"I don't really care why she lost -- I care about why he won."
humanity broke my heart again
Tuesday, November 5, 2024, marked my 9-month AF birthday and the day Donald Trump got re-elected. I did not drink.
All week, I’ve been contemplating how to write about the 2024 election results. I’m still not sure how to process what has happened and what lies ahead.
Everything feels scattered, which I’m sure you’ll sense as you read this post.
I’ve been more aware of my body this week, and how quickly my nervous system lights up whenever I worry about the harmful policies and acts to come. I can picture the faces of all the people who will suffer. And there are so many.
The biggest shock of Tuesday night wasn’t Trump’s re-election. For me, the bigger shock came from recognizing the huge swell of public support for all that MAGA represents. He won both the electoral college and the popular vote, which means there are people in my life who willingly chose to affirm the hateful ideology and policies he stands for.
On election day, a family friend posted a meme on Facebook that said something like, “no matter what the results, we can still be friends.” Of course, I took the bait. I’m not able to be “friendly” with anyone who votes in favour of mass deportations, the removal of bodily autonomy, or the praise of autocrats. I’m not friends with anyone who condones and supports rapists.
And yet many of the people who voted this tyrant back into office are the same ones who claim *I* have immoral beliefs.
The title of today’s post comes from Desi Lydic’s Daily Show monologue from the day after the election, and it’s the only political hot-take worth entertaining.
Half of us hold some vile opinions and are bent on self-destruction.
What’s next? Surviving.
I’ve deleted my Twitter account. I will watch less news and spend more time outside. I will focus on the small world I’ve built around me, full of friendships and connections that sustain me. I’ll be more careful whenever stepping outside that safe world.
I will not let myself become so overwhelmed that I shut down.
I will guard my energy and decide where to best direct it. I will choose to write, even when I have nothing to say. When my heart races, I will remember to breathe. And when my thoughts turn dark, I will remember there’s light.
Earlier this week I saw this excerpt on hope, and it stuck with me:
I both love and loathe the “spaciousness of uncertainty” that the quote speaks of.
A big part of me believes that people voted for MAGA partly because they fear uncertainty and crave security; one of Trump’s final campaign signs read, “Trump can fix it.” People want to be taken care of. But hope isn’t found in the hollow promise of making broken things “great” again.
It’s not about being a pessimist or an optimist; it’s about doing things that matter. It’s about refusing to “excuse yourself from acting.”
When I was in grade school, I would hyper-fixate on topics to read about. One period I obsessed over was the WWII resistance movement in Europe. I was fascinated by everyday people who stood up against fascism and tyranny through their acts of resistance and kindness. I remember wondering what that would feel like.
I think we all are going to find out soon enough.
Things that brought me joy this week:
In the numbing days that have followed Tuesday, I have gotten so many texts, calls, care packages, and hugs from my community who cares. Thanks, y’all. I owe many return texts.
Because everything is terrible, the teen already has her advent calendars out. For the first time, I’ve ordered myself a calendar: a sober “craftmas” box of various AF beverages to try. I am running out of space in my mocktail cabinet, which means we should set up a catch-up date.
You’ve heard of couple pyjamas, but have you heard of couple tracksuits? We are epically set for hibernation season.
Next week is reading week, which means no classes to teach. I’m grateful to still be standing. Yes, I should be marking papers.
I got a card in the mail from a friend in one of my recovery groups. She’s in her 70s and worked as a fire chief in her community — so badass! One of the happier surprises I’ve experienced in my year of recovery has been meeting all the interesting people who have become my friends. I have people all over the world now who I know love & support me. They all call me ‘bek.’
PhDing: I used parts of my ethics application to revise the opening to my 2nd chapter, and I think it works. This month is AcWriMo, and while this last week was a write-off (no, not literally), my plan next week is to finish a good draft of this chapter. Next term, I will be able to work from home two days a week, and I’ll only have three courses to teach — here’s hoping that’s when the words will really fly outta me.
Watching: not cable news. Listening: The Dating Game Killer. Reading: Here One Moment by Liane Moriarty.
Meme of the week:
My passport was due to expire a year from last month so I took advantage of online renewal almost as soon as I was eligible. I didn't want to risk what might happen on election day. It arrived the other day, but now I worry that it could just as easily be voided by a fascist administration. What really hurts, sometimes, is the glee that people have shown in electing this miserable human being. Yesterday, a college-educated high school classmate of mine, whom I've come to know and like a little bit in the last ten years made a comment (which she's since deleted, so I can't quote it verbatim) on a mutual friend's Facebook page that went something along the lines of "Disciples of Harris need to step back and engage in self-reflection." Disciples! Yeah, a Trump supporter said that. [sigh]
Oh, and as one of those people from around the world that love and support you, you are now and forever Rebekah to me.