Our new mandate

A post-election post-mortem

I’ve taken the week to process the election results from last Tuesday. I can’t say I have much more clarity or wisdom to offer now than I did Wednesday morning. There’s something I’m missing. And I’m still missing it, but thought I’d provide a brief post-mortem here.

“It’s okay. I understand we cannot be optimistic. I am profoundly unhappy about it. But I know we can be resilient instead.”

These are the words of a 28-year-old beautiful, brilliant, promising young woman when Julie reached out to check on her last week.

“We cannot be optimistic.”

“I am profoundly unhappy.”

“I know we can be resilient instead.”

I’m missing something

This cannot be how we want this rising generation of talent and grace and ideas to feel. We cannot be optimistic. She’s felt this way for a decade, her entire adult life, her life in American politics. And I can assure you she is not alone.

I’m missing something. I know I am.

My office sits directly across from Trump Tower in Chicago. The morning after the election, I looked out my window to see about 100 young men and teenage boys on a deck of that building, posing in rows for a camera, every man white as me, blue blazer’d and khaki’d up, holding up a banner and cheering, high-fiving. Celebrating.

MAGA hats proudly displayed on every head.

I teared up. The scene over there felt harsh to me and, frankly, ominous and dangerous. On a continuum, it felt similar to “We cannot be optimistic.” I was hoping we were heading into a softer, gentler, more open, accepting, inclusive and, frankly, happy era for our young men as well as our young women. From my vantage point, this moment appeared far more like indoctrination into something elitist, fear-based, misogynistic, racist, dark. And renewed.

And my heart broke a little.

I know for a fact that I’m missing something. I hope I’m missing something.

The election itself

To me, this choice last Tuesday wasn’t the lesser of evils. I didn’t feel equivocal when I cast my vote. I felt like she was clearly the right woman for the gig. The humane choice. The only candidate equipped to protect the freedoms and bodily autonomy of girls and women. The candidate eager to preserve the rights of people of color and the LGBTQ community. The candidate with a plan for common sense health care for all Americans. The candidate to provide a path to citizenship for another generation of immigrants with all of their talent and cultural richness and colorful diversity. The candidate overtly providing badly-needed opportunity for young families, for small business owners. The candidate with actual policies based in the best interests of all of us, not just some. Not just those with the most wealth, in seats of power. She felt to me like a truly qualified, measured, and intelligent candidate navigating the most difficult of circumstances.

A rare no-brainer.

On the other hand, we have a man who, objectively, has vocalized some of the crudest, rudest, ugliest, most violent and threatening sentiments, often targeting the most vulnerable among us. Every single day. A pathological liar, a malignant narcissist, a convicted rapist, a true felon, an insurrectionist. Clearly, I could go on.

Here’s the weird part for me, the part I must be missing. I know a lot of people who are Trump supporters and, to an individual, I respect them far, far more than I respect their candidate. These are, on the whole, really good people. I love many of them like family. Their hearts are not filled with hate. They are not racist or misogynistic people. They are not cruel, crude or unkind. They have been truly anxious over these past several years. They are genuinely relieved today, buoyant and celebratory. For them, and they are apparently most of us, some natural order has been restored.  

Their America is not broken. Their America is back.

Again, I’m missing something. Something important.

What I’m not missing

So, there’s a lot I do not know. Let me stick with what I do know, given the job I do, and the impact of our politics on the people, especially the young people, I work with.

I know that our young people are paying attention to all of this noise, assaulting them through all of their tender senses, far more than we did. They see and hear every nuance. In fact, unlike our generation, they are a precious bloc of voters and potential voters, persistently wooed through podcasts and video games and pornography, the Joe Rogan Experience, Barstool Sports and YouTube ads. Our boys in particular, drawn to all of this stimuli, are subject to points of view being dictated to them over the course of hours each day, couched in dopamine-induced entertainment. Eventually, subconsciously, an inordinate number of them adopt these thoughts and ideals as their own.

Clearly, this method works. As one pundit put it the other night, this is political chess, not checkers. It’s smart and sophisticated. It’s a long game.

Also, among our young people, there is a growing gender gap, and these past few elections are responsible for a significant measure of that. While boys and men are being told that girls and women are plotting to seize power from them, the rights of women are being whittled away. Their voices are being silenced or ignored. Their hope is being suspended alongside their long-standing basic rights.

