Every day since November 9th, I have woken with a heavy weight on my chest. I throw my feet off the side of the bed and stumble to the kitchen to make myself something strong before sitting down at the computer to read for, at least, the next two hours.
And I certainly read. First, I would go through my email subscriptions where I would read how the rest of the world is brimming with anxiety, not exactly sure what to expect from America anymore; then I would check my twitter feed and read people’s fears and aggression towards each other and our country; and finally I would go to the home pages of news sites and read through the latest fill of a cabinet position which would suddenly send me on a research mission on who that is and what that could possibly mean moving forward.
9 am: the weight moves from my chest to my stomach. Time to start work.
If only work would take all the anxiety away for the rest of the day.
But stepping away from the computer just means I don’t have to read about what is happening in the country. Every time I have stepped out of the house, I have to experience it.
I experience the results of the election.
Experience the shift in people. The way they treat each other. The way I receive cast away looks from minorities, not able to catch anyone’s eye. The way that other white people try engage me in a conversation as if we were old friends, as if we had something in common.
The entitlement and subservience is palpable.
I’m not entirely sure what these next few months and years are going to produce. I don’t want to wait around to find out. I want to take action.