Fear and Loathing in my living room

For the second time this year, I missed the announcement as it happened, because I’d gone to bed. Too tired to stay up for the count. Too wired from the adrenaline rush of democracy in action. Optimistic that the new day would bring the changes I hoped for. Fearing that it wouldn’t.

Fear is 2–0.

Reeling from numbness to anger and back again, I’m finding it hard to be kind. The morning news was a system shock, testing the very essence of how I approach my life and the rest of the world. Shaking me to my core. I’ve spent the day trying to work. Trying to be supportive. Drained by shared disappointment and fear for my American friends. Trying to reconcile the reality that the will of the people rejects my hopes. That my dreams aren’t wanted in both my home country, and the country I’ve learned to love.

And yet, it’s the will of the people. A people plied with daily lashings of bile and division and hatred. Where knowledge is decried, and compromise is a dirty word. Where there’s a whole lot of speaking, and not a lot of listening, and precious little hearing. Where kindness is scarce.

I can see glimpses though. People being good to each other. Hearing each other, talking about tough topics, trying to understand each other. Standing up against racism, misogyny, homophobia, fear of the other. Giving and demanding decency. Recognising privilege, amplifying the voices of the underheard. Working together to make the day a little better. Small acts of kindness, knitting together the wounds of a broken society, forming scar tissue. Healing. Slowly. Too fucking slowly. I’m not ready to give in to fear and loathing. I’m fortunate enough, privileged enough to make that choice.

Today, I’ve needed a reminder that kindness exists. That I’m capable of it.

For every avatar on every service I use, I’m using this heart. It’s going to follow me around the internet, at work and at play.

To remind me that people are good.

That I need to talk less, listen more, hear most of all.

To be kind.

It’s not enough. It is a start.