The World Turned Upside Down

I just went to the gym.

I should back up. Donald Trump was elected President last night.

I live in San Francisco, a bubble of wonderfulness. We debate the civil liberties of homeless people. We just approved legal recreational marijuana and bilingual education and gun control. We believe in love is love is love is love. And the food is great.

Here, today feels like New York City after 9/11 (I’m not trying to say we were attacked by terrorists, I’m talking about how New York felt after it was attacked by terrorists). I know that because I lived in New York City on 9/11. I even worked for New York City on 9/11. People are crying to strangers in the streets and hugging one another, too stunned to have any answers or remedies just yet. It’s beautiful really.

After our work out (and if you want a work out that feels good in this environment, there is no one like Ryan Allen at Lifted), before which I cried with and hugged strangers before even getting their names, I received a letter from my third grade son’s teachers:

We just wanted to share with you the reflection that Ari wrote after our discussion this morning. What he wrote was so inspiring and wise that we shared it with the entire staff at Live Oak and they have been sending back many emails of thanks and amazement! We were so impressed with the maturity in which he is thinking about the outcome of this election.

(I love him.)

I read the note and his note to my new friends, after going on about how from my perspective the disaster is not Trump, but rather the lack of checks and balances and my fear about that. The bright spots, I had just said, were how young people voted, and California, and more women of color in the Senate. Reading this aloud from an 8-year-old helped us all in that moment.

I am beaming with pride that my son wrote this and feels this way (I also appreciate his fontmanship).

I turned 40 this year.

I spent a lot of my 30s half-working, parenting small children and reflecting on that magical intersection of interest and craft that I encourage my students to seek. I remember very clearly the 40th birthday party of a friend who turned 40 when I was 30 and being disturbed about how hard her 30s seemed. I get it now. Marriages are tested, careers are tested, for some of us (especially those of us who didn’t have the best examples in terms of our own childhoods) kids cause us to question everything we assumed we knew.

When I actually turned 40, I didn’t feel much, which was surprising, as I was hoping to feel the excitement of a new decade and the closure of another. I could barely eat at my own birthday dinner, surrounded by some of my favorite people on earth.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve begun to find this excitement and closure, and have started to think about returning to work on city issues, in my ‘new’ city of San Francisco, a city with issues that are hard in ways that I thought were similar to some of the issues we’ve seen this election cycle.

I grew up in Wisconsin, which went Red last night. I can’t believe I just wrote that, but I can. I was there last weekend and could feel the shift, counting Trump signs for days outside the cities. He even won over at least one member of my extended family (not surprisingly a former machinist). And in Texas, which is always Red (I went to high school in Tom DeLay’s district, the kid of the only gay guy I knew in the ‘burbs).

I think I understand the appeal of Trump, and will acknowledge that Hillary was not my first choice (Bloomberg was my first choice). But I’m shocked that there is not more consensus around the fundamental treatment of all human beings (and climate change) than there is disdain for politics as usual. I’m terrified by the complete lack of checks and balances we will face for at least the next two years.

After last night, I feel a related but deeper urgency to do something. I’m basically ready to drop everything (or nearly everything) to do whatever I can to work on these issues that divide us. I love this country. I’m struggling with how.

So now I sit at my desk with a decision to make. I have longstanding plans to spend this weekend in Tennessee, with five friends from high school. I suspect we are split down the middle in how we voted this election, though I’d be delighted to be mistaken about that. Despite the fact that I love these women (we’ve been friends for 25 years after all), I’m not sure I can go do this right now. I want to heal, and I understand that these bonds help to do that, but I don’t feel open right now. I want to cry and hug my tribe in our protected bubble for a few days. I want to listen to Hamilton nonstop on repeat (is this their Yorktown? is the world wide enough?). I’m not sure I can be in a place where the dominant culture is happy about whats just happened. I feel for those of you who live in divided communities.

Here’s what I can do, and what I intend to do:

I will take care of my body.

I will think. I will breathe. I will teach. I will participate.

I will consider my activism. If that requires I run for office, so be it.

I’m considering whether there is anything to boycott that may feel productive.

I will hope that Trump brings in good people. The people who manage the work of government really matter. That could be a bright spot.

I will offer my home and network for your activism. Seriously, just call or email me, I will help anyone with ideas that I can get my head around.

I will bring together my network to figure out what each of us can do to support one another as we forge ahead. And I will help us hold one another accountable to those commitments.

I will miss the Obamas and our glimmer of HOPE with all my heart.

I will thank Lin-Manuel Miranda for a masterpiece that helps me make sense of this.

I will dance as release. I will love. I will hug and cry with strangers on corners when it feels right.

In the words of my wise son, and for him (and my daughter), I will prepare for what will happen.