I’ve had a few days to collect my thoughts—and they aren’t good. At first, I stumbled about in disbelief, finding it hard to believe that snake got elected again. I hadn’t realized how sure I was that Harris would win. I never stated this, even to myself, but my shock and grief at the outcome proved I hadn’t been remotely prepared for what happened.
I accept what happened now, and am figuring out my plan for moving forward. I can’t deny I feel hate and disgust for many people right now. That’s no way to move forward. I think of our country as Ugly America. That’s no way to move forward. I feel guilty for being an American. I feel sorry for my kids and younger generations. I feel for all the people who are going to suffer.
I’ve got a lot of work to do.
Since the moment the election was over, I haven’t watched, read, or listened to a single item of news from the media. Maybe it’s best if I keep it that way. Instead, I’ve been reading fiction, working on puzzles, numbing myself a bit. I took a solitary walk yesterday at the arboretum and appreciated the sunlight and trees. I’m raking leaves and exercising. Making great strides on the to-do list. I’ve signed up to attend the RISSE (Refugee Immigrant and Support Services of Emmaus) open house in Albany on Sunday. Before the pandemic, I volunteered at RISSE teaching conversational English. I think I’ll do it again.
I’ve spoken to very few people. I just can’t. I can’t comfort or be comforted. I can’t hear anyone else tell me “It’s going to be okay.” I know people mean well, but I find that a useless and patronizing sentiment. It makes false assurances about an uncertain and unpredictable future, and minimizes my feelings and emotions of the moment—the anger, sadness, frustration, disappointment. And the moment, and those feelings, must be dealt with.
It’s over, sort of. In a perfect stroke of irony, when I went to peel off the Harris/Walz sticker that I wore on my vest when canvassing in Pennsylvania last week, the glue stuck and the decal wouldn’t peel properly. I guess they did screw up their campaign if that’s the kind of sticker they produced!
But rest assured, readers, I do have a plan, and I remind myself of it many times a day. You’re welcome to adopt my plan. I’ve turned to the novelist and playwright Samuel Beckett for help, whose last line of his 1953 novel, The Unnamable, tells me everything I need to know and do: “You must go on. I can’t go on. I’ll go on.”
