In the days leading up to this week’s election, a feeling of
malaise overtook me. It occurred to me that no matter the outcome, large swaths
of the population would wind up feeling extremely unhappy, and that just felt
lousy.
I suppose that, in theory, this is typical of any election.
But this one felt different. People seem more polarized than ever before. I
find it increasingly difficult to live in a world in which we all seem to
despise one another so much.
Granted, I was all but positive that my side would prevail
and that I would take up the role of relieved yet gracious winner. Of course,
things did not play out the way I’d expected, and I quickly learned that the
gracious loser role sucks.
As soon as the election results started to trickle in on
Tuesday night, I had a bad feeling. I sat riveted in front of the television,
watching the increasingly bad news pile up. By 9 p.m., I couldn’t handle it any
longer and retreated to my bed for a fitful night of sleep.
When my husband crawled in next to me four hours later, he
confirmed what I already knew to be true: Hillary had lost. The person who I
had bitterly laughed off for more than a year was going to be our next
president.
The next day was one of the bleakest of my life. I awoke to
a gorgeous morning that seemed somehow obscene in the face of such tragedy. A
cartoonish darkness falling on the earth for the next four years sounded about
right to me.
When my youngest asked me who had won, I could barely choke
out the words. Yes, he’d taken up his parents’ mantle and was rooting for
Hillary, but I knew that meant little to him. What got me was a deep sorrow at
the world we were passing on to him.
At once all I hold dear felt vulnerable: racial justice,
women’s and LGBT rights, environmental protection.
I fought to reconcile how this all could turn out okay. But you
can only hear so many experts say that our president-elect can’t be trusted
with the nuclear codes without being scared out of your mind when he actually
comes into power.
Even if we avert catastrophe in that realm, so much feels at
risk. Our environment is in a tenuous place as it is, and we cannot afford to
spend four years turning back progress on that front.
I spent the next two days searching people’s eyes for the
hurt and anxiety I felt. I found it plenty of times. I encountered it with one
woman I met. Her eyes filled with tears as she told me how she worries for the
future of her African-American husband and adopted Hispanic son. I saw it in a
friend who said her Hispanic husband encounters racism on a regular basis.
I attended a special service at our Unitarian Universalist
Fellowship and listened as so many expressed sorrow and fear. I reached out to
like-minded people, and it felt good to commiserate. As I worked through the
stages of grief, I resigned myself to being stuck in anger and depression for a
while.
On a long drive this morning, I turned on my running play
list. I’m an unabashed fan of girl power songs: Katy Perry’s “Roar.” Rachel
Platten’s “Fight Song.” I know they’re a little cheesy, but they keep me going
as I pound the pavement. As I listened, I grew inspired.
I may feel defeated at the moment, but it is vital for people of conscience to keep fighting. Flood out the negative with positive.
As I reflected on this election, I felt more than a twinge
of regret for all the times I was asked and refused to canvass. I was too
scared. Not my thing, I told them. I can’t handle the conflict and uncertainty
of knocking one someone’s door, I told myself. But what if I’d done more?
I’ve decided I can no longer stand idly by. I can't afford to roll over. I’m going to
take a stand against injustice. Show that we can be so much better than
scapegoating other people for our problems. Have the hard conversations. Reach out
to those who disagree with me and seek to understand instead of assuming the
worst.
We need to counteract. Show the world that we're not about walls and bans. I want to be a part of that.
We need to counteract. Show the world that we're not about walls and bans. I want to be a part of that.
As Katy says, I’m already brushing off the dust, and like
Rachel, I’ve still got a lot fight left in me.
Who’s with me?
