Like, fine.

 It’s Wednesday, November 4. Yesterday, if this was a normal election season, in a normal year, in a more normal political climate, we would know who our next President of the United States will be. 

But we don’t know the answer to that yet and we probably won’t know for days, weeks, or months. Instead, Americans across the nation are left with the results of their local and state elections to ponder how these decisions will affect their day to day lives. 

Starting last November, I was a member of a regional campaign for the Colorado House of Representatives. Our candidate was my friend Colin, a local lawyer who works with his wife, an immigration attorney, in our small Colorado tourist town. He’s a democrat. I feel like that doesn’t actually need to be said (if anyone has read anything else I’ve ever written that concerns politics, you could probably guess). 

Over the holidays in 2019, I started helping to plan and organize events for Colin. I was not particularly good at it. This is something I have no qualms about admitting, considering I threw a holiday gathering with very little turn out, something I attribute to my limited knowledge of event coordination (limited = zero). I mean VERY little. Let me clarify: the guest list ultimately amounted to a couple of friends and a couple of guys I’ve slept with (sorry, Mom). We gathered a lot of donated toys to distribute to a local organization, though - many more toys than attendees, I should add. 

I offered to drop the toys off the next time I was near the church where they were headed. I’m a volunteer, after all, so I thought I should do some work. Colin decided to bring them himself, and I came along. When we arrived, the very friendly organizer gave us a full tour of their facilities and chatted with Colin briefly about his campaign. I honestly had no idea what we were still doing there. I didn’t think a church organization in New Castle, Colorado had any interest in what a democrat had to say. 

I helped organize another event, too. This one was (intentionally) attended by even less people, I think. I say intentionally because it was held at an eatery in one of the smaller, more conservative towns of our district, and I used my knowledge of the local clientele from my nearby bartending job to badger a few rancher-types into talking to Colin. I was nervous. I expected them to refuse to listen to him over their coffee and pastries. But they didn’t. I watched him engage in several animated conversations that morning with people that I (and he) knew would definitely vote for him - just as soon as hell froze over. 

We visited local fire stations. I was just waiting for a fireman to tell us he was a tried and true Trump supporter who intended to vote red straight down the ballot, but no one did. Colin had a constructive conversation with an assistant chief (perhaps sweetened by the pastries we delivered), who even agreed to a photo that we were able to later use in online campaign materials. This was going great. We talked excitedly about future campaign events that could come in the Spring. 

That’s right, the Spring of 2020! 

I went from Event Coordinator to Social Media Manager. Nobody was allowed to gather, nor did they really want to, with the risk of Covid 19 looming. Colin recorded one minute videos (ignoring my regular, millennial-style suggestion to “change his angle”) on his phone and we posted them to his internet followers. He continually expressed a message of hope, solidarity, and resilience. Local Republicans began agitating to open businesses and reject mask ordinances. We stayed socially distanced. We posted instead of gathering. Colin made his campaign volunteers our own name tags. I continued to have absolutely zero idea of what I was doing. 

Then we got signs. In the middle of the summer, Colin announced that he had campaign signs and asked me if I had any friends who wanted them. I didn’t. Most of my friends didn’t have yards, or weren’t political enough for a campaign sign, or their landlords said no, or, in the case of my coworker, had a “wife that would kill them”. I took two. I nailed one to the outside of my vinyl patio door, stuck one in the ground in front of my rented condo, and patiently waited for the homeowners association to confiscate them. (They didn’t, by the way. I have no understanding of how HOAs work. At all. But my Colin signs and my other county democrat signs are still out there). 

I started to get excited. I wrote long, impassioned letters to the editor about why Colin was right for our district. He was running on improved mental health services, diversifying our energy industry, increased funding for education, and affordable access to healthcare. In my opinion, none of that is objectionable or arguable. Colin, his wife Erin, and I crafted posts for his campaign page on Facebook, expounding on how he would work for everyone in our district, and listen to all their concerns. Colin signs popped up all over the county. I kept spotting them in unexpected places.  He answered messages. I answered messages. We got back to the community when they asked questions. He was polite, intelligent, likable. He gathered endorsements, donations, and support. 

And trolls. For the first time in my life, I experienced firsthand (by being notified constantly on Facebook) the vitriol that people will spew at their local community members simply because there is a (D) in front of their name. Colin was described as a communist and a socialist. He was accused of being ANTIFA. Of ruining America. He got emails describing just what would happen to the state of Colorado and eventually the whole country is he was elected. One man compared him to a “human fart” (which I found greatly amusing but also had to delete, as we suspected the commenter was drunk). In all honesty, I don’t know how Colin got past this stuff (a conservative who did not like my opinions about another local race called me “stupid” tonight in a public forum and I almost cried). 

