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- [00:01]
Dylan Mulvaney
Hi, is this an okay time? It's your girl, Dylan Mulvaney and I am inviting you to my weekly cocktail party and my brand new podcast, the Dylan Hour, brought to you by Lemonada Media. Life is stressful and there is so much darkness in the world. I think we could all use a little bit of trans joy. So join me every week as I interview some of my favorite A list, celebrity friends and gurus, and of course the dolls. While we sip and split, spill the scalding hot tea. So put your worries aside and join me at the Dylan Hour. You can listen on Apple, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. Love ya.
- [00:38]
Hillary Clinton
Lemonade Hillary Clinton has been in the public eye for more than 40 years now. From her time as first lady of Arkansas and then first lady of the United States to her time as Senator and Secretary of State, and then her run for President, it's hard to imagine that there's much more to her story that we don't already know. With that in mind, it's natural to be skeptical about whether there's actually anything new or fresh. In her latest memoir, Something Lost, Something Gained. But unlike her previous memoir, which was focused very narrowly on the 2016 presidential election, this one has a more expansive and personal scope. Hillary shares stories that she's never spoken about publicly before, including efforts to help evacuate local women to safety in the closing days of the war in Afghanistan. Not all her stories are set on the scope of national and international affairs either. She also speaks candidly about aging friendships and her faith and parenting in the age of technology. This book was released prior to the 2024 election, and while the book alludes to protest activism and the future of democracy, it does make you wonder how she's feeling about the tumultuous start of 2025 since President Trump's inauguration. Hillary is clear about her feelings about Trump, whom she calls a disgrace, and her disbelief that he continues to hold power after his felony conviction. In many ways, it's the perfect time to read this, since Hillary was so intimately involved in politics and the Democratic Party over the past few decades, and provides some insights into how we reached our current time in this political moment. At the very beginning of the book, Secretary Clinton reflects on watching Joni Mitchell perform at 80 years old after a brain aneurysm, she's a super fan. Her daughter Chelsea is actually named for a Joni Mitchell song, to borrow from the lyrics of the song Hillary recalls Mitchell performing. This book is Hillary's attempt to quote, look at life from both sides. Now, as she continues to gain perspective on her remarkable, remarkable life and her marriage of nearly 50 years to former President Bill Clinton, whom she describes as a red bearded Viking who couldn't stop talking about Arkansas. And in fact, the title of this memoir is also drawn from Mitchell's work. Hillary herself reads the audiobook and there's an exclusive audio only epilogue that has been added to this edition. Today we'll be sharing the first chapter with you.
- [02:57]
Something Lost, Something Gained she held court like a queen As I watched Joni Mitchell at the Grammys in 2024, singing from a lavish armchair that looked like a golden throne and as one critic put it, wielding a cane like a scepter, the word that kept coming to mind was regal. Mitchell was 80 years old, and in 2015 she had suffered a debilitating brain aneurysm that left her virtually unable to speak, let alone sing. Yet she fought back. And now here she was, performing her spellbinding song, Both Sides now. Many of the music world's biggest stars listened in rapt attention at home. I too was on the edge of my seat. I've been a Joni Mitchell fan since the 1960s. There were two wonderful early versions of Both Sides now, one from Mitchell, who wrote the song, and a cover by the great Judy Collins. I thought both were terrific, although at that point I had more questions than answers about life and I didn't really know what it meant to be in love. It was still a few years before I would meet the tall, red bearded law student who couldn't stop talking about Arkansas. But I was the right age to be captivated by a song about how the passage of time can bring a new perspective on life and love. It was a heady, anguished, exhilarating time to be a college student. The Vietnam War was raging. Protests for peace, civil rights and social justice were swelling. The innocence and illusions of childhood were falling away, tears and fears and feeling proud, as the song goes. Like so many in my generation, my eyes had been opened to a darker side of American life, to injustice, corruption, assassinations and war. At Wellesley College and then Yale Law School, I joined protests and marches, read everything I could get my hands on, and stayed up late into the night discussing the fate of the world with my classmates. Some days it felt as if looking at life from Both Sides now gave me enormous clarity about right and wrong and what it would take to make progress. Other days it just felt confusing. When Mitchell sang I really don't Know Life at All, she was speaking for many of us, the mix of