Thoughts

I'm sitting at La Guardia Airport, waiting for my flight home. We arrived to beautiful, blue, sunny skies and are leaving with blustery, winter-like temperatures to usher us home. The leaves here are yellow and today, they cover the sidewalks, making them colorful yet slippery. The holiday decorations are going up and Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade participants are walking the route today, guided by seasoned professionals carrying a yellow flag to mark the way.

Aleks and I walked and walked and walked this weekend. I was surrounded by an overwhelmingly amazing amount of diversity. We saw dozens of police officers. More than I've ever seen before. 5 NYPD vans were lined up along the sidewalk near Trump tower.

Ever since Nov. 9 I've been watching and reading and thinking. My brain and heart have felt itchy the past week. The kind of itchy that happens when a scab begins to heal and is about to fall off. Our country’s recent events cannot be ignored. Even though in Wichita I'm relatively shielded from current events and could easily overlook any personal responsibility to the divisiveness that is radiating across our country. My brain continues to turn round and round, there's got to be something I can say that is helpful and comforting without dividing further and yet I've remained silent.

Today I'm adding my voice to the conversation.

Like so many of you, I felt utterly flattened on Wednesday morning. I had planned an entirely different conversation with my kids. And so I grieved quietly on Wednesday afternoon, by myself in in a hot bath, surprised that I cared at all, even more that I was so sad.

In the following days I watched SNL with Dave Chapelle as host. I listened to This American Life, Code Switch, and the 2 Dope Queens podcast. I read a few articles posted on Facebook. I was tempted to unfriend people who said that those of us who felt sad were just throwing a tantrum because our candidate didn't win. But I didn't unfriend them, because I don't want to just hear the voices that sound the most like mine. I took a "bubble" quiz. And I learned a few things:

1. Our elders, those who have lived through WWII and Vietnam are not panicking. They've seen hard times and they've seen it get better. They have perspective.

2. Many in the black community, and particularly the generation just before mine, aren't surprised by any of the outcomes of this election. Not that Trump was elected, nor the racism. Quite frankly, it's humbling. I feel as if this election has been a wakeup call to my demographic. Us moms/young professionals who Instagram our coffee and wear yoga pants to the farmer's market, and have the luxury of actually choosing between cloth or disposable diapers. How has racism touched our lives? It hasn't, until we elected someone who has said racist things publicly and we must now choose to ignore it or be woken up from our white ignorance.

3. I truly believe that not all Trump supporters are racist. It's easy, so easy to lump half of this country into a bigoted, misogynistic, racist mold. However, I think people want change and don't think about the things that won't affect them. Why would a farmer in Kansas even care about women's health when they so firmly stand as a pro-lifer? So many of us, on both sides, can’t see the many shades of gray. It’s either/or, all/nothing. Can I say that I respect someone whose views are so different than mine? Would I ask them for advice?

4. Change comes from being uncomfortable. It seems to me, most of the division in this country is because of fear. Fear is discomfort that seemingly poses a threat.

5. Whatever platform you have is enough to use as a means to speak out for what is right and to encourage others to love and support each other.

I know some of the things I’m saying are painted with a broad stroke and I unequivocally recognize the gray areas. I’m just trying to start a conversation and figure out how I can help us all peacefully live together on this planet.

Yesterday Aleks and I saw The Color Purple. It is such a poignant story of people trying to be better. In the play Mister says “How can I be good when all I have is bad?” (my paraphrase). To be better than what our circumstance might dictate is really fucking hard. This year, with the conversation intensifying regarding race and women and immigrants, we must all work really fucking hard to make this country a better place to live. It will be uncomfortable and will involve a whole lot of delayed gratification. But it will be worth it.

I’m not sure what my role is yet. I know that I want to promote love and equality and to use my white privilege to help those who do not have the same advantages as I. Your ideas are welcome as is your openness to be a part of the conversation. I truly believe we all want the same thing: goodness for all.

Our unofficial family motto is: be kind and loving. Maybe that’s the place to start. Let’s strive to have every word from our mouths be motivated by loving-kindness. If we do that, surely everything will turn out ok.

Aleks and I spent part of our last day in NYC at the Museum of Modern Art. On the top floor, plastered on a tall, wide gallery wall was this: Francis Picabia, Our heads are round so our thoughts can change direction.

 

Though this blog is a small platform, I'd like to continue the conversation here, occasionally. If we're all talking, then progress can't be far behind.