But he did, and that’s why he was a good candidate. Colin truly believes he can listen to the concerns of the people who attack him from their keyboards and work to help create policies and changes that will help them. He repeatedly stated in conversations, and debates against his opponent, that he intended to work for ALL the people of our district (which apparently also means the people who think he’s a human fart). 

I haven’t said anything about Colin’s opponent, because there isn’t much to say. As I found myself explaining multiple times throughout the campaign, he is “like, fine.” He’s a genuinely nice man, who inspires no excitement and wants no change. He won the election by telling his constituents that he would double down on preserving our gas, oil, and coal industries. He’s also quite a bit older than both me and Colin (so he likely won’t be around to see the day that all of those things run out in this district, creating an employment void that could cripple the economy in some of our counties). He doesn’t support any variety of statewide healthcare reform and is on board with removing the ACA. Cool, bro. 

So if you’ve read this far then you already know how it turned out. In spite of committing nearly all of his weekends (for several months leading up to the election) to speaking at outdoor events, walking through towns with other county candidates holding campaign signs, and (most exciting for me) amassing more than 500 Facebook followers, Colin didn’t win. The seat went to “like, fine” guy, who will probably spend the next two years doing exactly nothing to explicitly harm or benefit the people of this district. 

It’s not fair, and all over the nation right now, there are people like Colin (and me) thinking the same thing. We worked hard. We CARED. We put in all this effort. He was clearly the more driven, informed, and concerned candidate. In our home county alone, two smart and motivated women lost their races to two Republican men - one who has held his seat for seven terms and prioritizes oil and gas, and another who I know nothing about, other than to say he also strikes me as “like, fine”. 

Colin and his team ran a well crafted, complete, and thoughtful campaign (if I do say so myself). Taking into account the time we are living through, I don’t see how we could have done much better. His wife, myself, and all of our friends are incredibly proud of him for the effort he put forth.

When the presidency (likely) swings the way of Joe Biden in (hopefully) a couple of days, I’ll be very happy. I can not describe how much I want to never have to listen to or worry about the actions of Donald Trump ever again. He’s a dangerous man and has no business being in charge of a board meeting, let alone our country. But Biden being our president isn’t going to fix this issue that seems to have been a problem across multiple states and innumerable races this election cycle. 

If I have learned anything about political campaigning over the last year (besides that I should probably figure out a way to get more people to campaign events - and no, I don’t mean by sleeping with more of them), it’s that you can work your butt off, that people will listen to you, that you can have exciting ideas that will benefit your community - and you can still lose. Sometimes people don’t want change. Sometimes they’re okay with “like, fine”. 

Are you okay with it? 

Disappointment in the time of Corona

This week, my therapist sent two questionnaires to the "online portal" (this is how we do therapy now, apparently. There's a website that keeps a virtual copy of every piece of paper I've signed or clicked a box on since I started seeing her two months ago), and when I opened them, I realized they were the pretty basic "how are you feeling in the last two weeks?" information sheets, the same ones I had filled out before my first appointment. I think they're designed to give her an idea if you are, perhaps, depressed, or worse yet, suicidal.

I am neither of those things, but I suspect my assessment numbers might have been a touch higher this time around.

While our entire country finds itself struggling with a pandemic from which there is no escape (its nation - and world - wide), I find myself with increasing feelings of doom, hopelessness, and sadness. There are memes all over the internet that say "check on your extroverted friends, they're not okay", but I honestly would be surprised if anyone is truly "OK" right now. I've spent some of my ample free time considering this. Why am I so sad, down, and just generally gross-feeling right now (besides the obvious, which is that I was taking one shower every three days last week)? No one I know has been rendered seriously ill from the virus (thankfully), and I myself am relatively unlikely to have severe symptoms. I'm still working, too. Landscape companies can fall under the category of essential services because we provide maintenance to residential homes. I have a job and some income (whatever that may look like in late March in Colorado, where it is sunny and 60 one day and 28 and dumping huge white flakes the next). I don't have a young family, or even a pet, that I feel pressure to provide with food, entertainment, or education.

The best explanation I can come up with is that the last month of my life has been a series of continual, sometimes surprising, disappointments. As one concert or event is cancelled after another, travel to certain areas is discouraged or even prohibited, restaurants begin to close, and even hiking trails and camping areas are shut down (because this is Colorado, and the mass movement of people to outdoor recreation areas for their own sanity is standard practice in March, and doubly so with a pandemic forcing us all out of work and into our homes), I spent most of the last two weeks with a cold, sinking feeling in my core every time I logged onto facebook for news, or a friend sent me another link about something that was being stopped, postponed, closed.