emotions she captured felt so specific to our time and place, but also timeless. Most young people leaving behind adolescence and grappling with adulthood have felt some version of it. Later, Mitchell came to occupy a special place in my family's life. In 1978, I was walking down the King's Road in the Chelsea neighborhood of London with Bill, who looked less like a Viking but was still quite excited about Arkansas, when we heard Judy Collins's cover of Mitchell's Chelsea Morning wafting from one of the storefronts. Bill started singing along. If we ever have a daughter, we should name her Chelsea, he said. Two years later, we did. We had our share of dreams and schemes and circus crowds. Then one day I looked up and I was 76 and there was Joni Mitchell again, singing on my television, her voice deeper and world weary but unmistakably hers. The old words took on new meaning. Gone was the 20 something shaking off the rose colored glasses of a love affair and the illusions of adolescence. And in her place was a matriarch reflecting on the hard earned wisdom of a long, eventful life. Oh, but now old friends, they're acting strange and they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed well, something's lost but something's gained in living Every day it felt like I was listening with new ears, almost as if I were hearing the song for the first time. Personally and professionally. I've come through so many highs and lows, times when I felt on top of the world and others when I was in a deep, dark hole. After all these years, I really have looked at life and love from both sides. Now how do you tally up and reckon with the losses and gains of a life or of a nation and a world? These are questions with often incomplete, unsatisfying or missing answers. Old wounds still hurt, but I have a new sense of proportion. Time will do that. I look back on things that used to feel monumental, existential, even with clearer, calmer eyes. Rivals like the Bushes and the Obamas have become friends. The cut and parry of politics matters less, but the check and balance of democracy matters more, and little moments now loom large. Hugging my daughter, holding my husband's hand, making my grandchildren laugh with a silly knock knock joke, going for long walks and afternoon swims, glorious grandmother days with ice cream castles in the air and feather canyons everywhere. But loss is also an ever present companion. So many things I would have done but clouds got in my way. On the afternoon of Thursday, May 30, 2024, I was sitting at the desk in my little home office in Washington, editing this book. I had the sound turned off on my phone so I could concentrate. But when I picked it up to check the time, I saw the breaking news alert that Donald Trump had been convicted of 34 felonies related to election fraud in 2016. I put down my pen, took a deep breath, and felt tears in my eyes. There was a jolt of disbelief that he had been held accountable for interfering in the election. A pang of vindication. It was now beyond a reasonable doubt that Trump had committed serious crimes in order to win. He was exactly who we thought he was. But with vindication also came sorrow, because nothing can change what happened or the damage done since. And it's far from clear that his conviction will be enough to prevent him from returning to power. Sorrow because our country deserves better than this disgrace. That's not all. Since 2016, people have asked me, will you ever be able to move on? Move on? I wish. History has its hold on me, on all of us. As Faulkner wrote, the past is never dead. It's not even past. I live with it every day. And every day I make an effort to turn my eyes to the future. Instead, I closed the breaking news alert and exchanged a few funny tweets and memes with friends over text. Did you know Donald Trump is the first actor from the movie Home Alone 2 to be convicted of 34 felonies? I laughed, picked up my pen and got back to work. That evening, I had to appear at an event for women's rights. I started my remarks by asking, anything going on today? The audience roared with a kind of catharsis. People also ask if I reveled in schadenfreude when Trump was impeached twice, defeated, indicted in four different cases, and now convicted of 34 felonies. Schadenfreude is one of those long German words with a very specific meaning, finding joy in the troubles of others. Not particularly admirable, but quite human. Scholars like Tiffany Watts Smith have traced similar concepts across cultures and languages. The French call it joie maline. In Japan, they say the misfortunes of others taste like honey. Whenever Trump suffers some new humiliation, memes pop up on social media, with me laughing, sipping champagne, or flashing a knowing smile. My favorite is the photo taken by the great Barb Kinney of President Obama and me backstage at the 2016 Democratic National Convention. We're sitting in two black chairs pulled close together. Barack, usually restrained and self controlled, is doubled over with laughter. I've just shared something so funny I could barely get through it. I wish I could remember what it was. Fortunately, countless Internet users have come up with their own captions, many of them about Trump like, and then he said, no one has