Yesterday, I did something I haven’t done for two years:
I did not post anything on a Wednesday.
Everything I wrote down, I erased. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. How can I pretend writing about morning routines or art or productivity hacks are as important as a nation in shock?
I don’t talk about politics much. Never, actually. But once in a while, an event breaks into my consciousness and forces me to pay attention.
Donald Trump will be president of the United States.
I accidentally deleted that sentence and had to write it twice. It was equally shocking both times.
Politics have never attracted me because they seem so ethereal, a mere blip on the skyline of humanity. This feels different. This feels real. I can taste what happened Tuesday night.
Will Trump be a decent president? I don’t know. Nobody does. It depends on who joins him in power, I guess.
Oh, wait. I forgot. I did post one thing on Twitter:
The reaction you see is not typical. With this extra attention given to a random, nearly pointless tweet (there is no “value added” after all), I now know what I need to do next, regardless of any election results.
Today, I will make one person’s life better. Tomorrow, I will do the same.
I will embody love.
I will reject hatred.
I will quell fear.
I will spread hope.
I will have faith.
Our next president will not keep me from leaving every human who crosses my path better than I found them. The last one didn’t either.
Last night, my wife and I stopped at a Starbucks after dinner. I saw a man — white, middle aged, blue sweater — drinking black coffee and reading a paper. An American.
Further in a back was a younger woman — tattooed, pierced, glasses — laughing as she leaned in to the other woman across the table. An American.
A black man — vest well fitted, pants tailored to perfection, nice watch — smiling at me as he passed. An American.
And there sat I. An American.
What will we do next?
Time will tell.