I feel like somebody died. It's happened before. Real people who I know and love have died. I'm in a similar state, unfocused, at a loss, trying to adjust to the uncertainty of a world with an essential piece missing.
I've been on the planet long enough, and studied enough history, to know that life does go on. Still, it seems surprising to me that it all looks so normal out there. From my window. I'm not ready to actually venture out very far yet. It feels too scary.
In the aftermath of this, as with any other shock, I must shift my focus. I'm a bit of a news junkie. OK, I admit it. I usually get every question right on "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me." It's one of the perks of being retired. I used to drive to work listening to NPR and hear the teasers and think "Damn, I wish I could listen to that show today." Now I can.
My immediate reaction to the election news, right after spending an hour looking at the possibility of moving to the Azores, was that I could NOT stand being on social media. I would shut down my accounts. I would stay off the computer completely! That lasted about four hours. Another admission. I'm addicted. Where's that twelve-step program when you need it?
So, as I must ultimately do in regards to the election results, I will compromise. Shift my gaze. Paying close attention to the news, reading all the opinion pieces, getting jazzed on caffeine and editorials is not good for my blood pressure. Really. I've been checking, and it's true. So it's time to take a breath and practice something very foreign to me --- self-control. Restraint of tongue and pen. When I drive in the car, I can listen to music. We have a terrific classical music station, WCPE, practically in my back yard. I can read books, even funny books, slim volumes of fluff and whimsy. That's why God invented libraries.
I can walk the dogs. Pick flowers from the yard and bring them inside. (My mind just flipped to global warming --- we have a yard full of spring flowers in November ---- I can't think about climate change deniers, not yet.) I can sit in the sunshine on the swing and smell the breeze, listen to the birds, soak in the deep blue of the sky.
It's true. Not one of our two dogs and two cats has even mentioned the election. They're not scared that the world is going to end in a fiery series of mushroom clouds. They just want to be petted and talked to and sung to, as always. Actually, so do I.
And someday, when I've regained my equilibrium and expanded my perspective, I'll be ready to do what I've done before. Show up. Speak out. Raise my voice for justice as I have been doing for fifty years. The work is not over yet.