A concert that Jeremy and I had considered attending in Aspen was postponed, alarmingly, along with that band's entire spring tour schedule, due to a confirmed coronavirus case from a tourist who had visited the ski vacation spot in February. Spring training baseball games were cancelled, which initially altered but did not derail my March plans for a trip to Arizona. The ski resort where I bartend was shut down for the rest of the projected 3-week season with no notice on a Saturday night, putting myself and dozens of others unexpectedly out of our seasonal jobs. Then they called off Major League baseball entirely for the first two weeks of the regular season, Americans were asked to please refrain from traveling, and the out of state springtime escape to Arizona was ultimately squashed. The day after we decided to stay home, I received word that all launches for an overnight river rafting trip we had planned for my birthday in early April were being cancelled. I collapsed on my kitchen floor, sobbing. "Everything is awful", I cried. Within days, restaurants and bars were ordered to close their dining areas and resort to take-out or delivery only, resulting in some businesses just locking their doors altogether. I'm quite sure some of them won't survive this.

While I cried on my couch and texted my friends and stressed about how terrible these adjustments would be, the virus numbers continued to climb. Many Americans began being hospitalized. People are dying. Possibly lots of them. I told myself I was being a jerk, that I wasn't allowed to be devastated over a loss of social and recreational activities, because people are dying. But the grief and desperation I feel is real. I don't think saying "buck up, things could be so much worse, let me tell you how" has never worked to make anyone truly feel better, except possibly in certain wartime situations. "Sure, you lost a foot, a leg, and the vision in your right eye, your wife took up with your brother while you were abroad, and there's no job waiting for you back in Minnesota, but hey! Look on the bright side. At least you're alive." I don't think we are there yet.

I know my story isn't unique. Tons of people were laid off with no notice, had to cancel long-awaited travel plans, and have had their social lives interrupted. I fully expect some folks to read this blog and say "so what? She doesn't have it so bad", and I would agree. But belittling each other's distress and sadness isn't going to make anyone feel better, is it? We have to accept that every reason to be disappointed is a valid one. Making others feel guilty for being upset in this trying time is not going to lessen your distress, I promise you.

On Thursday, a "stay at home" order (the kinder, gentler title for a "shelter in place" order, which is what you get when you live in a blue state with a democratic governor who cares about the emotional well-being of his constituents) was issued in Colorado, and Gov. Jared Polis and his administration made a valiant attempt to make it as specific as possible. "Exercise" was listed on the side of acceptable reasons for leaving your home. Coloradans rejoiced. They even included examples such as running, hiking, biking, walking pets. Grocery stores, including WalMart, Target, pharmacies, and various supply-based businesses, such as hardware, would also remain open and accessible. It is all written in the text of the multi-page order.

Why, then, do I feel myself looking over my shoulder when I leave my home? As I mentioned above, I am still able to work, at least for now, which gives me an acceptable reason to be outside during daylight hours. But the chill in the pit of my stomach remains: guilt. Or the perception that I should feel some kind of guilt. Shouldn't I be doing more? Should I be sacrificing my physical health and my exercise goals for the greater good and just stay inside my 400 sq foot apartment instead of going running? Are those people who are using our local hiking trails, myself included, doing more harm? Are razor blades or ice cream an essential reason to take myself to the store? Is an imagined enforcement team going to appear out of nowhere, demand my work papers, ask where I am headed, and deem my intentions trivial, unimportant, or dangerous? Worse, could I be responsible for the death of another human if I walk out my door?

I hope I've explained these feelings well. While I, like many others, can tell myself that I don't have it bad, the truth is that the feeling are the same for us all. Sadness, disappointment, guilt, uncertainty of what we should do. I'm sure feelings of depression are present for some, and creep into my mind at my worst moments. Will we make it through this, and will we want to, when the lifestyle on the other side of coronavirus might be so drastically different from what we have all come to know?

The suggestion that we need to be kind to ourselves is the only uplifting thing I can think of to parrot right now. Beating ourselves up for feeling distress over seemingly "small" things, or worse, letting others beat you up for your feelings of sadness, aren't going to help any of us cope with what's happening. Let's allow ourselves to believe that anything we feel right now is valid, acceptable, and true.

And wash your hands.

Why does America hate women?

I realize the title of this blog post is inflammatory.

I don’t believe our entire country hates women. But given the developments in the race for the democratic presidential nomination, it’s starting to feel that way. In an opinion piece by Michelle Cottle of the New York Times, she notes that gender was considered a bigger barrier to electability than “age, race, ideology, or sexual orientation”. This is a huge statement in a race that included several candidates of color, multiple men in their late seventies, and a married church-goer from South Bend, who also happens to be gay.

