election 2016

Happy after voting in St. Petersburg, Florida on Nov. 5, 2016

On November 5th, 2016, I took a deep breath before I filled in the oval next to Hillary Clinton’s name for the second time.

She hadn’t been my first choice, although I’d known my Florida primary vote for Sanders was almost certainly a goner as soon as I’d cast it. But as I stood there in the booth, crammed into the bustling room full of other early voters, I was proud to support Clinton once more, and nostalgic for the time I’d done so as a first-time-ever voter in the 2008 primaries.

This time, I just knew: We were gonna make it. It was time.

I’d taken pride in the glances I’d gotten on my way into the polling place – no doubt the result of my chosen outfit, a short skirt and a T-shirt emblazoned with the words NASTY WOMAN inside a big ol’, unabashed red heart. As I biked through the streets, responses varied: appreciative smiles, scowls, and bemused under-breath readings aloud. I invariably smiled back. Half the proceeds of the tee had gone to Planned Parenthood.

On November 8th, my NASTY WOMAN tee was still in the hamper, but my spirits were just as high. After work, I settled in with a glass of wine and a homemade personal pizza, ready to watch history be made. 2016 had been a hell of a ride so far, but finally (finally!) electing a woman president of the United States of America might just save it.

The rest of the story, you probably already know.

The glass of wine turned into a bottle. The pizza turned into literally everything easily accessible in my house. Some colleagues and I gathered in a freshly-made Slack channel called #freakingout. By 9 p.m., I was still retweeting jokes and laughing. This couldn’t really be happening, could it?

At 11 p.m. I decided the best thing I could possibly do was go to bed. I woke up hungover and exhausted and already having had a nightmare about the headline that, sure enough, I rolled over to find confirmed on my cell phone screen.

Donald Trump has been elected president of the United States.

I laughed again, but this time without a shred of joy.

As I’d eaten and drunk myself silly the previous night, I’d gesticulated and sworn wildly that if it happened, the next day I would shirk work, turn off my cell phone and find a wooded place to hide – for the day at least, but possibly for the next four years. “Not my president,” I said to several friends, swearing to deities I don’t believe in that I would absolutely leave the country.

But after spending a miserable, hungover three hours at home in my pajamas, listlessly rereading the news – shocked, saddened or gloating, depending on the source – I got up, took a shower, took stock of the literally 5,000 calories I’d consumed the night before and took my ass back to work (and then the gym).

And now it’s Friday, November 11th – Veterans Day, appropriately enough. I will admit that I spent a lot of time yesterday chatting with international friends and Googling various countries’ health care and abortion rights, even pricing apartments on Craigslist and searching for jobs both remote and in certain cities abroad.

But although it’s tempting, and although my embarrassment crosses the line into actual fear, I know: I have to stay. I’m needed here now more than ever.

We have to stand together against the hatred, derision, bigotry, misogyny and ignorance our country has chosen to lift into power.

And while it’s easy to throw that resolution out as lofty idealism, make no mistake: It is going to be dark for a while. As Clinton herself said, “This is painful, and it will be for a long time.”

I’m afraid of what will happen to our environment, and feeling a lot better about my choice (so far) not to have children. I’m afraid of what will happen to health care, which so many Americans already can’t afford; I’m terrified that I’ll lose my right to an abortion.

I’m honestly afraid of being shot to death, just walking through my day-to-day life – a ridiculous, but undeniably reasonable, fear in what has been the most powerful country in the world for at least the last hundred years.

It’s going to be dark for a while, but abandonment is the only sure form of failure. And as a Canadian friend pointed out, those most vulnerable to the seismic shifts about to take place are the ones who are unable to leave.

Although I’m afraid, I’m in a much better position than millions of Americans, if only because of my skin color – to say nothing of my stable financial situation, at-least-apparent heteronormativity and a host of other privileges I bear.

I’m one of the lucky ones. And I’m going to use that fortune and privilege to stay here and fight to create the country I want to live in.

And even if you’re still working off your own hangover, I hope you do, too.