First, Do No Harm

My daughter and I had an argument about the definition of intelligence yesterday. We were on a walk at the nature preserve across the street from us. Because the speed limit is 50 and the road is busy, and because our dog is a bit unruly, we drove there in a large vehicle filled with our family of four and the dog.

We walked a well-worn path over expansive fields of wan grasses, avoiding the giant patches of mud that dot the New England landscape in late March, stopping every now and then to let the dog sniff some interesting scent. My daugther marveled at his insistent and prodigious sense of smell and asserted that humans are not necessarily the most intelligence animals. Given the utter disaster that is our country’s response to our current global pandemic, this was a somewhat difficult statement to argue with. But I had to.

“Well, technically, we are the most intelligent animals,” I said.

She would not concede the point, pointing out that humans are pretty mediocre at a lot of things: in addition to our dog having a far better sense of smell than we do, cats have quicker reaction times, dolphins’ communication is so complex we can’t understand it, and certain types of lizards, birds and bugs have multiple times the capacity to perceive color.

“Sure, but really the definition of intelligence is the ability to process and synthesize information and apply it to new situations. We are very good at that,” I countered.

“Yeah, but really, knowing how to make an atom bomb is one thing, actually making them is just not smart.”

“But ‘smart’ and ‘intelligent’ are two different things, and smart is more of a cultural thing. Intelligence can actually be measured based on the complexity of the synaptic network in the brain and the ability to learn. That’s why they call what computers are doing artificial intelligence. AI might actually surpass humans in intelligence pretty soon, actually.”

My daughter was frustrated, pointing out that she had taken a class on this in college and wasn’t “just pulling this out of my ass”.

I reassured her that I was not in any way suggesting that she was pulling anything out of her ass, and that she had a valid point about there being different types of intelligence, but that overall, taking a holistic view of things, humans were at the pinnacle of what is defined as intelligence.

“But that doesn’t make us any better!” she said, pivoting to a point she could win by insinuating that I had equated intelligence with worth. It was a familiar tactic, and I was perfectly happy to concede the point.

“God no!” I said, “it definitely doesn’t make us any better.”

Upon further reflection, though, I think this IS the main problem with humans. Most of us do think we’re better because we are intelligent, and though rationally I know this, my own actions tell a different story. I may not be making or dropping an atomic bomb every day, but I do utilize my (and my species’) intelligence to make myself more comfortable at the expense of pretty much all other living creatures. No one and no thing is effectively getting in humans’ way as we pave over larger and larger swaths of earth, cut down the rain forest, capture all the fish in the sea, dig giant holes in the ground that we fill with chemicals to extract minerals and gases and oils, build bigger and bigger cities, send planes into the sky and satellites into orbit, dam the most powerful rivers in the world, create continent-sized islands of plastic in the ocean, develop body-protecting and preserving drugs that allow us to live longer and healthier lives, and develop a communication network that allows us to get information on any subject we can think of in a matter of seconds.

(“Hey, Siri!”)

I think this pandemic (which, incidentally is from the Greek word ‘demos’ that is also at the root of “democracy” and means people) has caused so much consternation because we humans of high intelligence are not used to being threatened by anything other than other humans. We cannot argue a pandemic away, or vote it out, or lock it up. We can’t launch a media campaign to render it irrelevant; we can’t hire a hit man, or bribe or bully it, or try a little quid pro quo. This stupid little, itty bitty corona-virus is not even technically alive. How fitting that this thing is named after a crown, fit for a king, ready to subdue us.

It has been suggested that maybe the pandemic is our comeuppance for treating the world with such disrespect; that perhaps the earth, known variously and throughout the ages as Gaia, Ala, Ki, Geb, Erde, Tellus, Asase Yaa, Prithvi, Danu, Mokosh, and Coatlicue to name but a few, is trying to get us out from under her skin, shed us off, sweat us out, throw us up to purge us from her system. Maybe we are the virus: billions of replicating little kings and queens infecting her airways, her waterways, and her skin with our poison. Maybe the earth is intelligent in the way of plants and animals: not through deliberately planning for the future, or analyzing data, or applying previously learned information to novel situations, but by simply being a well-regulated, interconnected, highly complex system.

