Reeling and regrouping

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.

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?