America the Beautiful

I am not one to watch television or consume much digital media. As reported by my Iphone, Last week’s total screen time was 2 hours and 14 minutes.

I spent the day yesterday glued to live coverage of the inauguration of the 46th President and Vice President of the United States the honorable Joe Biden and the honorable Kamala Harris. I felt compelled to do so. I was equal parts thrilled that the inauguration was happening and terrified by the anticipation of what might unfold. Thank the Great Lordissa (the goddess of my understanding) I was completely enthralled. The power of Amanda Gorman, words more striking than her compelling presence. The grace of Lady Gaga, the beauty of J lo, and grounding of Garth Brookes settling my spirits with awe and gratitude through the cannon of familiar American hymns and songs. Wow. As I tidied around the house, cooked some meals, did my chores and texted with my kids I wept. Unrelenting swells of pride and relief rolled through me like waves on the infinite shore. Dear Lordissa, I had not felt this sense of calm and hope in well over four years. That’s the thing about abusive relationships. You do not really know how bad they are until they’re over.

Throughout the past four years under a pall of misogyny and misinformation I’ve felt my country change. The insidious power of hate seeping into our daily lives through digital media and misinformation that was too horrible to read and too dangerous not to.  I asked myself a daily question learned from a beloved History Professor who asked: “Who is the intended audience?”

As a first year university student, the idea was new to me. Critical Thinking 101. I have spent the past four years wishing this question outward to my fellow Americans hoping people have the ability to discern the subtlety of the question. Hoping folks understood the difference between social media and journalism. “Do people understand? Our attention is what he craves…. Turn away!! Shut it off! It’s not real!” “Haven’t you ever met a guy like him in a bar?” “Wake up!” It was all so disturbing. Imagining the men behind the screen moving the agenda of hate and exclusion forward while playfully showboating the opposite as a ruse to lure in the masses. Oh my…… I remember a profound consternation to the point of existential crisis when words no longer seemed to mean what they had always meant. Truth was spun into “Alternate Facts” Lordisssa- my pulse quickens with the remembrance of that unsettling time.

Four years ago today was the Women’s March. The night before we rallied old friends, shared food and comfort while making signs for the national protest we were sure to be a part of. There was beauty in the National Reckoning. Ten thousand plus marched in Portland Maine. What was thought to be a National Protest became a global movement. I felt bolstered by the crowds. We will make it through. That day felt like a day to commit to the national conversation seeking answers to the questions of “How on earth did we get here?”

The conversation happened in our home around the dinner table, in our schools and amongst our friends. The conversations took place against the backdrop of National daily gut punches. “How did we get here?” became “He did what?!?” Dumpster fires everywhere…. So much input, so much outrage. The answer for me was to retreat, read, reeducate. I went back to old favorites like The Cunning of History and The Peoples History of the United States. I broadened my horizon when I sought out books like The Indigenous Peoples History of the United States, White Rage, and The Warmth of Other Suns. Michelle’s book Barack’s books and of course interspersed through my reeducation were the tell all books coming out of Washington DC. I devoured them like the addictive Danielle Steele novels of my early twenties (I’m not a saint for god’s sake). I got deeply into podcasts. With each sensational bit of news meant to distract, I looked for the motive behind the distraction. Then over the past year I found Heather Cox Richardson’s Letters from an American and she has been my lifeline.

I made a commitment to work professionally in furthering the creative economy in Maine but more specifically on Peaks Island. We need art and music to remind us all that the current circumstances are temporal, art and music endure. They inspire, they sooth, they comfort in the darkness and they endure. Over time I was able to gain some perspective. I was able to detach from the national Madness and do good work to enlighten hearts and create community. If only in my little corner of the world, I reckoned it’s hard to have a negative opinion of a person after you’ve shared a turn on the dance floor together. It’s easy to have a conversation with someone after you’ve shared an evening of live music or shared a drawing workshop together. It was working. Until the pandemic hit.

The past year has been one of resolve. Had to go. It was time. We as a nation could not take one more day. The relief I felt once the social media companies grew a spine to live up to their own rules of engagement were palpable. Afterall, he did just insite a violent seige of the Capital in order to maintain his percieved power. Let’s face it. Impotent guys always feel like they hold power. Not anymore…..

Then yesterday. A day of gratitude. A day of joy. A day of welcome relief from the madness. Kamala Harris is the Vice President of the United States of America. Girls actually rule. For real. My heart is bursting for all girls everywhere who dare to be who they are. With courage, without apology.

I’m ready.

I’ve mourned our dead. I’ve minded the public health protocols. I’ll get the vaccine as soon as I’m able. I’ll roll up me sleeves and get busy doing the work that will be required “In order to form a more perfect union.” I hope you’ll join me. Peace…