Primum non nocere – first, do no harm – is the philosophical underpinning of medicine since the time of Hippocrates, the idea being that we must be careful that we don’t administer a cure that is worse than the disease. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not arguing that we let Covid-19 (or the next pandemic) take its course and wipe us all out. But I am suggesting that we recognize that we, too, are a dis-ease upon the planet and that to protect ourselves, we have to protect our host. In the 14^th century, the Great Plague killed upwards of 200 million people over the course of four devastating years, or about half of the human population. It changed everything: there were labor shortages, massive population relocations, changes in the climate, and a Renaissance in arts and culture focused more on earthly experience than the spiritual afterlife.

I’d like to think that we can use our impressive neural and communication networks to re-organize ourselves during and after this pandemic. I’d like to think that we can learn a thing or two from our fellow species: to use our senses to learn about the world under our feet, to see how glorious Mother Earth is, and how bountiful, to listen more carefully to each other, to rest more, consume less, use only what we need, share the leftovers, pick up after ourselves, slow down, and abide by the principle of primum non nocere – first, do no harm.

We’ll see.

(Note: The names of the deities all female but for one come from respectively, Ancient Greece, Nigeria, Sumer, Egypt, Germany, the Roman Empire, West Africa, the Hindi tradition, the Celtic tradition, the Slavic tradition, and the Aztecs.)

Dear Representative Pappas,

A friend of mine received the response (below) from the Representative in response to a request for the Congressman to pursue impeachment of the current occupant of the White House. I am writing to you now to express how seriously disappointed I am in the say-nothing, do-nothing platitudes and talking points in this letter. 

The Congressman (or his timid staff writer) expresses no true acknowledgement of the depths to of depravity through which the current administration has dragged our country, our allies, our most vulnerable citizens, and would-be-citizens. The letter says, "this is not how a president should conduct himself in office". Ya think? Trump is well on his way to becoming a tyrant, and all the Democratic opposition in Congress can do is say 'tsk, tsk'. 

The letter says "Americans deserve a transparent, accountable government where no official is above the law," but it also clearly indicates a disinclination to do anything to actually achieve that transparent, accountable government. Words attributed to Chris include,  "I remain committed to providing thorough oversight of President Trump's actions" but declines to say what that means - certainly there is no commitment to impeachment, no mention of any other investigation, no explanation of why waiting is the right thing to do. We don't need Chris Pappas for 'oversight' - Trump does his dirty work in plain sight - laws and norms be damned. We can all "oversee" the crumbling of our democracy: we see it, listen to it, read about it, talk about it, tweet about it every day. We already know how disastrous, incompetent, corrupt and self-dealing this president is - what we need is for our elected leaders to stop him and hold him accountable, as soon as possible. 

"Standing up", being "committed", being "concerned", "seeking common ground" are as useless as thoughts and prayers. Such ineffective, passive activity is literally enabling and encouraging this so-called President to continue to give Russia and North Korea a pass, to push his hateful, racist agenda on all sides of our borders, to pack the courts with Federalist Society fundamentalists whose idea of 'Make America Great Again' is to roll back women's rights, gay rights, first amendment rights and democratic norms. This is not the time for calm deliberation or 'unpacking' of the Mueller Report. There's not just smoke swirling around this administration, there's a five alarm fire, but while Rome burns, the Democrats wring their hands and talk vaguely and impotently about bipartisanship. 

It's time for the Democrats to stop worrying about how it will look if they impeach, and start worrying about what will happen to all of us if they forsake their Constitutional duty to bring charges against this president for the crimes and misdemeanors he has committed. "Take care" that the laws are faithfully executed, Representative, that's the job we sent you to Washington to do. 

Mary Downes

Durham, NH

Dear XXXX,

Thank you for contacting me regarding impeaching President Trump and his conduct in office. I appreciate you taking the time to offer your views and opinions, as it helps me to better represent you and New Hampshire’s priorities in Congress.