more respect for women than I do. It would be funnier if it weren't so awful. Was there even a tiny bit of schadenfreude? When I heard about the verdict in New York, I won't say no. But the truth is that I felt more relief than pleasure seeing the rule of law prevail, even briefly. And surprise. During the trial, I had tried not to pay much attention. Trump has spent his entire life avoiding accountability. I didn't think this time would be different. And the whole thing was just so sordid and painful. There was the national disgrace, not so much the spectacle of a former president on trial, but the fact that this criminal was president in the first place. There was also the opening of old wounds. Prosecutors made the case that Trump orchestrated a criminal scheme to corrupt the 2016 presidential election. Pundits seeking to distract from these damning allegations, claimed these were mere bookkeeping errors, victimless crimes. But there were victims. A fraud was committed against the American people, against all of us. Trump committed election fraud because he was convinced that a late breaking scandal would have sunk his campaign. Was he right? Did his criminal conspiracy tip the outcome? What I can tell you, the 2016 election was decided by 77,744 votes out of a total 136 million cast. If news about Trump's affair with porn star Stormy Daniels had caused just 40,000 people across Wisconsin, Michigan and Pennsylvania changed their minds, I would have won. It's no wonder that on election night, one of the lawyers who had negotiated the hush money cover up deal texted his counterpart, what have we done? Even now, just thinking about that moment makes fury well up in my chest. I'm glad the crimes have been exposed and the truth is known. But as long as he remains within striking distance of the White House, the dominant emotion I feel is dread, plus determination to do all I can to stop him. People often say to me, you warned us, and I wish we had listened. What am I supposed to say to that? Yes, I did warn you. Yes, I said Trump was a con man, a Russian puppet and a threat to democracy. I warned that he would end abortion rights, inflame our divisions and botch every crisis he faced. I take no pleasure in being right. In fact, I hate it. In Greek mythology, there was a woman named Cassandra who was blessed by being able to see the future. But Cursed to never be believed, she tried to warn the Trojans that Greek invaders were hiding in the giant horse they were pulling inside their g. But no one listened. In 2016, that's how I felt. I tried to raise the alarm in every way I could, but the media and many in the political establishment dismissed me as overwrought, even hysterical. They didn't take Trump seriously or literally. They thought I was trying to distract from the real issue, my emails. And they were convinced I would win, so it didn't matter. At a recent event, a retired senior FBI official came up to me and apologized for the way the bureau mishandled the investigation into my emails. He wanted me to know how sorry he was that he hadn't stopped Jim Comey, the FBI director who trashed me in public and foolishly announced that he was reopening the investigation just days before the election. I stared at him for a minute, trying to contain my anger. You're sorry now. Finally, I said, I would have been a great president, and walked away. Cassandra wasn't drinking champagne as Troy burned. She was miserable. People sometimes ask if I'll ever run for president again. I will admit that I was tempted during Trump's disastrous presidency. I knew I could do a better job for America. I never doubted my capability, and I still had the desire to do it. What politicos call the fire in the belly. Third time's the charm, right? But I knew in my head that the answer in my case was no. I had my shot. It was time to pass the baton and move on. It took a while for my heart to catch up. How do you give up on a dream, especially one so big, one that you came so close to reaching? It wasn't easy accepting that I would never serve as president. It started with keeping busy, trying new things, cultivating new dreams. President Joe Biden's success in governing helped close the gap between my head and my heart. So did seeing Kamala Harris become the first woman vice president. She and I have had long talks about the challenges facing women at the highest levels of public life, and I admire how she's persevered and become an important partner for the president. Harris is chronically underestimated, as are so many women in politics. I was impressed by her record as attorney general in California when she took on drug traffickers and predatory lenders. And as a US Senator, her sharp questioning of Trump's odious Supreme Court nominees was particularly memorable. So it was no surprise that after those same justices helped overturn Roe v. Wade, Harris became the Biden administration's most passionate and effective advocate for restoring women's reproductive rights. While it still pains me that I couldn't break that highest, hardest glass ceiling, I'm proud that my two presidential campaigns paved the way for women like Harris, Kirsten Gillibrand, Amy Klobuchar and Elizabeth Warren to run, and for Harris to serve as vice president. I still believe