By All Accounts...
What if a nice day is really anything but?
By all accounts, today was a pleasant early November day.
The sun was bright, not a cloud in the sky. A soft breeze was finally pushing the leaves off the trees, even as temperatures inched toward a more May-like 80 degrees. I took a long walk along my college campus after forcing myself to have lunch, and from what I saw, things were blissfully normal.
Students were hanging out. Taking selfies. Laughing at some stupid pun one of them muttered. Chasing each other on those electric scooters that are, for some reason, all the rage now. And, as normal as it all feels, it also feels wrong.
I mean, don’t they know what’s happened? Do they care?
Are they purposefully choosing joy in the face of uncertainty, heartache and despair?
I’ve never been good at that; I’m a pessimist by nature. My default is almost always the worst-case scenario. Quite frankly, Donald Trump once again being elected president feels an awful lot like a worst-case scenario. He represents the exact opposite of everything I’ve been taught we’re supposed to be, and yet, we’ve once again given him the keys to the proverbial kingdom.
What do we tell our children? What do we tell other countries?
I went to work today. I could’ve, maybe should’ve, called in sick. Because I’m unable to focus, and on more than one occasion, I’ve closed my office door to shed a couple tears. America has once again proven itself to be anything but what it promises. All that talk of freedom and opportunity and the shining light on the hill… it’s all bullshit.
No matter how many times I’m taught that lesson, it’s never any less shocking or gutting.
So, here I sit in my office. Writing this. Because what would I have done if I stayed home? Moped the day away? Rotated between heartbroken and furious and nauseous? Feeling all these intense, scary feelings, barely even able to articulate them?
I work in higher education. My mother works in the public schools, teaching pre-K children. What does the potential dissolvement of the Department of Education mean for us? She just signed up for Medicare; in another year or so, she’s eligible to collect Social Security.
What now? Do we lose our jobs? Are we resigned to a future in which we’re crumbling just to meet basic needs, even though we’ve “played by the rules” all these years?
To say nothing of all the people who will potentially have it even worse. Do the college students taking selfies think about the prospect of mass deportations? Of the military being sent to square off against American citizens brave enough to call our soon-to-be “leader” what he really is?
Can they fathom that? Do they even want to? I don’t blame them if they don’t.
I fear for the next four years. Hell, I fear for the next decade, the next generation. I fear for the institutions we once revered, and I fear for the most vulnerable who are no doubt in the crosshairs as I type this. I fear the fact that I don’t see a viable path forward; try as I might, I can’t find a way out. A light to follow.
I’ve deleted all my social media apps from my phone; I’m taking a sabbatical from that universe, and I have no idea when–or if–I’ll return. I also don’t know when my next piece for this newsletter will be, nor do I have any idea what to do with my writing moving forward. I was already at a creative crossroads, and I fear the dread that now sits in the pit of my stomach will sap whatever creative energy I have left.
Who knows? Maybe in two or three weeks’ time, I’ll dust myself off and get back to doing all the things I’ve been doing. Maybe I’ll find a path out of the darkness, maybe I’ll discover the bravery required to help those who are going to need it. But I don’t see that path right now.
So, I guess I’m off to try and find it.
Be kind to each other. Be kind to yourselves.
Find a reason to smile, even if you have to make up one.