The new Democratic presidential candidate arrived on the scene accompanied by a meme and music unfamiliar to many likely voters.

Vice President Kamala Harris, 59, straddles a thin line between young boomer and older Gen X. But it was Gen Z that crowned her "Brat” after British pop icon Charli XCX’s newest album.

For the generations who automatically think of a brat as a spoiled child, a number of news outlets offered explainers on the Gen Z connotations of the word. The Independent defined it as “an icon; an embrace of authenticity and confidence in oneself.”

The Brat meme flashed hot and bright on social media. It has likely already faded, given the fleeting half-life of a meme. Harris has undeniably energized the electorate, with her campaign raising more than $120 million since its launch.

But more than fuel for content creators and internet warriors, she’s given a shot of hope to the demographic of women closer to her age.

Electro-dance pop is meaningless to us. Give us the iconic, rebellious and raw female power of Joan Jett, 65, and Alanis Morissette, 50, currently on tour together.

Morissette, who has won seven Grammys and sold more than 75 million albums, put on a show at the Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre in Maryland Heights, Missouri, that flashed powerful feminist graphics on every screen.

“No country has achieved gender equality,” appeared on the screen while she belted the lyrics to “Hand in my Pocket.”

That message resonates differently when America has the chance to elect its first female president after Hillary Clinton, who won the popular vote, lost the Electoral College in 2016.

That was before the protections of Roe v. Wade fell, an era when our daughters still had the rights our mothers and grandmothers fought for.

Everything is different now.

Back in January, a friend offered me a ticket to see “Jagged Little Pill” with her. My brain miscalculated that as going to a Morissette concert, which I had never seen, rather than a Broadway musical. My husband informed me of my misunderstanding the morning of the show after he read a preview of the jukebox musical in the paper. I had time to course correct before I showed up among the well-heeled theater crowd in my distressed jeans.

When I learned that the Morissette tour was coming to St. Louis, it felt like kismet. I hadn’t thought much about her in decades, but we’re both in a milestone year as the country faces a crossroad -- an election that will define us for generations.

Maybe I needed to revisit her discography, a soundtrack from my college days. The breakout hit from the JLP album, "You Oughta Know," is a scornful, seething and vulnerable message to a former lover. Over the course of decades, many of her original listeners have settled into stable relationships. We may find that the drama from the outside world is louder and occupies a larger space than the personal minefields of our 20s and 30s.

The political has always been personal. But lately, it’s become so pervasive, angry and unsettling that it’s hard to escape. We’ve been riding an emotional roller coaster in a tumultuous election cycle unlike those many of us have ever witnessed.

It was another Alanis classic that captured the political moment for those of us in this cycle of life. "You Learn" is a compassionate reflection on dealing with the bad cards life deals you. Through living, loving, crying, losing and bleeding, you learn.

“Throw it down (The caution blocks you from the wind)

Hold it up (To the rays)

You wait and see when the smoke clears”

In the days right after President Joe Biden gave up the presidential nomination, we were all waiting for the smoke to clear. I could sense how radically the political energy had shifted in recent days.

The vibe at the concert -- an embrace of unapologetic and fearless women -- reflected a changing political mood.

I decided to test the waters by wearing a T-shirt I purchased days after the Supreme Court’s flagrantly political decision on presidential immunity. It’s a solid gray shirt with a quote by Justice Sonia Sotomayor written in a white font: “With fear for our democracy, I dissent.”

I wanted to make a subtle statement appreciable by news junkies and political nerds to see if anyone understood what I was trying to convey. How many people at a rock concert would take the time to read an entire sentence on a stranger’s shirt?

At least one did.

An exuberant blond woman in the row right in front of me, who danced through Jett’s rock anthems, made eye contact and pointed at my shirt. I pulled it down to straighten it, so she could read the words.

She smiled, nodded approvingly and raised her hand-horns in a rock 'n' roll salute. Message delivered -- Rock on, sister.

We’ve screamed, we’ve learned.

When I was asked to give a keynote talk to more than 100 high schoolers attending a recent journalism summer camp, the director requested that I avoid dwelling on the gloom and doom in the industry.

Past speakers had mentioned “no money” and called journalism a “sad industry” in their remarks, which isn’t the message the Media Now camp at Drake University tries to give aspiring young journalists.

Most working journalists are painfully aware of the lack of money and stability in our profession. There’s also the ongoing proliferation of misinformation and deliberate disinformation -- along with the looming threat of AI stealing our work. Most people like to stay in their information bubbles, which confirm what they already believe.

Plus, everyone hates “the media.”

I’m a part of “the media,” and I often rail against the problems I see in news coverage. But I also know how most good-faith journalists operate: They seek out compelling information, do their best to verify it and share it with others.

I’ve talked to colleagues who will privately admit that they find it difficult to rally young people to jump aboard an industry fighting for its life. But even though I recognize the news media’s significant challenges and failures, I love helping people work on their writing. Any career path -- from scientist to entrepreneur -- benefits from good writing skills. I told the campers about my unexpected path to the newsroom and encouraged them to be open to adventure and taking some risks.

