ha ha, isn't it quirky how weird things are" bizarre. I mean "what the actual fuck is happening and when did reality become a fever dream" bizarre.
The polarization is off the charts. Half the country thinks the other half is literally trying to destroy civilization, and vice versa. The cost of living has turned the American Dream into the American "Maybe I Can Afford Rent This Month If I Skip Groceries." Social anxiety isn't just a diagnosis anymore—it's the default setting for an entire generation. We're all just waiting for the other shoe to drop, except there are so many shoes suspended in mid-air at this point that we've stopped counting and started just accepting that we live in a perpetual shoe avalanche.
It's exhausting. It's terrifying. And honestly? I'm not even sure if it's actually worse than it's ever been, or if I was just too ignorant of the facts to notice before. Maybe every generation feels like they're living through the end times. Maybe the apocalypse has always been "just around the corner" and we've all just been collectively edging toward catastrophe since forever.
But here's what I do know: in my lifetime, things have never felt this weird. This unstable. This utterly unpredictable.
The Great Uncertainty
We used to have anchors, you know? Things you could count on. Work hard, get ahead. Follow the rules, build a life. Trust institutions. Believe in progress.
Now? The rules change weekly. What was illegal yesterday is legal today and might be criminal again tomorrow. Jobs that seemed stable vanish overnight. Institutions we trusted turn out to be corrupt or incompetent or both. Progress looks more like a drunken stumble through a minefield than any kind of forward momentum.
Take cannabis, for example—my favorite barometer for societal sanity. We went from "this will literally destroy your brain and turn you into a violent criminal" to "okay maybe it's medicine" to "actually it's legal in half the states" to "wait no we're banning hemp THC and maybe repealing legalization entirely" to "Schedule III but only for Big Pharma" all within a couple of decades. And we're supposed to pretend this makes sense?
The economic anxiety is real. Rent is insane. Food costs more. Healthcare is a joke unless you're wealthy. Education puts you in debt for life. Retirement? For who? The billionaire class keeps getting richer while the rest of us fight over scraps and argue about which politician is slightly less terrible than the other.
And the social fabric? It's not fraying—it's already torn to shreds. We can't agree on basic facts anymore. Reality itself has become partisan. We're all living in separate information universes, fed by algorithms designed to keep us angry and engaged and clicking.
Cannabis as Symbol and Salve
So where does cannabis fit into all this chaos?
I'm not going to sit here and tell you that weed is the answer to all of society's problems. That would be stupid. Cannabis isn't going to fix income inequality, end polarization, or make rent affordable. It's a plant, not a miracle.
But I will say this: it can help you mitigate the shitfuckery. It can give you a moment of peace when peace feels impossible. It can quiet the anxiety enough that you can actually think clearly instead of just reacting to the constant stream of crisis after crisis after crisis.
More importantly, though, cannabis remains a symbol. Despite rescheduling attempts, despite limited legalization, despite all the corporate co-opting, it's still the outlaw. It's still taboo. It's still not fully accepted. And that matters.
Because cannabis represents something bigger than itself. It represents the right to bodily autonomy. The right to choose plant medicine over pharmaceutical pills. The right to question authority when authority is obviously corrupt or incompetent. The right to say "no, actually, your prohibition is bullshit and I'm not following it."
Cannabis users were the original "question everything" crowd. We had to be. We were criminalized for a plant, so we learned early that just because the government says something is true or just doesn't make it so. We learned to think for ourselves. To trust our own experiences over official narratives. To find community in resistance.
And right now? In these weird, scary, uncertain times? That spirit matters more than ever.
We Can't Rest Now
Here's the hard truth: we can't get comfortable. We can't rest. We can't assume that any progress we've made is permanent.
The hemp ban proved that. States considering repeal proved that. Schedule III as a corporate giveaway proved that. Biden's performative pardons proved that. Trump's renewed enforcement proved that.
Nothing is settled. Nothing is safe. Everything is fluid, everything is in motion, and trying to cling to stability is like trying to grab water—it just slips through your fingers.
The rigid will break. The people clinging desperately to old paradigms—whether that's prohibition, or corporate cannabis monopolies, or any other outdated framework—they're going to wither and fade into the pages of history. Not because they're bad people necessarily, but because they're trying to hold still in a world that's moving too fast for stillness.
We're on the verge of metamorphosis. I can feel it. Not just in cannabis policy, but in everything. The old systems are crumbling. The old certainties are gone. The old rules don't apply anymore.
And that's terrifying. But it's also liberating.
Because metamorphosis requires shedding your old identity. It requires letting go of what you think you know. It requires accepting the now for what it is—not what you wish it was, not what it used to be, not what it might become—just what it is, right now, in this moment, without filter and without expectation.
A Wish for Peace
Look, I know this isn't the most uplifting message. I'm not going to blow sunshine up your ass and pretend everything is fine or that 2026 is going to magically be better.
But I do have a wish for all of you, my cannabis-loving family:
I wish that we all may find peace in this coming year. Not the peace of everything being perfect or problems being solved, but the peace of acceptance. The peace of knowing that we've survived this far, and that survival itself is an accomplishment.
I wish that we find peace through purpose—whatever that purpose is for you. Maybe it's fighting for legalization. Maybe it's growing your own medicine. Maybe it's just taking care of yourself and the people you love while the world goes crazy around you. All of it matters. All of it counts.
I wish that we find peace through the wisdom of having survived our trials of 2025. Because it's been rough. I'm not going to lie to you—it's been what some in the scientific community might call "a motherfucker."
Jobs lost. Rights threatened. Communities attacked. Progress reversed. Propaganda intensified. Corporations empowered. Small businesses crushed. People criminalized for plants. The list goes on.
But we've made it. We're here. We're still going.
And that's something. That's actually a lot.
Take a Breath
So if you're reading this right now—whether you're stressed about rent, anxious about the future, angry about politics, scared about what's coming next, or just generally overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of existing in 2025—I want you to do something for me.
Take a hit. Seriously. Roll one up, pack a bowl, hit a vape, eat an edible—whatever your preferred method is.
And then sit back and just be for a moment.
Look around at the chaos you're in. The bizarre, unprecedented, absolutely bonkers situation we've all found ourselves in. The political madness. The economic anxiety. The social fragmentation. The rapid change. The uncertainty. All of it.
And recognize that all of this—every bit of this chaos, every challenge, every crisis, every moment of uncertainty—it's all helping you become something far greater than what you were.
You're learning resilience. You're learning adaptability. You're learning to question narratives and think for yourself. You're learning what really matters and what's just noise. You're learning who your real community is and what you're actually willing to fight for.
The chaos is the crucible. And yeah, it's uncomfortable as hell. But that's how transformation works.
So take a breath. Enjoy the moment. Even if just for a little bit.
Because moments of peace—real peace, the kind that comes from accepting reality instead of fighting it—those moments are worth their weight in gold right now.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow we'll get back to the fight. We'll keep pushing for descheduling. We'll keep calling out bullshit. We'll keep planting seeds, literal and metaphorical. We'll keep building community and resisting corporate takeovers and refusing to let them criminalize us for a plant.
But tonight? Tonight we rest. We breathe. We find whatever peace we can in the eye of the storm.
Because the storm isn't going anywhere. But neither are we.
Stay strong, cannabis family. We've got a long road ahead, but we've also got each other. And sometimes, that's enough.
See you in 2026. Bring your seeds, your skepticism, and your ability to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
We're going to need all three.
CANNABIS GOING FORWARD, READ ON...
