In all the years I’ve lived on this earth, I believe the 2024 election for U.S. President was one of the most stressful ever. The process seemed to last for eons. Did you know that the majority of candidates in a Canadian election only have 37 to 51 days to campaign before election day? Wouldn’t that be a relief? Our current iteration seems to go on ad infinitum, not unlike the scenario of stores decorating for Christmas in January.
Now that it’s over, many of the 68 million Americans that voted for democratic principles, human rights, and the rule of law are in shock, grief, and disbelief, certainly partially because their ubiquitous conviction reflected the words of an old Christmas carol that “the wrong shall fail, the right prevail.” Whether you happen to be one of those, or you’re simply exhausted from the process, this column is for you. From the heart. To perhaps begin the healing of a part of yours.
Myriad suggestions on seeking relief are flying around social media, and I’m latching onto several of those that seem to make sense to this Pollyanna. Pour yourself a cuppa tea, glass of wine, or shot of bourbon, put your feet up, get comfy, and read on.
In his Substack newsletter, “Steady,” newsman Dan Rather addressed his hundreds of thousands of subscribers after the election. While navigating the uncertain road ahead, he emphasized, “First, take care of yourself, and check in on friends and loved ones. A majority of Americans has spoken, and we must accept their choice. But there’s nothing that says we have to like it…. Please don’t be discouraged.”
Rather then referred to Winston Churchill’s words to the people of England during World War II: “Never, never, never give up.”
To which I’ll humbly add, not on yourself, not on the world seeking balance, not on your country.
The level-headed Rather’s initial words about taking care ring true from many sources during this time referred to by author Daniel Hunter as one of “psychological exhaustion and despair.” If you’re feeling this even a tiny bit, stick with me.
Hunter advises us to “Pay grave attention to our inner states.” Not the red or blue ones, but the states of our emotions, of how we’re feeling after this all-too-lengthy time of over-watching and over-listening-to candidates, pundits, and the latest polls, and of wishing, hoping, and trying to determine the most effective ways to help. Did we need to give more money, write more notes, make more phone calls, plant more yard signs, knock on more doors, say more prayers, or work at the polls on election day? Whew!
If you’ve reached the end of your energy and hope is but a word you no longer trust, allow yourself time to grieve. Take life pressures off as best you can. Find ways to relax daily, if only for 15 or 20 minutes; if you do that regularly, it can help. Connect with like-minded friends whom you trust and talk out your frustrations. Find your own path and envision it leading to a positive future. This won’t happen overnight but stay focused on your goal(s).
Whatever you do, don’t give in to despair.
As a Kentuckian, I often turn for relief to the words of one my state’s honored native sons – farmer, poet, environmentalist, activist, academic, novelist, and essayist Wendell Berry. Winner of the National Humanities Medal, Berry has spread the word about the importance of sustainability – the protection of nature, the precarious state of the natural world, and our obligation as residents to make sure its balance remains intact – in more than 50 books. One of his much-loved poems seems perfect for these uncertain days. At least three times in the past week, I’ve received this in answer to “Now what?” from a fellow seeker.
In just a few words, “The Peace of Wild Things” creates a vision of finding comfort in nature. Let it sink into your heart and ease your mind.
“When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives might be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”
We who live in the Lowcountry have easy access to the marvelous gifts that Berry mentions. Step outside and inhale the thick, salty air. Wrinkle your nose at the smell of sloughy pluff mud. Hearken to the cries of osprey and laughing gulls overhead. Marvel as sunshine spreads diamonds over ponds, lakes, rivers, and that big ol’ Atlantic. Laugh at the antics of dolphins and mullet as they leap into the air with seeming pure joy. Marvel at the rebirth of resurrection ferns after a rain shower and the emergence of green in the springtime marsh. Watch a Great Blue Heron at marsh’s edge carefully, quietly creep on spindly legs to catch her breakfast. Find the end of a dock on a clear night away from town lights and gaze into the night-black sky at the Big Dipper. And wait as a full, fat Carolina moon spreads her milky path over the river as she rises.
Once your soul is rested and you’re ready to move forward into life, heed the words of E.B. White, author of the beloved children’s book, Charlotte’s Web.
“Hang onto your hat. Hang onto your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.”