            Him: “Your body. My choice.”

Her: “We cannot be optimistic. We can be resilient instead.”

Can we blame her? What a choice for a girl to have to make as she embarks on the great journey of life. Hope is a lost cause, but maybe we can survive.

And let me tell you with authority, after my therapy sessions just this past week, many young people, especially girls, LGBTQ youth, and kids of color, are losing hope. They don’t trust the political process. They don’t trust adults. And all of this leaves them hyper-stressed, idling on high. They are surviving, but that’s it.  

I spent an hour with a sweet, kind, pensive 18-year-old boy who voted red, but he was dismayed and conflicted by his own actions.

“I don’t know if what I did was right. But I saw him on Rogan, and I don’t want to be left in the dust. He said I’d have no opportunity for a future without his plan. And Rogan said that, with the same resumé, a girl would get my job. I don’t like deciding stuff because I’m afraid, but I am, and I did. Sucks.”

Even the implied winners lose.

Last night, a bright, beautiful young woman told me she was done with men. She didn’t trust them, and the election raised a red flag for every man (she allowed an exemption for me, which I appreciated). Even if they didn’t vote for him, they didn’t join the fight for her, or her cohort. Why would she reward boys or men with her attention, her time, her body?

Young people are more disconnected from each other than they’ve ever been. They don’t date. They experience precious little, if any, intimacy. They rarely touch, or feel the touch, of another person. This lack of connection is increasing, and the arc seems to be bending away from emotional connection and empathy. That spark between the genders is fading fast. This bodes so very poorly for the future.

Yeah, I’m missing something, something important. I am well aware of that. I see the vote count.

But I do know our young people deserve better.

Our new mandate

I refuse to accept hopelessness as a final answer, though I’ve experienced moments of it in the past week. I also eschew hate and division and vitriol, which I’ve also indulged in my share of lately. No, these are not our answers, not long-term at least. That said, if you need a few more days or weeks steeped in fear and loathing, go for it.

This is hard.

For those of you who voted for Harris and Walz, I’m with you, and man, I feel your pain. That campaign felt joyful and hopeful and humane, didn’t it? And the pain of the loss, the overwhelming, shocking loss, is real. So, take care of yourself in these days and weeks. Rest. Check on your people. Watch something stupid. Cry.

But as Kamala said in her remarkable concession speech, don’t forget the joy and the hope and the plans of that campaign. Carry it all with you. Channel it into the next challenge.

Whatever we do next, we need to lead with kindness and love. Trite as that seems, I know it’s correct. The votes are counted. The people have spoken. I’m missing something important, but the people have spoken nonetheless. 

So, once the scars heal, we need to regroup. We need to make our voices heard, regardless. In the sanctity of a therapy office, I’ve seen the human spirit rise from the ashes of darkness, despite all odds, and thrive. I usually find that those who have fallen deepest into the holes of despair are among the strongest of us, the most driven, the leaders and thought leaders of tomorrow.

We need to follow that model of strength, resilience and empathy to rise up, again and again. For the sake of ourselves, as a model for our young people, and for the future of us all, this must be the path going forward. We need to make our voices heard and, just as importantly, we need to listen to learn what we don’t yet understand. Cowering in fear, or screaming in hatred, accomplishes nothing. It teaches nothing. And it makes the future of our children that much bleaker. 

I know you are powerful people, kind and strong, motivated and curious. Let’s put that curiosity to work. Let’s reflect and learn what we don’t know. Let’s figure out what we may have missed. Let’s come back stronger and better equipped. Let’s not allow all of that goodwill to evaporate in vain. This was a crushing political blow, but it did not crush us. We’re strong enough to take stock.

Let’s listen, because we can.

Let’s learn, because we can. 

Let’s adapt, because we can.

And let’s continue to be the force we are, because we can.

And to those of you who voted for the man, who have lamented these past four years and celebrate the future, who feel enormous relief, congratulations. You are seeing and feeling something I’m missing. My God, I hope you are. Through the ugliness, I hope you’re envisioning hope and equality and hearing some pitch I’m deaf to, one suggestive of American values and equality for all people, regardless of race or gender or sexual orientation or socioeconomic status. I know for a fact that the vast majority of you are good, kind, thoughtful people. Some of you I know reached out to me in the wake of Tuesday’s electoral massacre, checking in on me, offering condolences.