Since President Trump’s inauguration, many Granite Staters have shared their concerns with me about his public statements in office, including his tendency to make insensitive comments and false statements. They have also expressed outrage over his attacks on the free press, our allies around the world, and the institutions of our democracy. Further, many of my constituents have written and spoken with me about their frustration regarding the Trump administration’s attempts to undercut the work of the Special Counsel, as well as their concerns about the administration’s policies, from the mistreatment of migrant children at our border to the dismantling of crucial environmental protections to his proposal to bar transgender Americans from serving in uniform.

I understand and share these concerns and believe this is not how a president should conduct himself in office. In New Hampshire, we solve problems by respecting one another, genuinely listening, and working for the common good. I will continue to do things the Granite State way as I serve you in Washington. Whenever President Trump takes actions that threaten our institutions, our national security, our values of acceptance and inclusion, or the wellbeing of our families, I will work to hold him accountable. At the same time, I will continue to seek common ground with Republicans in Congress and the administration when it comes to the big challenges facing our state, including rebuilding our crumbling infrastructure, combating the opioid epidemic, and bringing down the high cost of prescription drugs.

Please be assured that I remain committed to providing thorough oversight of President Trump's actions. Americans deserve a transparent, accountable government where no official is above the law. They deserve to know that their democracy is safe from outside meddling by Russia and other bad actors. Congress must continue to unpack this report, examine its findings, and determine how we can best move forward. As your representative in Congress, I will continue to stand up for the people of our state and our shared values as I work to ensure that our democracy truly works for all of us.

Thank you again for sharing your thoughts on this important matter, and I look forward to keeping in touch. I strive to maintain an open dialogue with the people of New Hampshire about issues that matter to our state. If you have any further questions or concerns, please feel free to contact my Washington, DC office at (202) 225-5456 or my Dover office at (603) 285-4300. I also encourage you to keep up with the work I am doing by signing up for my weekly update at https://pappas.house.gov/contact/newsletter.

Sincerely,

Member of Congress

Elected Office Representative

Job Description: Elected Office Representative ("EOR"), Full-Time Temporary

Reports to: The electorate

Benefits: Excellent, including generous vacation, complete health and dental coverage (depending on level of government), full travel expenses, and various discounts and other perks, opportunity for book deals during or following service

Description of Duties: The EOR will work with a team of other elected officials and experienced staff to craft legislation to improve the functioning of society. Will be assigned to one or more committees that monitor one or more aspects of executive branch operations. These operations are undertaken by skilled civil servants overseen by an elected Chief Executive. The EOR and the committee(s) on which s/he serves will provides advice and consent as required or requested to the Chief Executive, various boards, committees, and commissions. The EOR must effectively communicate public policy, and progress in solving current societal issues to the general public, as well as to co-workers engaged in other aspects of oversight. In addition, the EOR must effectively seek input and feedback from constituents, many of whom have little interest in or understanding of the complexities of the social problems the EOR and his/her colleagues have been assigned to address.  The successful candidate will have experience in effectively identifying and negotiating solutions to a complex and inter-related societal challenges.

Required Skills and/or Experience:

Communication skills, Must be willing and able to read, understand, and comment on voluminous amounts of written legal material on wide-ranging subject matter, from economic development to education to health care. Other necessary communication skills include extemporaneous oratory, and ability to build trusting relationships with co-workers. Good listening skills, politeness, and even-temperedness, as well as ability to negotiate and compromise are essential, as is a healthy sense of humor.  

Ability to work effectively as a member of various teams. The EOR will be assigned to one or more committees, but will also be under pressure to meet the more narrow re-election and fundraising goals of the EOR’s sponsor/party. In order to be effective on the job, it is essential that the short-term goals of the sponsor/party be secondary to the longer term societal goals identified collectively. This tension can sometimes become extraordinary, yet performance evaluation will be made on the EOR’s demonstrated commitment to and effectiveness in serving the larger society rather than the more narrow and self-serving goals of the sponsor/party.

