Deep in numb confusion that dulls the senses and creates quivers of fear for the sanity of the world and the civilized folk out in it, and during another white night of incredulity, with curdled brain, I toss and turn from hot to cool pillow to hot again. As I travel away from my country of choice and return to my original homeland, I have been receiving condolences from my nearest and dearest in the motherland, as if I had suffered a death in the family, which of course many feel like we have.
There are many outside of the Divided States of America who are curious as to who in our nation — obviously many — would prefer an amoral, convicted felon and rapist to a brave new world for women and minorities; but there’s little point in dwelling on those facts now; unless of course the conspiracy theory is ultimately proven, that a certain genius had the ability to somehow electronically manipulate the course of the election. Apparently, the people spoke in favor of the dangerous leader of the cult and that is how democracy works. Like it or not, we have to accept the voice that spoke loudest this time around.
Away from all that hubbub of noise and chaos, I find myself finally calming. I am no longer reading any papers or listening to the news. I am reading books and working on the final proofing of my own manuscript. I’m listening to music, along with watching the occasional film. I have pretty much checked out of the outside world.
If I were to monitor it, I do believe that my blood pressure would be lower now and my heartbeat softer. I hear my granny’s lilting northern voice — we can only do what we can do. We can choose not to tune into anything that is beyond our control, as I have. We can choose to embrace kindness and goodness where we can find it in a world that is so filled with destruction and hate.
I need to get back in my lane of things that I can control, like picking up a stray dog in town or working towards a project deadline. I had got myself so over-tuned into everything that was happening in our country this year that I completely forgot to take care of my own mental health in the process. It feels a little damaged to be honest. We must tread carefully when that happens. We are no good to anyone if we are broken inside.
My friends of 45 years and I met up in my hometown on the East Coast of England. We had all got a little battered this year — one had lost her Mum, the other her dad; I had lost an election that I was counting on for the good of the world; and we all felt a bit bruised. We sat quietly by the fire, we drank mulled wine, we ate nice food, we lit sparkly lights with a nod to the coming festive season and we talked it out, as only friends of 45-plus-years can. We walked the divine Buddy dog along the coast, followed a large Labrador-headed seal next to the shoreline and savored our short time together, as we always do. Once we realized that we would not be together for another whole year, we got a little somber. What else would happen in the world or within our families during the year to come? No doubt, a lot.
“I can only tell you that he is not my President, he will never be my President and I shall not listen to anything to do with him over the next few years,” I tell my friends, who expressed such anxiety for those of us who did not wish a return to power for that man, as well as the civilized nations around the world.
“Got to find the joy,” my friend expressed. “During the dark days — whether of just winter or for the world, you have to find the joy.” And that is a necessity. Once the shock and the horror have passed and the numbness sets in, (I must not care so much about things that are beyond my control!) you need to step out of your cloud and seek the sun. Do something nice for someone else, send a pretty card or gift. Call an old friend, play a beloved song, pick up the tab for dinner. For my part, I made Christmas cards for my friends from my vacation snap shots, glad to be presumably their first card of the season, accompanied by a nice ornament. The shops are full of Christmas here, all twinkly and bright and hopeful.
We celebrated our own Friends-giving of sorts in a favored pub in Thorpeness up the coast, feasting on all measure of yummy dishes including starters, mains and dessert. When we left the cheery warmth of the pub, it had been raining and the world — at least the world around us — felt cleansed and fresh with shedded, golden leaves dropped from trees all over the ground. You feel the seasons here — with the departure of autumn, comes winter to undress the trees, which remain bare until the spring, when the hope and renewals will occur.
We hope that for the world, we really do. We hope that all the awfulness fades away and what is left is a constructive effort to rebuild and un-divide us. I would so love to be surprised by the new administration that will be governing the Divided States of America. I hope that they make efforts to bring us together, not further separate. I hope they realize that, ultimately, people are people are people, and we are all immigrants to America, except for the Native Americans who are, well, native.
I hope they acknowledge that love is love, no matter who you love, and realize that some of the worst folks in the world are the hypocrites who preach from the altar of their own gain and those who have a holier than thou outlook on the planet, that is so revolting. I wish they would accept that climate change is a real and present danger and push for the policies to make it less so. I hope they come to understand that a woman’s body is really her own business. I pray that they put people in place who are qualified and civilized with honesty and integrity to serve our nation. I do have a lot of hopes in my heart all that way away from my adopted home and from within my homeland.
A moment of silence for us all to be surprised in 2025 by a new wave of humanity that will pour over our land like a cleansing flood, or even just a change in the seasons. We can only hope.
