A patchwork of hurt

Today my Biden sign got mauled by a toddler whose mom was distracted by a phone call. I thought about making a joke about how we had a junior operative on our hands, but the mom was still on the phone and how awkward that joke would have been to try and explain.

Who knows how long we’re in this for? It has already been 8 months and instead of a way out we are heading deeper into an even darker tunnel.

The last debate was different, in that some of the lies were sweet. Who doesn’t want to believe that we are rounding the corner on this thing? Maybe we are but in fact the corner is a multi-year corridor of stairs, an ever-widening spiral staircase in which we walk mostly sideways, increasingly masked and somber, into the dark winter which is not just arriving but which is already here. Though you wouldn’t know it from the massive fires rolling roaring across the country.

I’ve been thinking, how do we all come together eventually, or at all, as a country, and I think it has to be a process of recognizing our nation as a patchwork of hurt, and not get too obsessed with comparing our grievances, because we are all experiencing monumental obstacles across the country and all of our struggles are valid. So let’s figure out how to help each other and move forward.

It’s not either/or, blue/red. Flush that color schism out of our system. It’s creating a lack of oxygen, we only have breath enough to gasp in horror at what we’re seeing and seemingly not able to do anything about. I can understand needing an outlet for our anger and helplessness, and that it’s easy to push out against whatever appears to be opposite you, but right now we’re punching through each other, pushing past all belief in our shared humanity and goodness. It seems being brought to our knees is no longer good enough, the fever must crash in a last electoral wave, and whatever happens from here it’s clear we have already been lain low.

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