Written on November 9, 2016.
I am not a licensed therapist. But I am an anxiety-riddled journalist who makes a living meeting deadlines, which means I have lot of experience trying to sooth myself. And before I did anything else this morning, I put those skills to work.
I thought about my 95-year-old grandmother, Lois, who was born in 1920, the year the 19th Amendment was ratified; who earned a medical degree in an era when very few women attended medical school; who now has seven grandchildren and six great-grandchildren; who, when I saw her on Sunday for lunch, told me about all the ebooks she reads on her iPad.
I thought about my 15-month-old niece, Ellie, whose face is proof that perfection is not just an abstract concept; who, when you play Katy Perry’s “Firework” from the speakers of your iPhone, invariably stops what she’s doing to swing her arms, bounce up and down, and chirp with delight.
I read some Walt Whitman – specifically, this passage from “Song of Myself”:
“I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the
beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.”
I listened to Nina Simone – specifically the song, “Nearer Blessed Lord.”
I drank some coffee and ate some raspberries and made myself scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese.
I hugged my girlfriend.
I thought about the First Amendment, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”
I thought about the view I enjoyed yesterday on the walk to my polling place: thousands of brown and orange and yellow leaves, framed against a cloudless blue sky.
I thought about the Rhode Island state flag (which hangs on the wall above my bed, in my apartment) and its simple message: “HOPE.”
I share this list not because it’s guaranteed to sooth your worries, too. I share it to simply remind you, my fellow American, that whether you’re male or female, young or old, Republican or Democrat, gay or straight or bisexual, Jewish or Muslim or Hindu or Catholic, the next few days present a good moment to take some time for yourself.
It doesn’t have to be a whole day. It simply means taking a minute to wrap yourself in the things that bring meaning, beauty, and purpose to your life. Take a minute to make note of some things for which you are thankful. Take a minute to commune with a piece of art or literature. Take another minute to commune with the natural world: a bird, a blade of grass, a hiking trail. Take a minute to think about the values you may share with folks who voted for a different candidate in the election, and the ways you might build off of that common ground. Take a minute to make a list of the things you’ll do in your community to bring about a better world. Take a minute to tell someone you love them.
Going public with these suggestions is the strongest way I have remind myself of them. What kind of a jerk would I be if I didn’t follow my own advice?
I must also remember to take a deep breath. Then another. And then another.
Together, we move forward.
