Choosing Beauty

I hesitate to write this. I hesitate because the events of the day that shape how I’m feeling right now are political in nature. And I hesitate because I’ve taken the stand in the past to refrain from writing when my mood is especially low, when my mental health is in a particularly bad place because I fear, in moments like these, that the thoughts and feelings I share with readers are clouded and not completely accurate to my core self and core beliefs. I typically write only when I’m feeling grounded, and feeling like I’m in a place when I’ve had time to reflect on where I’m at physically and emotionally before putting my thoughts out into the world. But today, if for no other reason, I need to write for me, as a way to reflect, as a way to work through my emotions, and I hope, as a way to communicate with and build community among my friends, those I respect, those I admire, those I love. And if you’re reading this, that means you.

Earlier in the week I was preparing a different blog post. It was a difficult one for me to write, mostly because my mental health wasn’t great and because, as I stated above, I don’t think it’s particularly beneficial for me to write for an audience when the tides of my emotions are low. This is why I haven’t published a post in over two weeks and why I haven’t published one since arriving in Guanajuato, Mexico 10 days ago. That essay, had it been posted, would have described my emotions in the wake of another life change, another transition, another moment when I’ve had to drastically adjust the routines of my life. It was to be called, “The Rhythm Is Gonna Get You,” a play on the Gloria Estefan song from the 80s, and it was going to describe how I continue to find life difficult when I’m constantly adjusting my tempo to a new, challenging rhythm. It would have included my confession that, out of sheer exhaustion from the many changing rhythms of my life, I was even ready to abandon Guanajuato and return to the steady music of Minnesota, weeks earlier than planned.

This post is not that post. This post confronts a whole ‘nother layer of sadness, one I honestly hadn’t anticipated when crafting my essay earlier this week. This post confronts my total and complete devastation with the election of Donald Trump. My heart is breaking. What began yesterday as a day of hopeful optimism and excitement devolved quite quickly last evening into a night of shock and grief. And all day today I’ve been walking the streets numb. I’m in a fog of complete disbelief and gloom.

It’s at this point, dear reader, I ask that if seeing my words angers or upsets you, or if my opinion contradicts yours, that you’ll reject a knee-jerk response or that you’ll pause to feel some empathy or that you refrain from sharing my thoughts with your conservative friends as an example of “woke, liberal tears.” I ask that you choose compassion in this moment and respect that someone you know, and hopefully someone you care about, is having a really, really difficult day. And if you do choose to respond, either in your own heart or in words you make public, I ask that you please continue to read to the end and that you give me a chance to explain what’s in my heart. I don’t plan to convince those who voted for Trump that my opinion is better or more sound than yours. I just hope, if you’re interested and you wish to hear me out, that you’ll keep reading because perhaps it will allow you to inch just a little closer to understanding why I, and tens of millions like me, on this day, feel the way I do.

It took me a lot of time, and a lot of strength, to will myself out of bed this morning. But in the two hours I’ve been up, and since coming to a familiar, favorite coffee shop in Guanajuato, I’ve thankfully, already been inspired in a couple of ways. One was a conversation I had with a British man and his Mexican wife at the coffee shop in which we shared in our disbelief and grief and did one of those things we humans do – we exchanged gifts of empathy. We talked, we listened, we connected. We allowed one another to be seen and heard. The other glimmer of light this morning, and something that directly contributed to me forgoing my bedroom for the land of the living, was a message from a dear friend. Hers was one of the first texts I received today, and in it she confessed to shedding some tears this morning but wrote, “I’ve decided I’m not going to go quiet and dark. I’m crying out loud.” This text gave me the boost I needed to do what I’m doing right now.

Eight years ago, I felt similar feelings to today. But, I believe, on that day, I was more shocked than sad. November 9th, 2016, in many ways felt different than today. Don’t get me wrong, I felt equal parts devastation and disbelief then as well, but I also felt, in some way, that the dramatic nature of Trump’s victory might serve to unite those of us who stood in opposition against him. Perhaps Trump, I hoped, would be the tipping point our country needed at that moment to calibrate what really mattered to most of us. I was convinced that Trump had won largely out of protest, voted for by people who simply wanted to shake up the status quo, or who didn’t believe he’d actually win, or who found much to dislike in the personality or policies of Hillary Clinton. I thought, eventually, many of his voters would see the error in their ways and we’d move forward as a country, stronger for the experience. Or that, at least, we would come to believe that the potential danger he presented to the country and to the world outweighed whatever “shakeup” his presidency resulted in. I believed there’d be a national reckoning, that one day, in the not so distant future, the majority of our country would reflect on 2016 and see Trump as an anomaly. View electing him as a mistake. View his election in the context of America’s other past ills, on par with denying rights and opportunities to citizens based on race, gender and sexual identity. 

