🗳️ 🇺🇸 🎉 🍾

As an educator, I found the election of Donald Trump appalling; he is the antithesis of the values I have devoted my professional life to, the antithesis of the values I hold dear in my personal life. He flaunts proudly the absolute worst of the absolute worst of human traits. To me, his presidency represented how so many others had those same traits or were fooled, blinded by misinformation, shared fears and biases. It was disheartening, embarrassing, infuriating.

So on November 3rd I brought dread with me to the polling site, the trauma of the previous presidential election and the overwhelming fear that intellect, critical thought and reason might once again prove to be in short supply nationwide. I didn’t know if my heart and my head could tolerate more of the same bunkum, especially considering how difficult this year has been. But I woke up at 6:00 a.m. and was on line by 6:05 a.m., feeling nauseous about the possibility of four more years.

And then some strange superstitions arose. I couldn’t speak to anyone about the election; I couldn’t post anything. No requisite “I voted” selfies… though they lived in my phone within a small hope that I might want to look back on the day. After I voted, I checked out of social media and news completely. I couldn’t watch the outcome. I was covering my eyes, afraid to see.

But things started to look up. Commiserating with friends was healing and the count sparked hope. But I still refused to be hopeful.

The weekend came and I attempted go to Trinity Church Cemetery & Mausoleum, all the way up in Sugar Hill, for some photography. The cemetery is gorgeous and the weather would be unseasonably delicious. It took my an hour and a half to get there but I was turned away at the gate–the cemetery is closed to the public because of Covid. I was a bit perturbed but immediately thought I that I had to be there in Manhattan for a reason.

I walked to Riverside Park to see the foliage, the old stone structures. Meh. It was nothing spectacular. I decided I’d try to go to a museum. With capacity restrictions and few tourists, it’d be more peaceful than usual. As I walked down Broadway towards 150th street I heard cheers erupt. I was confused, thinking it might be a marathon or to support medical workers. Others were confused too. As I locked crinkled questioning eyes with an old gentleman walking in my direction, we realized at the same time what had happened. Biden was declared a winner.

I was so happy to be in Manhattan, the only borough free of icky red pockets, when I learned the news. I spent the rest of my day screaming “Wooooooo” with a bunch of strangers as I traveled about stunned and joyous.

I couldn’t help but think about my friend Ellen who recently passed; she had planned her October trip to New York around the date she would mail her absentee ballad. And my cousin Robert, a staunch and proud liberal Democrat. I wished they could have experienced the relief, the joy, the revelry that overtook the places cloaked in anxiety and disgust these last four years.

Celebrations went into the evening

Here’s to the sore loser b.s. that’ll start tomorrow no doubt.