I Want My Comfort Back.
I want a time machine. I want to go back to November 7, 2016, when I had a bit more comfort than I do today.
I was feeling optimistic that a woman, and what is more important, a qualified candidate, Hillary Clinton, would be our next President. Astrology predicted the election would be close race. I figured it would be too, but I thought Clinton would win because, really, why would anyone, even the ultra-conservative, want Trump as a President? All I know is: I want my comfort back.
I want to feel optimistic again. I need a tissue. I need a hug. I need a pillow. I need chocolate. I need wine. I need a burger. I need a teddy bear. I want my comfort back.
Many experts say that we are going to be okay, that America is going to be okay. I’m a liberal in a very politically mixed town, it’s mostly Red with a little bit of Blue. I guess you could say it’s a dark shade of purple, kind of like a bruise. I am certainly feeling bruised. All I can think is: I want my comfort back.
I sometimes forget, then I see that orange face on the news and I remember: this really is our President-Elect. This is the representative of us.
On the night of November 8th, 2016, I didn’t stay up for the whole election as I fell asleep around 10:30 pm. When I woke around 1:30 am and stared at all the tweets and posts on my phone, things certainly looked different. I couldn’t believe that Trump had gained so much steam in just a few hours. I thought I was still half-asleep and it was just a really bad dream. How could this be?
I reviewed all my social media accounts. It was true, but I hoped something would surely change. I thought about the astrological predictions again, and the bloodbath they were talking about. I just knew that Hillary would grab the ball again. But she didn’t.
I consoled myself and thought: I bet, when I wake up, the news will be different, that maybe there will be a recount or something. I bet it will all be better in the morning. It wasn’t, and I want my comfort back. When I say comfort, I mean I want to live in a world where I’m respected.
I want to live in a world where my gays, women and minorities are allowed to be who they are. What is this new American going to become? Will we have a civil war?
“When they go low, we go high.” ~Michelle Obama
After a few days of real mourning, I’ve caught my breath. There will still be Yoga, coffee, chocolate, friends, family, holidays, sunshine, and walks in nature, even if Trump is President. If there is anything good about this situation, it is that it makes me love my fellow liberals even more. I love the people who I know are making a difference even more now.
There is a deepening of the love and respect I have for humanity that honestly I barely touched before this. Perhaps if Hillary were our next President, I would have sidestepped this appreciation. This type of opposition makes the shy, weak, reserved speak up. It isn’t easy, it’s called growth, and it’s painful and hard and raw.
Now I want to be more kooky, more brazen, more creative, more liberal, more out-there, and more bold. But I still want my comfort back. I don’t want to be grabbed by the pussy, cat-called, or ogled at. I want my comfort back.
I held a vision for myself — of getting older, retiring, making time for art and gentle activities like floral arranging and book-binding. I envisioned my older years to include time to relax, feel protected, and actually be able to sit down a lot more. This may not be my reality.
I truly don’t know what the future will hold. Will Trump get tired of the job and step down? I do not fancy that option either, considering who might take over as a substitute.
What a sad message all this sends: if you have a lot of money and a big mouth, you can be President. If you also have no experience and a soul with very little empathy for your fellow human beings with disabilities, immigrants and those with vaginas, you can be President. A huge orange caricature of the Ugly American has come alive and is taking over the reins.
Now that we Americans have to accept our new President, we are weighing our options. Yes, we can stick it out the next four years. We could also continue to protest the things we don’t like. We could go to countless other countries.
When I studied American History as a young girl, it was ingrained in my brain like a mantra that America is the best country ever. In my option, it’s still a good country, but perhaps no longer the greatest one. I always imagined I’d live here forever, but now I’m re-thinking my possibilities as America becomes increasingly uncomfortable for many.