Looking back, I wish I had shared a more important message. Even for the students who may never step foot in a newsroom or publish a single story, learning how the work happens -- fact-finding, researching, interviewing, verifying and writing -- is more vital than ever in this media landscape.

Many adults cannot distinguish between real and fake information online. The altered images, conspiracies and alternative facts have gotten much harder to spot.

When my small group of students was working on a design for our class flag, I shared a favorite quote that's often attributed to Nathaniel Hawthorne: "Easy reading is damned hard writing." It was painted on a pillar I sat near in the old Post-Dispatch’s fifth floor. When I would get stuck while writing, I would look up at it. It felt like Hawthorne was speaking directly to me.

One of the students asked if we could put the quote on our flag, but I was worried that the camp directors might frown upon us flying a flag with a curse word painted on it.

The students ended up painting a quill instead. Interesting that they chose a writing relic from the past.

During the four-day camp, the students in our writing class worked on two stories. From interviewing to workshopping their first drafts to polishing their revisions, I saw their work improve.

It’s been a while since I spent so much time in the company of so many high schoolers. It has a way of making you feel young and old at the same time. I overheard a colleague make a reference to Lassie; none of the students had any idea who or what a "Lassie" was.

My colleague described it as a helpful dog on TV.

The student said, “Like 'Blue's Clues'?”

Obviously, different generations have different cultural markers. I didn’t realize ours had faded so far into oblivion.

During one class, I mentioned that newspaper journalists think about the length of their stories in inches rather than word count. A student asked why. "How many of you have ever seen an actual printed newspaper?" I asked. Every student raised their hand, which was more than I expected. I told them about column inches.

That may be as relevant to their future careers as a quill.

The tools may change, but the quest for truth and good storytelling lives on. I'm glad that there are young people still willing to join it.

My father, who rarely initiates phone calls anymore, happened to call the day the Supreme Court ruled on Donald Trump’s immunity case.

He asked how I was doing.

Given that the highest court in America formally concluded for the first time that presidents may be protected from criminal charges for criminal acts, I was not in a good place.

Six Republican-appointed Supreme Court justices concluded that if a president takes actions within his official capacity, he cannot be criminally prosecuted. A president can still be criminally liable for "personal" actions, but how to differentiate those from "official" actions remains unclear.

Legal experts say the ruling puts our democracy at risk. In her dissenting opinion, Justice Sonia Sotomayor wrote, “In every use of official power, the President is now a king above the law.”

This should be chilling to everyone -- whether you fear the official actions of a King Trump or a King Biden.

At any rate, I answered my dad honestly -- about the recent Supreme Court rulings, the disastrous presidential debate and how I felt about all of it.

“Talking to Aisha is scary,” he said.

There’s a balance between keeping it real and scaring people. This past week, I probably crossed the line.

For those of us fighting deep discouragement and existential dread about where this country may be headed, it can be helpful to think of people in similar positions in different historical times and places. When the present is too unsettling and the future too alarming, I revisit the challenging chapters of the past.

In 1978, Czech dramatist, political dissident and later statesman Vaclav Havel wrote “The Power of the Powerless,” which became a manifesto for those resisting Communist regimes. He argued that even when political rhetoric and the public sphere are filled with lies, it is still possible for individuals to live within the truth. If it’s the horrors of history that haunt us, the small, everyday acts of heroism should also inspire us.

Fortunately, the United States still has plenty of ways for its citizens to engage in social and political activism. The most basic and fundamental way is voting. But encouraging others that their words and actions matter is vital -- and helping them figure out how to get involved is even better. Often, the remedy to the angst and vitriol I see on social media is to spend time with the people who continue to do the work -- regardless of how uphill the journey may seem.

I know that for those who feel unheard for too long, there’s a strong temptation to disengage from the news or tune it out. When people feel disenfranchised and powerless, that's when we see resignation and apathy. There’s also a strong impulse to deny the severity of how things have changed and how much worse things might get. Denial is an age-old form of coping.

But, as Havel reminds us, the people are never helpless or powerless. Authoritarians wish to cultivate that feeling among people they wish to oppress.

Societies and institutions can change very quickly -- in either direction. A legal scholar reminded me that when good things have happened in history, it’s often right after moments that seem the most bleak.

Consider that the current string of right-wing judicial success is the culmination of more than 50 years of effort and strategy on the part of conservative activists. It was the liberal Warren court that dramatically expanded civil rights in America, and a strong conservative opposition rose against it.

When I have felt most depressed and defeated about politics, the media or the courts in this country, I remind myself that it’s precisely because I believe so deeply in our country’s greatest ideals that moving further from "liberty and justice for all" is heart-wrenching.

I texted my father later that evening to let him know that I was starting to feel better because I was changing my attitude. I wasn’t going to give into futility and fatalism.

“I’m gearing up to fight for a better country,” I wrote.

I considered it a promise to my father and my children.

We’re here to play the long game.