we will have a woman president one day. I hope it's sooner than many expect. There are other losses that pain me, too. I miss my parents, my brother Tony, dear friends and colleagues. I miss loved ones still here physically but lost in the past because of Alzheimer's and dementia. I miss a time when truth mattered. I miss fact based debates about policies to solve problems and improve lives. I miss the clear separation of church and state, once sacrosanct, now breached by culture warriors and Christian nationalists. I miss elections where everyone respects the will of the people without constant attacks by sore losers and wannabe dictators. I don't feel old. Yes, I have more aches and pains than I used to. I go to more funerals than I'd like. But I also read more novels and see more Broadway shows. Somehow I've become a novelist myself and a Broadway producer and a Hollywood filmmaker. I even took clown lessons with Chelsea at the Moulin Rouge in Paris, red nose and all. Never thought I'd ever do that. More important, my curiosity about the world and the thrill I get from rolling up my sleeves and diving into new problems have not diminished with age. If anything, they've deepened. That's why I relish speaking out against election deniers and democracy doubters and talking with guests on my podcast who challenge my thinking, inspire me to work harder, or just make me laugh. It's why last year I went to the salt flats of Gujarat to meet Indian women who harvest salt under a broiling sun to learn how they're coping with the extreme heat caused by climate change. It's why I gladly respond to requests for help from people around the world, from Afghanistan to Arkansas. Once I wasted energy worrying what critics might say or how the media would respond. Now I have an easier time brushing all that aside and just doing what feels right and important. Time and so many battles, won and lost, have given me a thicker skin and a stiffer spine. Jane Fonda has a great way of looking at the process of aging, she says. People used to think about aging as an arc. You're born, you peak at midlife, and then you decline into decrepitude. But that's outdated, especially at a time when we can live healthy, productive lives for decades longer than previous generations. Now, Jane says we should see aging as a staircase. You gain well being, spirit, soul, wisdom, the ability to be truly intimate, and a life with intention. It's like the great athletes and actors who find new strengths as they age, like Serena Williams playing smarter, not just harder. Or LeBron James earning so many more assists in his later seasons. Or Meryl Streep fearlessly embracing getting older in her life and roles. That's the kind of aging I want to do.
- [24:06]
Megan
Hi, I'm Megan, and I've got a new podcast I think you're going to love. It's called Confessions of a Female Founder, a show where I chat with female entrepreneurs and friends about the sleepless nights, the lessons learned, and the laser focus that got them to where they are today. And through it all, I'm building a business of my own and getting all sorts of practical advice along the way that I'm so excited to share with you. Confessions of a Female Founder premieres April 8. Listen wherever you get your podcasts.
- [24:42]
Hillary Clinton
When Bill turned 70, it struck him that he had now lived longer than any man in his family, going back three generations. He had always secretly believed he would die young, and when he started having heart trouble, he became more sure of it. Yet somehow he was still here. We started talking a lot about what it means to have more yesterdays than tomorrows. Putting it like that really focuses the mind. We both have a profound sense of gratitude for all the blessings we've received in our lives and a sense of responsibility. It is clearer than ever that we have to use our remaining tomorrows to try to give our grandchildren and all kids a better world. Every day matters more if there are fewer of them ahead. What are we going to do with the time we have left? How can we make, in the words of Mary Oliver, our one wild and precious life count? When you're young, you live every day in the present tense. When you're old, it's tempting to live in the past, even an imagined past. These days I find myself thinking mostly about the future and how important it is to live, in Longfellow's phrase, with a heart for any fate. I've spent my life working to build a better, fairer, freer world, and I've lived long enough to see astounding progress. My family didn't own a television set until I was five, yet I can now FaceTime with my grandchildren from across the globe. My mother was born before women had the right to vote, and was able to proudly cast a ballot for me for president. I came of age in a world where women couldn't have bank accounts in their own name and went on to become the first woman to win a presidential primary, the nomination of a major party and the national popular vote. I grew up in a time of segregation, yet I had the great honor to serve as secretary of State for our first black president. I hope the years ahead will bring even more exciting advances for America and the world. But to borrow a line I love from the Tony Award winning musical progress is