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Men

 I’m starting to enter the next stage of grief – anger. I ended up canceling my reservation for this morning’s Pilates class because the new instructor is a man. He may be a Harris supporter and an ally to woman, but I knew I’d wonder the entire time if perhaps he really wasn’t. If perhaps he was like my now dead father who registered to vote for the first time in 1984, not to support Reagan, but to vote against Geraldine Ferraro who was Mondale’s VP running mate. 

My mother made light of the situation, but I knew as a teenager that it was a crappy thing for him to do. It was certainly not the worst thing he ever did, but I remember it the clearest. My father had four daughters, and, at that time, three granddaughters, yet he couldn’t stand to have a woman, even a far more competent woman, be allowed to serve at that level. 

I’ve turned off the news and haven’t been reading the papers, so am missing (not missing) the chatter. My guess is that my fellow white women will shame me yet again when the dust settles, but I think men will ultimately be at the root of the problem. Men of all ages and races will have either forgotten the insanity of the 2016-2020 White House, bought into his weirdo manliness, and will have ignored all the things this man has said repeatedly that he will do once back in office. These voters will have done to us like so many Britons did to the UK during the Brexit vote – voted without caring or understanding the consequences.  

Part of me wants to be brave and be part of the resistance, but that’s not who I feel I am. Instead I’m pushing for us to look at opportunities in Blue states, which might (just might) allow some slight safety going forward until it’s possible (if it’s possible) to leave this country. 

Just weeks ago, just days ago, I had been so hopeful. Last month I went to Utah and was able to explore and learn more about my ancestors (and saw lots of Harris/Walz signs). I found it mind-blowing that my great-great grandparents, without knowing English, without Google translate, without a Rick Steves guidebook, could leave Denmark and embark on a new life in such an alien-looking place. One of the always-smiling Mormon guides at their conference center remarked that it was faith. Well, that’s something I’m a bit lacking in, especially now. Still, I know I need to rally myself somehow to keep going, to keep resisting in any way I can, for as long as I can. 

I think the only faith I have is in knowing that this is ultimately not who we are as a nation. Maybe that’s why, a decade into the GOP craziness about “election fraud,” I’m starting to believe maybe this time they’re right. I’d rather believe that nefarious forces screwed around with the voting systems than believe so many people in this country, so many men, want to hold us down and put us back, not decades, but centuries. 

I will try my best to stick to this type of magical thinking because the alternative is just not bearable.


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