Image source: Merlina McGovern
I’ve had this title staring at me for the past week and a half. If you’ve read my writing, then you can most likely glean my political leanings and you can most likely guess how I felt after the election on November 5.
My previous blog post was so full of hope and joy. My simple directive to vote is now staring me in the face as I draft this next blog post in this suddenly darkened chapter of American history.
I took a week off from writing my blog posts both voluntarily and involuntarily. I had to keep working on my day job, of course. Work doesn’t stop for the despondent, I’m afraid. But my blog writing and work on my novel stopped completely. I just couldn’t muster up the energy after a full day of work to write about anything.
In my despair, I turned to community in what little free time I did have. I joined my liberal church’s invitations to meet to share in our communal fears and worries. And that was so healing, spiritually, to me. Unfortunately, that was not very healing, physically. I fear that at one of those gatherings, I caught a terrible cold.
As I sat in bed one night, I willed my post-nasal drip and sore throat to go away. I closed my eyes and imagined my white blood cells swarming around the viral intruders. All to no avail. I had a cold no matter how much I wanted it to not be happening, and those viral monsters ravaged my nasal passages, leaving me stuffed and fatigued.
It felt like the perfect capper to a terrible week.
I wanted to pull up my warm comforter and not leave my bed.
I wanted to ignore all my messages and tell the world to go away.
I wanted to give up.
But my daughter needed me. My husband needed me. My mom and dad needed me. My friends needed me. My clients needed me.
The world needed me.
And I needed the world. I couldn’t give up on my hope that we would one day elect a woman to be president of our country (reader, please note that I almost typed “great country” here, but I had to erase that. Can we be great if we deny the possibility of a presidency to half of our population? Reader, the answer to that is no.).
Yes, that hope had been cruelly dashed, just as that hope had been dashed eight years ago in 2016, when I walked down the park hill outside of my precinct after I voted for Hillary Clinton. Then, I had felt the sun gloriously warm my face, and I had allowed myself to feel hope. But those hopes were not to be.
I suppose eight years was enough time to bury that heartache and to stupidly hope again. But, I should not say stupidly. Almost seventy-four million people voted for Kamala Harris, versus seventy-six million for Trump. Compare that to when Reagan trounced Carter in 1980 by more than eight million votes or when McGovern won a single state, Massachusetts, versus Nixon.
I do have to continue to have hope. I have to not give up. We have elections in two years, and apathy is what leads to election losses. I need to continue to participate and do my local civic duty. So, what exactly have I done to get me out of this funk?
I reached out to my local Democratic organization and put their next meeting in my calendar.
Reached out to a local women’s group and signed up to volunteer with them.
Worked to take care of my health by doing my yearly physical and starting Mounjaro (a topic for a different post!).
Called up my friends to talk.
Called my family members who voted differently from me, but whom I love so very much.
Most of these actions have community at their heart and center. And no matter who you voted for, becoming a more active part of your local community can only ever be a good thing. It is when you isolate and retreat into the unreal online worlds swirling around with hate and suspicion that you can become cynical and fearful.
Interacting with my community has given me hope again. That little flame of hope is tiny, but I can stoke it by going out to be with community again and again, which helps me to get through these dark and trouble times.
Forward!
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