possible, not guaranteed. We have to work for it, fight for it, earn it. And right now, so much of what we've gained is in danger of being lost. The January 6th insurrection scared me, and it should scare you too. Our democracy is under assault from within and without Abortion rights are already eliminated or severely restricted in more than half the states in our country. Voting rights are hanging by a thread. If Republicans take control of the government in the next election, I have no doubt they'll try to tear up the social safety net. We've spent generations building big cuts to Medicaid, Medicare and Social Security and gutting Obamacare. Anything that helps hardworking people get ahead and live a decent life will be on the chopping block. Instead of pulling together to take on generational challenges like climate change and economic inequality, it feels like we're spinning further apart. Technology, especially social media, is making us more lonely and more divided, and it's having a particularly devastating impact on our kids. Sometimes it seems as if common sense itself is in danger of disappearing. How else to explain the calls to poison control centers from people who drank bleach during the pandemic? Yet despite all our problems, I remain an optimist who worries a lot. To borrow a phrase from my friend Madeleine Albright, I still believe there's nothing wrong with America that can't be fixed by what's right with America. Our country is bigger than the trolls and tyrants. Still, if you're not worried, you're not paying attention. If you are paying attention, then keep setting goals and planning to make the most of all the tomorrows you have ahead. Let's earn our optimism. This country was built by men and women who believed in service, community and working together for the greater good. Pioneers who stuck together in wagon trains, farmers who pitched in on barn raisings and quilting bees. Immigrants who joined volunteer fire departments enslaved. People who risked their lives to serve on the Underground Railroad and help others escape to freedom. When the French writer Alexis de Tocqueville visited America in the 1830s. He called this our habits of the heart. The sense that we're all in it together made our democratic experiment possible, and it may be the only thing that can save us. Still, winning elections at every level is essential. We have to defeat the demagogues and election deniers so convincingly that there's no room for dirty tricks. We have to strengthen voting rights and fight back against disinformation. But ultimately, winning the next election is not enough. We must work together to restitch our unraveling social fabric and to rebuild Americans trust in one another, our democracy, and our shared future. There's so much to lose, but even more to gain if we keep going together. Tears and fears and feeling proud. That's what it was like writing this book. Once again, Joni nailed it. I had several false starts and fell down more rabbit holes than Alice, but in the end I found what I was looking for. This book reflects the mix of anxiety and optimism I feel in this strange, perilous moment. It's a love letter to life, family and democracy. This book is a snapshot of how I see the world right now. My editor suggested that it should feel like sitting with me at a dinner party. So it's both political and personal. It's about the fight for democracy and also about being a friend, wife, mother and grandmother. It's about getting older and I hope a little wiser. You should feel free to listen to it straight through or jump around, the way a good conversation does. Despite spending decades in the public eye, or perhaps because of it, sharing my most personal reflections does not come naturally. Through all my years of public service, the service part has always come easier to me than the public part. I generally rather write about policy and politics, make an argument, have a debate. But I've discovered that it can be liberating to open up. I hope that combining the two, the broccoli and the ice cream, if you will, makes for a rewarding meal. You will find both in this book. These days I find myself thinking about the past with new perspective. I write about that, but more than anything, I find myself thinking about the future. I write about that too. This book reflects the time in which it was written, in the spring and early summer of 2024, as it became clear Donald Trump would be the Republican presidential nominee. And so it explains my passionate, deeply felt conviction that allowing him to take power again would be catastrophic for our country and the world. If he gets back to the White House, we'll have more inflation and less freedom. It won't just be a rerun of his first term. Since losing in 2020, Trump has become even more unhinged and dangerous. He wants us to fear the future and fear one another. He'd take us backward with abortion bans, tax cuts for billionaires, and sweetheart deals for polluters at home and dictators abroad. He'd rerun the same trickle down economics playbook that has failed previous Republican presidents, including him. It's not a coincidence that 10 of the past 11 recessions have hit during Republican administrations. Trump presided over a significant net drop in jobs. And of