As I’ve tried to digest the daily maelstrom of breaking news, the voice in my head has assumed the fevered pitch of journalist Herb Morrison when he delivered his eyewitness report of the Hindenburg’s tragic docking at New Jersey’s Lakehurst Naval Air Station in 1937. “It’s burning and it's crashing! … This is one of the worst catastrophes in the world … Oh, the humanity and all the passengers screaming around here … It – It's … I – I can’t talk, ladies and gentlemen.” Initially, I felt stupefied by the Trump administration’s numbing flood of democracy-dismantling executive disorders and policies, only able to mutter phrases like “Oh MY GOD,” “This can’t last … can it?,” “What can I do?,” and a variety of profanity-infused variations.

Indeed, it seems the primary result of President Donald Trump’s ruinous moves has been to spawn a heaping dose of inaction. We’ve been overwhelmed by an enemy whose recurring policy missteps leave us ineffectually wringing our hands and mumbling. What finally stirred me from my stupor was a distant memory of that same sense of impotence.

Forty years ago, when I was 26, I offered to build a house for my then-girlfriend and the youngest of her four kids, who was 14 years old and still living at home. At the time, I had no experience building anything, nor did I own any tools. After two weeks of demolition, I put down the sledgehammer and looked over the remains of the original home.

Only a makeshift kitchen, one bedroom and a half bath remained. It struck me at that moment that I had no idea what I was doing or what to do next. I half sat, half collapsed on the one remaining step that had led to the front door.

My girlfriend’s cocker spaniel padded across the debris and stared at me, head tilted, with a tennis ball in its mouth. “Well,” I said to the dog with a defeated sigh, “We’re doomed. There’s no way out of this.

Our only option is to drive out of state before she gets home from work and her son gets home from school.” With that, the dog dropped the tennis ball, which was 70% saliva and 30% dirt, into my lap and barked. My inspiration to build her a home had been born more from passion and bravado than reason. The main driver was my youthful outrage that the city of Saratoga, California, was “unfairly” requiring her to bring the house up to code so her sister could build on their shared lot.

The astronomical price charged by contractors was far out of reach. “We’ll show them,” I said, using words that often preface life’s more ill-fated decisions. “I'm a college grad.

We’ll do it ourselves. How hard can it be?” To be 26 again. In the end, I didn’t flee the state.

In fact, by the time my girlfriend and her son came home, a change of perspective unfroze me. A house, I couldn’t build. But I could dig a trench for the foundation.

With the help of a collection of DIY books, I could learn to frame walls, pull wire, sweat pipes, install sheetrock, cut molding, lay carpet and hang doors and windows. I could accomplish a series of very targeted projects, all of which, when put together day after day for two years, became a house. While the relationship didn’t last much beyond the completion of the home, the 2,000-square-foot house stood for well over a decade until a new owner came along.

I have no idea how to unilaterally stop the administration’s blitzkrieg on the most basic tenets of democracy. But as I hope for greater minds than my own to step up and figure a way to halt it, I have stopped hand-wringing. Instead, I’m focusing on manageable steps and tackling them daily.

The foundation of our democracy has been shaken, but we can rebuild. I’m sure if enough people join forces and relentlessly follow my DIY strategy, we will build a formidable democratic house that we can live in. I call or email my congressional representatives or the attorney general every weekday.

I respectfully voice my disagreements when warranted, but I am quick to applaud integrity and courage when I see it. I solicit friends to do the same and share apps to help with outreach. I myself use 5Calls, an app that helps me write scripts for calls or emails to members of the House and Senate and to identify and contact the right decision-makers.

I no longer buy products from corporations that support members of Congress who don’t demonstrate moral courage, honesty and rational thought. I join peaceful protests that support voters’ rights, women’s rights and Ukraine, and go to events that oppose the abuse of presidential power such as the recurring, nationwide No Kings protests. It’s a time-suck and a pain, but history shows that their power cannot be overstated.

And I get to feel connected to other like-minded citizens in ways that social media cannot duplicate. I volunteer locally with the Wake County Democratic Party to fundraise, help craft newsletters, raise awareness about Democratic policies and stress the power of each individual’s vote. We get together once every two weeks in addition to social meetups to build our base.

I will attend town hall meetings – provided my North Carolina senators ever muster the courage to hold any. I calmly engage in conversations about the issues that concern me whenever I can, regardless of my interlocutor's opinions and how uncomfortable it feels. I make a point to listen.

I believe preserving democracy is at the heart of most people’s interests, irrespective of whom they voted for. This is not the moment to go mute. The average American spends about 5 1/2 hours a day on their phones, according to a survey by the health data management firm Harmony Healthcare It.

Speaking up and speaking out can take as little as three minutes a day. That’s a small price to pay compared to the risks my father’s generation took defending democracy overseas in WWII. Silence and inaction are acquiescence.

They invite corruption and tyranny. In the words of Martin Luther King Jr., “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." This matters.

Our voices matter. Make noise. Every day.

It has helped me cope, and as passionate reactions at many town hall meetings have shown, legislators are feeling the heat. Taking action is a proven blueprint to reconstruct a democracy built on trust, truth, human rights, the rule of law, the pursuit of happiness and other inspiring ideals that might otherwise suffer a fate even more disastrous than the Hindenburg.