Not a single gloat. I appreciated that, truly. More than one of you suggested we can be friends and allies, and approach each other with love and openness, because we’re adults. I hope you’re right, and that you don’t change your mind.

But you Trump supporters carry a mandate here as well. Your guy is going to say and do some terrible things in the coming years. And we all need to keep him in check. We cannot celebrate his frequent crudeness, his incivility, or his overt words of hate and derision. Buckle up. He’s going to provide us with a lot of teachable moments.

Collectively, it is our job to express our disapproval of unkindness. We left-leaners are not the only ones raising children and young adults through these next several years. You are as well. Don’t turn a blind eye to cruelty or misogyny or racism. Shine a light on it. Tell your kids this is not who we are. Provide them a better model than he will.

I know you didn’t choose him for this negativity, but it’s incumbent upon you to call it out assertively. There is nothing either thoughtful or heroic about blind faith to an idealogue.

Finally, I want you all to know that, as I write this, I fully recognize the privilege I carry. I’m a middle-aged, upper middle class, well-educated white male. It’s a stupid degree of privilege. The fear a lot of you carry, for your safety and well-being and perhaps your life, I don’t feel. I can’t imagine it.

Still, I refuse to remain in despair. Isn’t that convenient for me?

But I know a lot of you. And I fear for a lot of you. I fear for our country and our world. I don’t know what happens next. But I do know we need the collective strength and goodwill of each other to make it through.

What we can do

So, I clearly don’t know much, and I’m definitely missing something, but I’ll share a bit of what I have learned, and what we can do now.

-       Be of service to others. I know it sounds ridiculously trite, but that’s been the antidote to my anxiety, and I suspect it will help ease yours as well. I don’t know exactly what my thinking will be in this next chapter. I’m still in a bit of a fog. But I know that when I’m working to help others, which I’m fortunate enough to do frequently, I feel better. Empowered. Hopeful.

-       Titrate your dose of media. I’m unsure where to direct my attention, moment to moment. Consuming media and feeling well-informed about the intentions of this next administration seems imperative. But taking breaks from it all, getting outside, sweating and singing and laughing, also seem important. I’ve spent the lion’s share of the past week doing these things, and I feel healed and invigorated, ready to participate in what’s next.

-       Seek help if you need it. Here’s an odd reality regarding where our country stands right now. As indicated, many of you are thrilled and relieved. Others of us are traumatized. I suspect some of you may take issue with this characterization, this particular word. But based on my interactions with a pretty solid number of people, I stand by it.

In fact, this election has been and continues to be traumatic for millions of Americans. Many are potential victims of what’s coming, and the magnitude of that remains unknown. But the stated intentions are terrifying for underprivileged and marginalized and underrepresented populations. Some of you are my clients. You have not been equivocal in your fears for yourselves and your children.

Many of you feel unsafe. Make sure to get yourselves and your children the help and support you might need to navigate the emotions and realities of the days, weeks and months ahead.

-       Connect with more people, more deeply. I would encourage you to get out into the world and look people in the eye. Smile at them. Talk to them, about something other than politics. Talk about music or sports or the freakin’ weather. You’ll feel better about the human condition and recognize that Washington isn’t the only place where change can take place. It can also happen here, on the ground, eye to eye and soul to soul.

-       Be a safe haven. Many of the girls and young women, people of color and the LGBTQ community, I work with fear they will be abandoned to fend for themselves through these next several years, mocked and vilified for, as one girl put it, the “lack of power we have in the end.” We need to stand shoulder to shoulder with underrepresented people, those with less privilege than ourselves, especially when their rights and dignity are being stripped away. These coming days will not be for the meek.

-       Live your life. None of us survives crisis on a prolonged basis very well. We become symptomatic, and everything from our emotional regulation to our immune system begins to falter. So whether you are excited or terrified or someplace in between, do your thing. Take the run. Apply for the job. Write the paper. Pick up the instrument. Go out on the date. I sincerely believe this is not a time to hole up, but to get out there and live. There’s hope and promise in that.

I’ll practice when I preach here, and you read about something different next week. I promise!

Let’s show ourselves, our boys and our girls all the good we can offer. Let’s manifest something different and new.

We are optimistic. We are resilient. We are happy.

Let’s get back to work.