A large part of the deep sadness I feel right now is in the thought that I may not live long enough to see that reckoning. Or worse, that it may never happen. What could have been called a protest win by Trump in ‘16 cannot, in any way, be defined like that this time around. We experienced Trump for four years, and we’ve lived with his constant rhetoric and influence over the past four. Yet, we elected him again. We clearly did not view, as I had thought, that electing him once as a mistake. In fact, his electoral win this time will match or potentially even exceed that of 2016.

Eight years ago this morning I woke up, went to my local grocery store, bought two boxes of donuts, and invited my fellow teachers to join me in my team’s office for an impromptu support session before school began. This morning I write. And here’s why…

In late 2023 I decided to embark on an uncertain, potentially ambitious, somewhat nebulous project I named A Connection Story. My bike trip across Germany, and this blog, were the first steps in that project. Not knowing exactly what I wanted to do, how to direct my ambition or exactly what path I wanted A Connection Story to take, the one thing I felt was important, at minimum, was to create some sort of overarching tagline, or mission statement, that could broadly define my desires and hopes for what this project represented and what it could accomplish. That tagline became – “Finding beauty through courage, hope and connection.” Beauty in the form of love, courage in the face of challenge, hope when joy seems impossible, and connection to nature, the spiritual world, society and our fellow humans. This mission encompasses my struggles with mental health, my desire to share my stories with others, and my longing to help difficult experiences bloom into beautiful ones.

There’s cause for Democrats like myself to be sad today. Trump’s proclaimed draconian policies, his views toward immigrants, his lack of concern for women’s healthcare, his past abuses of the constitution, his desire to turn his back on long-cherished world partnerships, just to name a few. And let me be clear, I’m sad and scared about these things. I am. But, more simply, for me, I’m sad for a larger, broader, more ethereal reason. I’m sad because, in the deepest recesses of my heart, as a man of 54 years with experiences ranging from miraculous to tragic, in my life, I’ve made the decision to choose beauty. I’ve chosen love and hope and connection. Compassion and kindness. Empathy and forgiveness. The ideals that ground all things good, that guide all of life’s progress, that form the foundation to enable justice, peace, prosperity, and a more free and fair world for all. These are the things I’ve chosen.

My sadness, my deep sadness, is that my country has chosen to place a man in our highest position of power who represents none of these ideals, who views kindness as weakness, whose ego and service to himself drives all, and who uses hate to fuel his agenda, fan the flames of his rabid supporters, and to divide us rather than to unite us.

From a policy perspective, or from past actions or prior legislation, say what you will about Kamala Harris. Say what you will about Donald Trump. But I challenge you, deeply in your soul, to proclaim that Trump, with the words he uses, the things he’s done, his abuses of women, the people he’s manipulated in service of his ego, the “winner take all” philosophy he espouses… I challenge you to honestly proclaim that he represents anything close to beauty, love, hope and connection. You may dislike Kamala. You may believe that she stood in the way of your desired picture of America, but objectively, it’s impossible to say, when comparing the two candidates, that Trump, and not Kamala, is the face of beauty, love, hope and connection.

I hear the objection, “The President shouldn’t represent beauty, love, hope and connection. That’s some hippy dippy, pie in the sky, idealistic, soft-hearted, liberal bullshit. Our President needs to present strength, toughness, and even, at times, meanness, cruelty and maliciousness if it’s in service of putting America first!.” Object all you want, but I’ll hold onto the fact that we can have a president who is strong but who is also compassionate and caring and introspective and who seeks out beauty for all of us, both as citizens of the USA and as citizens of the world. And I strongly, strongly believe this package can come in the form of a woman.

For me, I want the rest of my life to be defined by beauty and love, hope and connection, kindness and compassion. And these are the things I’m going to look for in our elected leaders. I do not feel this is naive or crazy or that it’s asking too much. Trump has taken us so far away from these ideals that we forget that caring for other humans and projecting hope as a nation, hope for all people and all ideas, is something many leaders have aspired to in America, both Democratic and Republican.

So, call me a softy. Call me naive. Call me whatever you wish, but on this day I’m sad because I feel the ideals I try to live by myself, the beliefs and goals which I feel represent the cornerstone of whatever remaining years I have left on this planet, are nowhere to be found in Donald Trump. And, frankly, it saddens me deeply to know that over half our country has either a blind spot to the darkness of Trump or simply doesn’t really care if the leader of the free world has a belief system grounded in beauty and love and compassion and true connection. These are my thoughts for the day, the reasons for my sadness, and, I pledge right here and now, the things that will motivate me in the future to act and write and talk and connect in ways that will bring more beauty to this planet.