Ability to fundraise. Separate from, but related to, to the specific duties of the EOR is the ability to raise funds for frequent re-election campaigns. Dependence on financial sponsors whose demands are not aligned with the EOR or his/her constituency raise frequent, if not constant, ethical dilemmas, requiring an exceptional degree of honesty and integrity. Fundraising duties are an accepted part of any EOR’s life, but must be undertaken outside the course of normal duties, on the EOR’s own time. Failure to do so can result in censure, public humiliation, and in extreme cases, legal prosecution.

Other desirable qualities for the successful candidate:

Appealing personal history

Photogenic appearance

Memorable, unembarrassing name

Appealing spouse (heterosexual strongly preferred)

Personal wealth (particularly for candidates not already in office)

Ease with constituents from all socio-economic classes

Ability to repeat oneself repeatedly for speeches

Willingness to spend long periods of time away from home

Respect for the political process

Ability to build and effectively supervise a team

Familiarity with State and/or Federal Constitutions

In light of the New Yorker article that was recently published about VP Michael Pence's views on women, I thought I would post this piece that I wrote a few years ago. I had thought that it was a bit too much, but now I think it might be a bit too modest. I would love your thoughts.

A Modesty Proposal 

That most important social problem, which has been plaguing humanity since Mary Magdalene, is thankfully being addressed by righteous members of the Republican Party.

Sad to say, America is being overcome by the lustful desires of its supposedly fairer sex. Woman have become so obsessed with attracting sexual attention that they have managed through various provocations to entice the naturally reticent, demur, and gentle men of America to have sexual intercourse with them, again and again and again. Indeed, it is safe to say we are experiencing an epidemic of intercourse.

What is more, the popular culture has had little choice but to give in to the power and depravity of these woman by making sex and all sorts of casual relationships among people seem fun and exciting. Their influence has led to non-procreational sexual contact being shown casually and endlessly in movies, television, advertising, online pornography, and even, it has been reported, in Girl Scout meetings, Planned Parenthood materials, and 7th grade health class. Horribly, this depravity has infected our naturally practical and sensible fashion designers, who under the influence of these sex-crazed women, are producing ever more provocative styles that over-emphasize cleavage and curves. Stores with good old fashioned names are now shamefully filled with rows and rows of shoes with 6-inch heels, and openly display aisle after aisle of push-up brassieres, and even sport bins of push-up panties lined with lace. Decent men like Rush Limbaugh and Newt Gingrich are helpless in the face of such blatant invitations to moral turpitude. Our very heroes are being brought to their knees.

Yes, we must face the fact that non-procreational sexual contact is no longer considered verboten, even among those raised in supposedly “good” church-going families. Fortunately, there are steps we can take to protect our vulnerable young men.

First, girls should be prohibited from participating in any activity in which they can show parts of their bodies that might distract young men, unless they are only in the company of other girls, but only under close supervision to prevent even more unnatural than non-procreational heterosexual contact, namely non-procreational homosexual contact. Better that girls participate in sport-type activities in isolation, but only under close supervision so that they are not wantonly led into some kind of monadistic arousal. In short, we strongly recommend an immediate halt to all female sports, and an end to production and sale of female bathing suits, shorts, skirts, frilly blouses, tee-shirts, strapless tops, jewelry, high heel shoes, stockings, and makeup. Also, the head and face of all females should be covered by a scarf or veil when in public, which should be as little as possible.

Second, the chastity belt has been long engaged in preventing women from participating in inappropriate sexual contact. From the time a girl begins to develop breasts (i.e., about the age of 7) to the time she is given away in marriage to a heterosexual male, she shall wear a properly fitted chastity belt, after which time the use of such device shall be at the discretion of her husband (or in certain circumstances, her legislator). We recommend for health reasons that the harsh metal model of yesteryear be updated with a more comfortable and sanitary plastic and rubber device equipped with a modern lock that can’t be tampered with. We strongly recommend that the chastity belt be the only form of birth control allowed, and that it shall be a mandated requirement of all employer-sponsored health plans. 