all the net new jobs created In America since 1989, just 4% came under Republican administrations. Democratic administrations, including Biden Harris, have inherited economic crises, gotten the country back on its feet and helped create 96% of all the new jobs. It's like clockwork. They break it, we fix it. With the Supreme Court granting him immunity from prosecution for official acts, there's virtually no limit on the crimes he could commit and the damage he could do to our democracy. I also explain why I think that electing Democrats is so crucial in this difficult time. Republicans have nominated a convicted criminal who only cares about himself. Democrats have led America's comeback and at every level are fighting for the American people. That's an easy choice. Can you tell I feel strongly about this, but this book is not just about one election. The issues you'll hear about, from the battle between democracy and autocracy to the fight for women's rights and civil rights, the climate crisis and the economic concerns of working families all will continue to be vital. No matter who wins in November. The work won't stop. The fight will go on. And so must we. I believe that if you want to keep going, you have to keep learning. You have to stay open to new experiences and new ideas. You'll hear about some of the ways I've been doing that. My students at Columbia University challenge me to see the world through their eyes and their passions. The women organizing resistance to cruel abortion bans in many states are upending long standing assumptions about what is possible in politics. Ukrainian soldiers, citizens and leaders are teaching all of us about the resilience of democracy. I'm still learning from those closest to me after nearly a half century of marriage. I discover new joys every day just from loving, talking and laughing with my husband. Chelsea continues to delight and amaze me with her courage, from taking on bullies and liars wherever they emerge, including the fact based battles she wages against vaccine deniers, to the global work she does to help bring health care to those in need. She tells her wonderful children she wants them to be brave and kind, both of which she is. I'm still learning from my faith and the way it challenges me every day in this season of my life, as we are reassured in Isaiah 46:4 I will be your God throughout your lifetime until your hair is white with age. I made you and I will carry you along and save you. The years since the 2016 election have been ones of challenge and change for me, our country and the world. I have followed the tumult from my home and from the inside of the maelstrom, looking for ways to help stop the tides of disunion and disinformation. I've kept busy supporting candidates and causes who represent my values, speaking out against threats to women and democracy. I've found new ways to pursue my interests. From the classroom to the theater. Everyone has to find their own approach to aging. But for me, remaining in the fight is who I am and who I'll always be. Joni Mitchell's right. Something's lost, but something's gained. There's more life to live. I can't wait.
- [38:02]
Ready to hear the rest of the story? Visit YourNextListen.com for more. Copyright 2024 by Hillary Rodham Clinton. Audio excerpt courtesy of Simon Schuster Audio from the audiobook Something Lost, Something Gained by Hillary Rodham Clinton, read by the Authority, published by Simon and Schuster Audio, a division of Simon and Schuster, Inc. Used with permission from Simon and Schuster, Inc. Your next listen is a production of Lemonada Media and Simon and Schuster Audio. I'm your host, Jackie Danziger. I produce a series with Lizzie Breyer Bowman. Issara Acevez is our associate producer. Bobby Woody is our audio engineer. Music by APM Executive producers are Jessica Cordova Kramer and Stephanie Whittles Wax. Production support from Lara Blackman, Tom Spain, Sarah Lieberman and Lauren Pierce. Help others find our show by leaving us a rating and writing a review. Thanks for listening. See you next time.
- [39:03]
Liz Craft
Does your office have an evil donut bringer? Do you have a personal canary in a coal mine? Are you guilty of over apologizing? I'm Liz Craft. And I'm Sarah Fain. We're television writers and show writers and the hosts of Happier in Hollywood, a podcast where we share all the juicy details of our career in television and offer tips and strategies that will help you and us have an even more successful, satisfying and fun career. Whether you're in Hollywood, Dollywood, or somewhere in between. Check out Happier in Hollywood every Thursday from Lemonada Media.
- [39:34]
Hillary Clinton
Are you looking for ways to make your everyday life happier, healthier, more productive, and more creative? I'm Gretchen Rubin, the number one best selling author of the Happiness Project, bringing you fresh insights and practical solutions in the Happier with Gretchen Rubin podcast. My co host and happiness guinea pig is my sister, Elizabeth Kraft.
- [39:52]
Liz Craft
That's me, Elizabeth Kraft, a TV writer and producer in Hollywood. Join us as we explore ideas and hacks about cultivating happiness and good habits.
- [40:01]
Hillary Clinton
Check out Happier with Gretchen Rubin from Lemonada Media.