As I sit here writing, the sun is out, the sky is a perfect blue, the wind is whipping up little whitecaps on a gorgeous ocean, the last of the fall color is dancing in the streets, and America has elected an authoritarian, racist, convicted rapist to the highest office in the land. I am not going to justify my grief here – I know who I am writing to.
Strangely enough, most of the painful days of my life have been accompanied by astounding natural beauty. The day I had to tell my mother that her son was dead, perfect sunlight was streaming through windows just opened for a precious warm spring day. Outside, I could hear the neighbor’s toddler laughing in the joyfully unhinged way only a toddler can. On September 11th, 2001, I took my youngest daughter for a walk in the woods. I remember looking up at the cloudless sky and thinking how the blue of a cool September day is deeper than any summer sky. So today, I am again contemplating how the world stubbornly refuses to bend itself to my grief. We don’t exist in a cinematic universe where it rains for funerals and broken hearts.
I am hurting in this moment. I predict the pain and chaos this man and his followers will bring to Americans. Human rights, healthcare, and the environment are all in greater danger right now, and with lifetime appointments, the damage will be long-term, but our story is not over. Hope is not a narrative with an ending. It doesn’t follow a set structure, it is not permanently gained or lost. It is a matter of will. Every day we are able to get up and go, think about what others need, and do some damage control in the world, that is hope. Some days we can even go beyond damage control and work toward a kinder, healthier future. Somedays we have no will to do more than survive. In those moments, I hope you persist without hope because I want you in this world. I want to see what you will say, what you will create, what you will add this world.
I am not writing to gaslight you with platitudes about keeping your chin up. I certainly have no right to tell vulnerable people to get over their legitimate fear. I simply implore you to take care of each other as best as you can. This is hard. I know our pain may seem minor compared to those around the globe living and dying in war zones, famines, and advanced authoritarian regimes. Knowing this doesn’t make it easy to watch safety and freedom slip away. Take care of yourself and if you have care to spare, take care of each other. Communicate and build alliances with the kind, tough people in your life. We will keep getting stories out into the world while we can because art and literature matter now more than ever.