Clarity

I suspected it, but I couldn’t have known for sure, not until the veil lifted, not until the deed was done, not until the declaration of President-elect was announced.

I’d felt this election was holding me hostage, sucking up all my energy and setting my imagination to inert, but only upon waking the day after can I confirm my suspicions.

For the first time in months my mind slipped into creative meditation leaving the gnawing realities to wait patiently for my more wakened state. I saw images of fairy tale walks, heard characters telling me their stories revealing where I must take them and why. I stopped despairing over all that hasn’t been working and set a plan for the next step forward, how one foot in front of the other can be enough.

The part of my brain conditioned to worry is still frightened, untrusting, uncertain. It doesn’t believe that I’ll hold this energized view for longer than it takes to type this sentence. It has a bit of experience with how these moods can come and go.

But I’m tired of how I’ve been living, how I’ve not been living but simply staying alive. And I figure if Obama can rise up to become president, I can manage to type a few words upon the page each day, can line up a photo job here and there, can plan a dinner party to gather friends who will want to insist that the traffic to cross town is too heavy, that there’s work to be done or sleep to be had.

But I will insist.

If nothing else, hosting a small election party reminded me of the power of shared experience, how we can all get by in singularity, but that the quality of certain moments can be so very heightened when in the company of others.

Of course the right others, not just any others.

By the way, I’m looking to line up a few more right others.

I’m done with shallow breaths, wanting once again to fill my lungs to their fullest. And I want others to do the same, because there’s been too much aching occupying our days, too much focus on what we can’t control over what we can, too much hopelessness. I’ve been the guiltiest of all. I know it. But it’s time to embrace the new chapter. Please come along.

Optimism

Today I woke with optimism, optimism that has been missing for so long, optimism that had vanished like a friend who goes on a roadtrip promising to call upon return only return never happens and instead silence and alone becomes your companion.

And waiting. There’s all that waiting.

I’ve been waiting for optimism because it’s been so lonely without it.

Without optimism my days have felt long and tedious and repetitive. 

Without optimism I haven’t felt like seeking companionship because my words were too quiet and thin, uninspiring, on the brink of bitter at all times.
Without optimism I couldn’t imagine a future any different from today, and with today reeking of dissatisfaction that just wasn’t a place I wanted to consider.
Without optimism I lost faith in myself, in my ability to change and progress, to become, to inhabit, to embody any feeling beside disinterest.

So of course I feel joyous upon optimism’s return, because with it comes the sensation of a grand shift, of a day packed with full thoughts, richer thoughts, of possibility.

As I stood in line to vote, in the first line I’ve ever encountered at my polling place, I joined the conversation around me. I met neighbors I’ve never seen, people who live within a block of my front door. And I looked to the lunch tables at my side and wished I’d anticipated this moment, had brought cookies and pastries and treats for a post-vote slice of community. And I said, “We should have a block party,” and I meant it.

And maybe we will, and maybe I’ll be the organizer, my first act of optimism after voting.