While we regret the potential imposition represented by this course of action on that small subset of women of good moral character, it is only fair to impose this restriction equally across all classes of women and of all religious faiths. It is not only for the good of the women of this country, but more importantly for the good of the men, who will be able to go about the important business of concentrating the wealth and political power of the nation undistracted by the baser instinctual desire for non-procreational sexual contact.


Please share this if you agree.

Transgender youth and the bathrooms they use have been in the news a lot lately, and in the courts, and it got me thinking. This flash fiction piece is not about politics, or court cases, but about the imagined thought process of a trans-teenager who has to go to the bathroom at school. A cis woman, and a mom of two cis kids, I seek to understand. I welcome your feedback.

 Who Raised You? 

      I had a whole diet soda at lunch. There is something about the sound of the can dropping down into the black cavity where you reach your hand in to retrieve it that I can’t resist. Kaklunk. And it’s only a dollar, an otherwise useless and limp green piece of paper, for a delicious 12 ounce can of pseudo-sweet caffeinated blast of illicitness. I’m not allowed to have it at home.
      But now it’s an hour later and my bladder is crying to be relieved, and I am oblivious to the teacher’s instructions: his master’s degree training, his educational wisdom is failing to make its way even to my short term memory because I’m thinking about running into Robby Love in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. He makes excuses to get out of class all the time and the teachers all hate him so they give him a pass. Sometimes he’s in the hallway because he’s on his way to or from the principal’s office, sometimes he’s just walking around by himself with that wide gait, his pants halfway down his butt, his hands in his pockets keeping them from falling down to his knees. If I use the girls’ bathroom and Robby’s around he’ll tell everyone I used the girl’s room. But if I use the boy’s room and he sees me, he’ll probably punch me again, and call me a girl for not fighting back.
       I can’t stand it anymore and raise my hand.
       “Yes Carly?” the teacher says.
       “Carl,” I correct him, quietly. I wait a beat to see if he’ll say my name, but everyone’s staring at me and my face is hot, so I let it go and tell him I need a bathroom pass. There are sniggers, which I’m used to by now.
        Mr. Blevin waves me up to his desk with one hand, annoyed by the interruption. I stand up and make my way to the front, stepping awkwardly over backpacks, and scooting sideways between the desks and chairs that are spaced too close together. No one moves to make it any easier for me.
       Mr. Blevin has scribbled my name on the little paper pass that’s been photocopied from a photocopy god knows how many times. “Carl” it says, and I smile. I leave the classroom into the empty hallway still trying to decide whether to use the boys’ room or the girls’. It’s super quiet out here and I can breathe. I decide to risk it and lean into the boys’ room door.
       It smells different than the girls’ room, and I wonder if they use different cleaning supplies. Blue for boys, pink for girls. I am in a stall and sitting down to pee when someone comes in. Whoever it is shuffles over to the urinal and, after a pause, I hear the heavy stream hitting the porcelain bowl until it’s just a drip, and then it stops. They zip up and leave without washing their hands. Gross, I think to myself, and my mom’s voice is in my head saying to this kid, maybe Robby but probably not, “who raised you?”

January 22, 2017

I went to the Women’s March on Washington yesterday with my 19-year old daughter and my 80-something year old mother. Though I’ve lost track of how many demonstrations I’ve been to in Washington, this one was different for me, a 50-year old woman. We got back this morning around 3:30 am and I still feel that raw, tired, slightly hungover feeling you get when you have not had enough sleep.

Like most of these gatherings, the Women’s March was a chaotic, disorganized, wild affair. This one featured a highly diverse mix of women and men, the former outnumbering the latter by probably 4 to 1. This gave the rally a very distinct, and pink, sensibility. While there was anger, there was also a sense of celebration and confidence. I wondered if it would be less restrained, less hopeful had the ratio of “minorities” to white, straight woman had also been 4 to 1. Restraint and politeness are luxuries, easily accessible to the privileged. And while white women are not universally privileged, it’s probably fair to say that most of us at the march have pretty intact lives, at least for the moment. As one of the endless string of speakers said in relation to all us middle class white woman suddenly waking up to the nightmare of oppression and unfairness that is America under DJT, ‘welcome to my world.’

