Last night after spending an hour reading and reading and reading and clicking and reading and then clicking and reading and sometimes typing, I looked up at my husband and said, “I can’t do it. I can’t forgive anybody’s vote for this man. It’s all horrible. There’s not a single good thing coming out of him, and it’s only been seven days.”
My husband looked at me, and said, “Stop. Close your laptop. You can’t feel like this for the next four years.”
He’s right, of course. This kind of anger may not be sustainable. And that’s what I have. I have a sense of overwhelming anger. And I spread it around: I share the news stories that fuel my anger, or justify it. I don’t know how many folks I’ve alienated or irritated or exhausted with my prolific postings.
I am sorry for doing this.
But I can’t stop. I won’t. Too much is at stake. My kids, my family, my friends, our planet–too much is at stake.
It’s true that the President is not all powerful. It’s true that there are checks and balances and that there is good in this world and in our country. It’s possible that things won’t be as bad as they seem like they’ll be.
But it’s also possible that the world is about to change dramatically, and not for the better.
I know, it is hard to take: The horrible news; the frightening levels of anxiety and animosity; the malice among some who would say to me and those who think like me, “Get over it.” It’s hard, it’s overwhelming, it’s painful, it’s everything bad.
But it is not the worst. None of this is the worst that can we can bear. Not yet.
It’s Holocaust Remembrance Day.
I can’t close my eyes. I can’t be still. I can’t get comfortable.
I will watch, and read, and share, and talk, and march, and write, and question, and vent. I will take a break now and then. I’ll continue to do the things I do: Exercise, walk my dog, goof around with my kids, spend time with my husband, my friends. I’ll work, and do errands, and live my life. I’ll take care of myself.
To be able to assert all this: It’s a luxury. I live a good and happy life. I worked really quite hard to earn my life, but I’m also profoundly lucky.
That luck can make a girl anxious. I have feared that the other shoe might drop any moment. And shoes did drop. I had cancer. My dad had a heart attack. My sister had cancer. My brother became a father to a daughter who’ll endure a lifetime of medical challenges. My mother had cancer.
But we’re all still here.
On January 20, 2017, another shoe dropped.
So I’m going to put my luck, my time, my resources and my energy to good use. Not everybody has as much as me. So I will share it.
I am a woman who can listen to shoes drop all day long.
I am a US citizen and…