Art via Pixabay


This morning on my commute to work, the packed express bus was somber.

Except for people numbly texting and checking news there was no movement.

None of us discussed the shocking election results and I got the sense it was because if we said it out loud, we’d have to snap out of our denial and stop checking websites because obviously CNN and Politico couldn’t be right.

But it happened. It. Really. Happened.

We are dreamy, progressive Washingtonians who mostly plant good things, so of course, we did not choose this. We did not choose him.

And yet, like the rest of the Unchoosers, my fellow commuters wore the faces of innocents in Day 1 of some zombie apocalypse, but because I have never watched those shows or seen those faces I was not ready to witness my comrades horror. Especially the one situated directly across from me who seemed, like me, to have spent all night running from zombie prez-elect supporters in her mind. Eyes hollow, jaw drawn, color drained from her cheeks. On the verge of screaming, yet weary from insomnia and breath-holding.

If we were gut-punched though, President Obama was nuked and I will never know what it is like to have to hand your scepter over to someone whose aim is to try to erase you from history.

I still believe we have the power to create something different in 2020 when, I pray, Americans could literally be seeing clearly the magic of good, sound choices to build energy that moves us forward, not backwards. That is inclusive, not divisive and just crap. We must hold on and use this tragedy to create something different in 2020. We must be better than this.


Mother Teresa

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