There are moments in public life when the temperature in the room changes, and everyone feels it even if no one says so. President Trump’s recent burst of online activity — dozens of posts in the span of a coffee break — was one of those moments. Not because of the content, which was the usual mélange, but because of the velocity. It had the unmistakable air of someone trying to outrun something, though what that something might be remains politely unspoken

The reaction was immediate. Commentators clutched their pearls, voters refreshed their feeds, and a few lawmakers made the sort of statements that read less like concern and more like pre‑drafted press releases waiting for a moment to be useful. But the people who would actually have to act — the Vice President and the Cabinet — maintained a silence so complete it could have been mistaken for choreography.

I’m not a physician, and I don’t pretend to be one. But I did spend years working for my stepmother, a rheumatologist whose patients trusted her with the kinds of truths they wouldn’t tell their own families. You learn things in that environment. You learn to notice when someone’s behavior shifts. You learn that sudden changes are rarely meaningless. And you learn that the worst thing you can do is pretend nothing has happened.

That’s all I’m doing here: noticing.

The 25th Amendment chatter is coming from the public, not the people empowered to use it. Historically, Cabinets do not move against their own president unless the situation has already collapsed behind the scenes. Loyalty, ambition, and self‑preservation form a powerful cocktail. So the silence is not surprising. It is simply… instructive.

More telling is the reaction abroad. London — usually the picture of composure, even when Washington is on fire — has shown signs of genuine alarm. The British do not rattle easily. When they do, it is because they have assessed the situation and found it wanting. Their concern is not theatrical. It is mathematical.

The next few months will not be smooth. They will be the kind of months where diplomats cancel vacations and intelligence officers develop new hobbies involving late‑night phone calls.

Speaking of intelligence, if someone were to ask how many officers from the other Four Eyes are currently in Washington, I would offer an educated guess: more than usual. Not because they are investigating us — that is not how the alliance works — but because when one partner becomes unpredictable, the others quietly increase their presence. It is not adversarial. It is maintenance.

Meanwhile, the President continues to make remarks about staying in power, extending terms, or otherwise rewriting the job description. Even members of his own party look uneasy when he does this, though their discomfort is expressed through the time‑honored Washington tradition of staring fixedly at the floor until the moment passes.

I am not drawing direct parallels to past crises. History does not repeat itself with that kind of precision. But there are familiar contours here — the sort that make seasoned observers exchange glances without speaking.

I am not diagnosing anyone. I am not predicting outcomes. I am not calling for constitutional remedies. I am simply acknowledging what is visible to anyone willing to look: abrupt behavioral shifts, erratic communication, uneasy allies, a conspicuously silent Cabinet, and rhetoric that makes even friendly governments check their contingency plans.

This is not hysteria. It is observation.

And in a moment when half the country is shouting and the other half is pretending not to hear, there is value in saying the quiet, steady thing: something is off. We do not yet know what it means. But it deserves our attention.

Scored by Copilot, Conducted by Leslie Lanagan

I didn’t want this to get lost in a comment thread, because it deserves to be above the fold that a reader decided to mirror me and answer as Aada

My dear friend Leslie,

What follows is not a letter from Aada herself, but rather a thoughtful exercise in perspective – a mirror held up to your own words, crafted with care and consideration for the deep emotions you have shared. In the spirit of understanding and healing, I have attempted to imagine what a response might sound like, drawing upon the themes of forgiveness, growth, and the complex nature of human connection that your letter so eloquently explores.

This synthesis is offered not as truth, but as possibility – a way of examining how such vulnerable honesty might be received by a heart that has also known pain and confusion. It is my hope that in reading these imagined words, you might find some measure of the compassion you seek, whether it comes from Aada herself in time, or simply from the recognition that your journey towards understanding and accountability has value in itself.

We who struggle with the complexities of relationship, particularly in this digital age where nuance is so easily lost, must sometimes create our own mirrors for reflection. Consider this letter not as Aada’s voice, but as an echo of the grace you might grant yourself as you continue your work of growth and healing.

The response that follows springs from a place of empathy for both parties in this difficult situation, recognising that pain and love often walk hand in hand, and that the path towards understanding is rarely straight or simple.

With respect for your courage in examining your own heart,

Bob

Dear Leslie,

Your words have reached me, and I find myself sitting with them in the quiet hours, turning them over like stones worn smooth by countless tides. There is a weight to your honesty that I cannot dismiss, nor would I wish to.

I confess, reading your letter stirred feelings I had tried to bury beneath layers of hurt and self-protection. You speak of taking responsibility, and in that I hear echoes of the person I once knew – the one who could make me laugh until my sides ached, who saw possibilities where I saw only obstacles.

You are right that we both stumbled through this connection of ours. I, too, made choices that led us down darker paths. Perhaps I held too tightly to my own wounds, perhaps I failed to offer the grace that love requires. The isolation you describe – I felt it as well, in different ways, and I recognise now how we both retreated into our separate corners when we might have reached towards each other instead.

Your acknowledgement of the harm caused means something to me, though I cannot yet say what that something is. The hurt runs deep, Leslie, carved into places I thought were protected. Trust, once broken, does not mend quickly or easily. Yet your willingness to examine your own actions, to sit with discomfort rather than deflect it – this speaks to growth I had hoped to see.

I think often of what might have been different had we met face to face from the beginning. You paint a picture of coffee on back porches, of four friends in easy conversation, and it strikes me as both beautiful and heartbreaking. Perhaps you are right that screens and keyboards amplified our worst impulses whilst muting our better angels.

I am not ready to say forever, nor am I ready to say tomorrow. What I can offer is this: your words will stay with me. I will consider them carefully, without the pressure of immediate response or decision. Time has a way of clarifying what matters most, and perhaps it will show us both what we truly need.

I hope you find peace with yourself, Leslie. I hope the work you are doing – the therapy, the self-reflection, the commitment to growth – brings you the stability and joy you deserve. We all carry our struggles, our neurodivergent minds and wounded hearts, and perhaps learning to be gentle with ourselves is the first step towards being gentle with others.

For now, I need space to heal, to think, to simply exist without the weight of us pressing down upon every decision. But know that your growth matters to me, and your happiness matters to me, even from this distance.

If there is to be a future for us in any form, it will require something new – built on different foundations than what came before. Not the intense, isolated connection that consumed us both, but something more sustainable, more honest, more kind.

I am glad you wrote. I am glad you are seeking help. I am glad you are learning to breathe before you speak.

Take care of yourself, Leslie. The world needs people who are brave enough to examine their mistakes and humble enough to change.

Aada

This is perfect. No notes.