Unlike other marches I remember, there was hardly a police officer to be seen, and then only at the far periphery of the march where they seemed more concerned about vehicular traffic than human. We were remarkably self-organized and self-regulated and only a little bit impatient about the utter lack of bathrooms or the fact that there wasn’t really a march, at least where we were on Constitution Ave. The march was to walking like rush hour traffic is to commuting. In other words, we stayed put. Which for this claustrophobe was not always calming. For the first time in my life, and you can read this figuratively as well as literally, I was more concerned about losing my mother in the crowd, or failing to protect her from getting trampled, than I was worried about losing my daughter.

At 19, Haley wished she could hear the speakers and the music better, and wondered for three hours, when the march was going to start. I think she was impressed by the size and scale and scope of it all, if slightly confused about the larger point. And while I wasn’t worried about losing her yesterday, and knew there were others in our group who would see her back to the bus if mom and I got separated, it pisses me off that she is facing a potential future in which religious extremists get to impose their version of morality on her. It’s not just her reproductive rights and access to health care that I worry about, but her entire future. I keep wondering how we could collectively let this happen.

It’s been 45 years, nearly my whole life, since my mother went to work for New Hampshire’s Family Planning, a federally-funded state-administered program for poor women enacted under Title X of the Public Health Service Act back in 1970s. Yeah, back then. These are the funds are used to support everything but abortions at Planned Parenthood, which is one of the only organizations that operates at scale anywhere in the country. Family Planning funding will be lucky to survive the first year of the Republican controlled Congress, because if they ‘de-fund’ Planned Parenthood, there are not enough other service providers to fill the gap. And this should concern not only women’s health and reproductive rights advocates but pro-life advocates, as well. Studies have shown a very clear link between access to family planning education and contraception, and abortion rates. In other words, if you don’t provide supports to women during their reproductive years, they tend to get pregnant by accident more often, and those pregnancies tend to get terminated more frequently.

My mother was born in England during the depression, trained as a midwife and employed as an Ob-Gyn nurse in both England and the US. She was my school nurse before she started working for the State of NH, surviving in the gubernatorial reign of Meldrim Thomson, who served as NH’s chief executive from 1973 to 1979 and who makes Gov. Paul LePage of Maine look like a liberal by comparison. It kills me a little inside that after all the work that has been done by women like my mother, and all the apparent progress, that we are where we are in 2017.

When my mom heard about the march, she told me she wanted to go. I was dubious but she pushed me, and I got tickets, and a hotel room. She wanted to make sure that she was counted among the hundreds of thousands of others who were going to make the trip. Like everyone else, we had no idea it was going to be quite so big. I am not sure if I get to be proud of my mom – it’s a little like being proud of the sun or the moon – but I sure am inspired by her. Lots of people at the march were inspired by her as well. She got compliments on her purple hat (she “didn’t care much” for the pussy hats, she told me with a slightly pained expression, so she wore her own hand-knitted wool beret). We got special treatment from the kind women in the hour-long bathroom line, and on our way through the ridiculous wall of people lining Constitution Ave, and on the subway, and in the taxi we resorted to in the morning because the line at New Carrollton Metro Station was simply absurd. Our driver Malik took my credit card and told me – no admonished me - to be careful, and reminded me that I had an elder with me.

