Musings from the Roost: 67 of 100: Election

As I turn in on this election eve, I can't say I'm surprised at the apparent outcome—as I more or less was in 2016, when so many of us (I want to say "all," but that's obviously not accurate) thought Hillary would win.

Welp. I am faced with so many questions, considerations, conundrums this time around. Chief among them, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS COUNTRY? Because seriously, Trump is clearly crazy. And those around him who aren't crazy clearly want to tear this country apart through their greed and intolerance.

But I don't want to investigate all that—because honestly, what to say about insanity, or divisiveness? I'm just thinking about me, in my waning years, and how I will negotiate this sadness.

Basically, I think I'm just going to have to pull my head into my shell, bury it in the sand, hide it (and the rest of my body) under a rock. Retreat. (Call me self-centered, go ahead.)

By that, though, I don't mean moping. I mean, investing more in my own creativity, my own appreciation of this life, my own sources of wonder. I can't do anything about the darkness that is, it seems, sweeping the entire world. But I can ward off darkness personally. Indeed, I must, if I'm going to stay sane.

And I also include actively cultivating my friendships: together, we can share the wonder and keep the light shining. (My friend Lynn asked the other day if there's room for her under my rock. Absolutely! And for anyone else who wants/needs to take shelter. We are in this together.)

I have pondered the idea of moving elsewhere, but that wouldn't fix anything. I do like it right here, in a beautiful place with great weather, and my house will be paid off next year. I'm set. I can travel all I like. Even if I lived in Mongolia, I wouldn't escape the fact that my country had installed an insane person in the White House. I'm American, and that's my lot. It's not a bad one; I will continue, for now, to believe it's something to embrace. Fifty-one percent of the country to the contrary. (Or 51 percent of voters, which as a German/Dutch friend pointed out is a tiny fraction of the total population of the country. How could so many just not care???)

And yes, I may become more involved in my local community, though even there, I'm somewhat played out on the volunteer front: I have given my time in so many realms for decades. Currently, I am taking a break from wilderness rangering—though I know that getting out into nature will be a balm—so my only regular volunteer gig is a weekly literacy session with a lovely Oaxacan woman. (I do not know her immigration status, but I hope she's immune from Trump's threats.) But maybe more opportunities will arise. Staying involved (in life) will continue to be important.

I am about to turn seventy. I had hoped that by now we'd be living in a better world, and yet too many people want to send us backwards. In some ways, I'm done fighting it. It's really up to the younger generations now, to try to make the world they want with what they have and know. It won't be easy.

Me, I think now I'll just appreciate my husband (with his stage 4 cancer diagnosis, so who knows how long I'll be able to do that), my beloved goldendoodle Milo (just turned 14, so ditto), my cats Luna and Ravi. I will continue to appreciate my healthy body, and keep on walking, which I love. I will travel. I will write and read and learn, and take photographs. I will cook. It's really not so different from what I've always done.

Except, that "always" has relied on a background of sanity and hope. There's friction now.

So okay, maybe even in my waning years, I will have to cultivate ferocity as well.

Fuck. Or do I mean, Fuck yeah. Or both. In any case, okay: I'm game. I have no choice.