Overcoming Post-Election Despair
For many of us, the day after last week’s presidential felt less like morning in America, and more like mourning in America. I received a text from a dear friend, a Protestant minister, who wrote, “I feel that God has abandoned me … Who have we become?” I could identify with her feelings. How, though, do we go forward?
Later that morning, I received an email from a poet friend who offered her perspective. She wrote, “This is what I noticed after lifting the blanket of sickness and fear from my thoughts. The sun came up, the birds are chirping, my neighbors across the street have gone to work and their children rode the bus to school. I try to remember this as my country. You are my country. I will pray for us all.”
Both are equally valid responses to the disappointment we feel. I’ve thought a lot about both messages and how to overcome my own sense of dread as we enter a very uncertain time for our democracy and the institutions that have served us for nearly 250 years.
It’s taken a while, but I’ve pieced together some strategies for moving on.
— I believe we need to look intentionally for beauty and goodness wherever we find ourselves. Take a walk each day in a wooded area or a park. Pause and observe the antics of squirrels and sparrows. Look up at the moon and the stars at night. Spend time in front of paintings in a museum. Lose yourself in a good, meaty novel. (I am planning to re-read the four books of Elena Ferrante’s “Neapolitan Quartet.”). Read poetry. Better yet, write some poems.
— It’s also important to be kind in these days, or as my friend singer-songwriter Carrie Newcomer puts it, to be “tender” with others and ourselves. To be sure, many of us feel the need for a period of grieving. It helps, Carrie says, to pause periodically, place a hand over the heart, and say to ourselves lovingly, “Oh, honey!”
I was able to somewhat take my mind off the election because I left two days after the race was called to guide a retreat at the Morning Star Retreat Center in Pinecrest, FL. The retreat was for Marianist sisters, priests and brothers. I worried that my somber mood might hinder the uplifting experience I wanted to give to those who attended. What saved me was the kindness I encountered in several diverse ways.
My seatmates on the plane ride from Chicago to Miami were an elderly gentleman and his adult son who were going on a cruise. After we had strapped ourselves in and the Fasten Seatbelt sign came on, the father turned to his son and said he had forgotten take his rosary beads out of his carry-on bag, which was now ensconced in an overhead bit. I just happened to have in my purse a cedar rosary a woman at the last retreat I guided had given me as a gift. I asked the man if he’d like to borrow it. He gladly accepted. He said he prayed the rosary every morning.
He was able to finish his prayers just as our aircraft lifted off.
When I landed at Miami International, I needed to call for an Uber taxi to take me to the retreat center. I wasn’t sure what terminal or door to put in my phone app for the Uber driver to find me, so I asked one of the airport employees who was taking suitcases off the baggage conveyer belt. He readily filled in on my phone the directions for the Uber driver. When I offered him some cash to “have a coffee on me,” he waved away the money. “I’m happy to help,” he said.
Kindness.
I was uplifted too by spending time with Marianist priests, brothers and sisters who were either newly professed or still in formation. The Marianist order sponsors 18 secondary schools and three universities. We spent one day of the retreat visiting with the students at Chaminade-Madonna College Prepatory School in Hollywood, FL. When you walk into the school you are greeted by a sign that says, “We are Marianist. We practice radical hospitality. We are intentionally diverse.” Chaminade-Madonna calls itself “a 21st century learning community.”
We spoke with many students there, most of whom have parents who emigrated from Latin America, South America, the Caribbean and Africa. They told us the mottos they had chosen for their school. “Keep God First.” “Families Are More Than Blood.” “Tell The Truth.” “Take Responsibility.” I note that Chaminade-Madonna isn’t too far from Mar-a-Lago. Perhaps the President-elect can visit there sometime and take a page from these young people.
There was a young Brother on the retreat named Leno whose family emigrated from Mexico to California. Every time Brother Leno encountered a student he would extend his hand and introduce himself. He did this dozens of times throughout the day. It was his way of saying, “We don’t know each other but you matter to me.”
All of these experiences leave me with hope.
Another friend, a retired nurse, sent me a post that has been circulating in recent days, attributed to a Hopi spiritual teacher. The identity of the speaker has not been clearly established, but that doesn’t detract from the wisdom the words contain:
“This moment that humanity is living through can be considered a door or a hole. The decision to fall into the hole or go through the door is yours. If you consume information 24 hours a day with negative energy, constantly nervous with pessimism, you will fall into this hole. But if you take the opportunity to look at yourself, to rethink life and death, to take care of yourself and others, you will go through the door.”
The post continues, “Take care of your home, take care of your body. Connect with your spiritual home … Adopt the perspective of an eagle that sees everything from above with a broader vision.”
Keep calm, meditate, make a habit of encountering the sacred everyday, the post concludes. “Demonstrate resilience through art, joy, trust and love.”
So which shall it be in the days to come: the hole or the door?