Several people asked mom if they could take her picture (“I must look so old!” she said). She’s not actually very frail but with her white hair, she looks like she might be. Though she was happy to have the portable seat I got on Amazon, my mother walks farther on her treadmill in a day than I typically do in a week. She lives alone, mows her own lawn, plants her own garden in the spring (most of which she gives away), insists on waiting on you hand and foot when you visit (and is politely insulted if you don’t want a cup of tea or a glass of sherry, depending on the time of day). She refuses to take any medications, (except for a baby aspirin a day, she always reminds me when I brag about her). Even ibuprofen and acetaminophen are rejected for the pain in her hip, which is a pretty constant companion these days. “It’s not good for you,” she always says.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that those of us who came of age since the early 1970s owe it to our mothers’ generation to fight like hell to preserve the rights they won for us. We owe it to our grandmothers and great-grandmothers to fight like hell to use the rights they struggled (imperfectly) to win for us, so that we could participate in this (imperfect) democracy. And not just by voting a couple of times a year. We have our jobs, and our kids, and our parents, and our social lives to tend to, sure. But if we do not have each other’s backs - including the backs of women who look different than we do, speak a different language, listen to different music, worship differently - then we have failed our mothers and our grandmothers. We have to be there for each other not just in personal and private woman-to-woman ways, which we’ve been doing since the beginning of time, we have to be there for each other in plain sight: in front of law makers, in the courts, in our places of employment, and in the places we go to pray. We have to stand up for women in restaurants and bars, in classrooms, in coffee shops and in the media. We have to be relentless.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” my mom said to me on the bus on the way home when I asked her “are you glad you came?” I’m so glad that we went, three generations, in the company of relative strangers who enfolded us into their lives, protected us, cared for us, looked out for us. We need to do that for each other every day and never stop. Yesterday, mom told me she plans to live until she’s 95. I don’t doubt it.  I’ll be doing my best to keep up with her, fighting the fight because that’s what women do. You get up every day and do it again. You keep going.  

Arrival and Departure

Sounds like an airport, I know. We are always leaving the past and arriving in the future. But what if we didn't hang out in the chairs by the gate, but lived fully in the moment that is neither behind us or ahead of us, but just now. Right now.

I have spent a lot of my mental energy since November 8th thinking about what is to come as a result of the election of Donald Trump to the highest office in the land. And it has been pretty debilitating at times. I cried myself to sleep on election night, and have broken down sobbing more times than I can count since then thinking about any number of outcomes (which I will not list because I'm sure you know what they are) that will affect people around the world, including my own family (but in truth I am pretty privileged). Even though Trump hasn't even taken office yet, people have suffered in the here and now, in very real and personal ways. Never has "bully pulpit" so literally referred to the office of the Presiden.

But the only time I can act is now. In this now I can plan, or I can cry, or I can pour another glass of wine, or eat another brownie, or post another article on Facebook hoping everyone will read it and understand. But it's the actual activities I have undertaken that have made me feel best - making donations to Planned Parenthood and the ACLU and Haven, going to the local meeting of the Democratic Party, writing a letter to the local Muslim Association to express my support, calling the offices of various politicians to protest Bannon getting anywhere near the reins of power, writing to the Town Manager asking that Durham (my home town) affirm immigrant-friendly policies that ensure the safety and security of students or others who might be in the country without proper documentation, but who have not committed any crime other than being born elsewhere to parents without connections. I even went to the Unitarian Church in Portsmouth last Sunday to find like-minded people and sit in communion with them. I NEVER go to church, but it was good to share time with good, open minded people.

I'm talking to people at work who voted for Trump, because honestly they are good people, too, and I want them to know that they are living in a diverse society that includes people who will be hurt by the policies that are going to come. I want to be the voice and the witness for those who don't have jobs at my company, who are in-visible to them. And I want to provide support to others to do that, too. Pantsuit Nation - do you know about it? It's a social media group comprised of people who support(ed) Hillary Clinton, who tell their stories from across the country about their neighbors and family members and co-workers and total strangers that are mean (or kind), hateful, (or righteously supportive). There are tens, maybe hundreds of millions of people who have made the choice to be HERE in this moment as strong, supportive, loving PRESENT humans. Others are painfully separated from what it means to be fully human, in communion with the rest of us, feeling a need to hate and separate because of some wrong that has likely been done to them. They too belong to the now.

I so want us all to be human together, in this moment, and in all those that will inevitably follow. If we acknowledge each other's truth, each other's experience, each other's pain and sorrow and joys and transcendences, then we will make a difference in the world. One day, one moment, one story at a time. Neither arriving, nor departing, but being right where we are, together.