When I was spending lots of time thinking out loud about who I thought had the best shot at beating Donald Trump (side note: I can’t believe we even have to say this. A “shot” at beating Trump? Literally any human on the long list of people who threw their name in for the democratic nomination, including a man who ran on the platform of giving everyone free money, and a woman who’s resume lists her as being “Oprah’s Spiritual Adviser”, is more qualified and more capable of running this country than the person who currently sits in the White House), I cynically made lists of the ways the current president, his supporters, and advisers, could rudely attack each opponent.

“Joe Biden is just more of the Obama-era crap”, or “Joe Biden is losing his cognitive abilities”. Trump can claim that Bernie Sanders is a socialist (some of his supporters, such as a man I briefly argued with yesterday, even claim with fervent insistence that Sanders is a communist), or that he’s a crazed old man. I can’t imagine what ol’ DT would have to say about Michael Bloomberg, since they have so many problematic things in common. When it came to who he could attack on a more personal level, I shuddered to think of his future treatment of Elizabeth Warren and Pete Buttigieg.

However, this is what occurred to me: the negative things that Trump and the extreme right can say about women can be veiled much easier than the negative things they could say about a homosexual man. Statements such as “she’s too loud” or “she’s too angry” or even the positive context for “nevertheless, she persisted” are things that, on the surface, sound like basic criticisms of a candidate but are actually words that would never be used to describe a male politician. The fact that Elizabeth Warren was once “warned”’and continued to speak is a rallying cry for democrats (and feminists) across the nation, but it’s considered one of her biggest flaws by republicans. While we know that Donald Trump has very few boundaries when it comes to the bigoted insults that fly from his lips, it’s likely that his advisers would stress heavily that, in a campaign against someone like Buttigieg, he should leave the sexual orientation attacks out of it.

“Who do we think America hates more, a woman or a gay man?” I asked, wryly, for the last few weeks. It’s negative. It’s not productive. But this is where we are. I like Mayor Pete just fine, but it should be noted that for all of the far-right’s hatred of anyone who doesn’t fit the heterosexual, traditional-family-unit norm, most Republicans I spoke to in the last weeks seemed more concerned with Elizabeth Warren “flip-flopping”, being “untrustworthy”, being “too angry”. Does this sound familiar? Are these not the same words used in 2016 when Republicans convinced nearly half a nation that Hillary Clinton was a crooked liar (but no one could really say what, exactly, they believed her to be lying about)?

I’m not saying I wouldn’t love to see Mayor Pete as president. He’s great. This has nothing to do with him, except that he represents a group (non-straight men) that I had assumed, up until recently, that the far-right would have more issue with than another group, women. And I have to admit that I probably contribute to the unconscious bias, because I want to vote for someone who can win against Donald Trump, and it worries me that the same tools used against Clinton could be employed again. I do not think Elizabeth Warren is weak. I do not think she would have any problem ripping Trump to shreds with her intelligent, articulate words, as well as her penchant for using actual facts about the things he has done and said. What I do think is that Trump, his supporters, and maybe our society in general, is more comfortable discrediting, insulting, and belittling a woman, and can apparently find many ways to do so that don’t even play on her supposed political shortcomings. If we look back to 2016, we can pinpoint a campaign of mud-slinging, half truths, and false generalizations that managed to ultimately ruin Hillary Clinton’s chances, in spite of her being an experienced, qualified, intellectual candidate. It’s now 2020. This is both puzzling and devastating.

When we look at the fact that America has now had it’s first black president (and for two terms!), as well as several people of color, multiple women, and a gay man as candidates for the democratic nomination, it can make us believe we have come a really long way. It certainly feels like we have. When I cast a vote in the primary this week for Elizabeth Warren, I was still hopeful. While republicans would like to draw every parallel they can between her and Hillary, she is not so many of the things our country claimed to hate about Clinton. Warren is not a former First Lady. She isn’t subject to the social bias that Hillary had to endure because of her husband’s behavior while in office. She is not a former member of a White House administration that a (shocking) number of citizens disliked. And yet, she tanked on Tuesday, even in her home state of Massachusetts.

I’m so tired of hearing that we could easily elect a woman if we could just find the right one. The right one. Never mind that we had a diverse group of females running for the nomination this year. Americans found a way to take exception with each one of them, in spite of many being more qualified than several of the male candidates they ran against. It’s demoralizing to feel that our nation is making leaps and bounds in who we would allow to represent us in terms of skin color, background, or sexual orientation - but not gender.

If not this woman, then which woman? And when?