Those of you who’ve been using Facebook for a long time, as I have, may have discovered that it’s very useful as a scrapbook and diary. Every morning, if you’re so inclined, you can check your “FB memories” to see what you were up to on that very date in years past. I’ve been on Facebook for about 15 years now, so the memories are really piling up.

Old photos, past experiences, shared articles, and random musings. Lots and lots of random musings.

One such musing appeared yesterday. I first posted it six years ago:

“For many years, I have tried hard to create a space here for people and their ideas. Not a ‘safe space,’ per se, but a place for exciting, challenging conversation that increases understanding and builds bridges. It’s been a weird sort of calling for me, and there have been times when I took great joy in seeing friendships form between disparate souls, witnessing surprising meetings of the mind. But things are different now in the age of Trump, and I just can’t do this anymore. It’s too hard. Communication has completely broken down. I have too often found myself shouting into the wind, heard my words disappear… or echo back to me, twisted and deformed. I have spoken into a paper cup, across a piece of twine, only to find nobody holding the other cup… Played a child’s game – Telephone – whispering into the ear of a trusted friend beside me, watching my message go ‘round the circle, only to come back to me as a completely different message. I’ve shared words of enthusiasm or inspiration or love only to have them translated as criticism, sophistry or hatred by somebody who just doesn’t ‘speak my language.’ I have told the truth and had it called a lie. I have been told that I think what I don’t think, that I’m not who I know myself to be. We’ve all felt this way, haven’t we? I no longer believe in the power of language. I have lost faith in words. (No, not the Word. Never that.) I’m not sure what to do about it, exactly, but it’s a damned awful feeling for a writer. You probably won’t be hearing from me for a while.”

Rereading this post, I felt embarrassed – the melodrama! – but also sad. Because, aside from the occasional pop-up convo, I never really reopened my Facebook “salon,” and I don’t suppose I ever will. Certainly not during election season.

We’re already deep in it, and the tall tales, half-truths, personal insults, and “vibes” – so many vibes – are flying fast and furious. Anybody who’s paying attention is bound to find it unsettling. Even if you’re a committed partisan, just sticking with your team and its playbook, it’s surely clear to you by now that there are people around you living in a very different reality from your own.

As one Facebook friend often quips, “They walk among us.” It’s as if her political opponents were aliens from outer space.

As a columnist, I resist these caricatures. Instead, I’m compelled to drill down into these dueling realties in hopes of understanding the people who inhabit them. Other columnists have different compulsions – to make change, to seek justice, to persuade – and I respect that. I sometimes even envy them. But I am not like them. My motivation is curiosity, along with a genuine affection for humanity. I’m driven to understand in hopes that I might explain. What you do with my explanations is entirely up to you.

(I imagine plenty of you line your bird cages with them. As a lover of birds, I’m okay with that.)

Because of my particular compulsion, I spend a lot of time reading, watching, and listening to a wide variety of sources, trying to unravel the tangle of narratives (and pathologies) that animate our national scene. I’m far more interested in understanding how we got here – the big cultural trends and social forces – than I am in the specific issues of the day. For someone who calls herself an “opinion columnist,” I don’t often share my opinions. They’re just not that interesting, even to me.

But at a time like this – election season – it feels like a bit of a cop-out. So, here goes:

What do I think about some of our national issues?

First, I think it doesn’t matter what I think. What matters (to me) is that we can all express our opinions openly, without fear of reprisal or malicious misinterpretation. When we can’t, trouble brews. That’s an actual “issue” to me, and those who are making it harder – with half-baked, ill-informed, mean-spirited meme bombs on social media – are, in my mind, enemies of public discourse. How’s that for an opinion?

I respect the pro-life movement – I believe their position is moral – but I am pro-choice, with restrictions. Most Americans are. I do not believe we should have a patchwork of radically different state laws governing something so basic and universal. I regret the overturning of Roe v. Wade.

As a passionate lifelong reader and writer, I am absolutely against book-banning. But I also believe books in a school library should probably be curated according to age appropriateness. This seems like common sense to me, and I find it troubling that we can’t have a civil conversation about the subject. Anyone who tries is labeled either a “book banner” or a “groomer.” The dishonesty bugs me.

I believe that climate change is real, but I have no clear idea what should be done about it. Again, the conversation has become impossible because anybody broaching the subject is immediately branded a “climate denier” or a “radical leftwing nutjob.” Not helpful.

I am pro-immigration – legal, of course – but I also believe we must secure our border and reform our immigration policy. The situation at the border is not a “rightwing conspiracy theory.” It’s a real problem.

I’m not even sure this is an “issue” anymore, but for the record, I am pro gay marriage. I have enough gay friends in flourishing marriages to make this one a virtual no-brainer.

I am wary of medicalized gender affirming care for minors – it’s a drastic step with long-term effects, and the current science is unclear. But it seems like a family issue to me – emphasis on “family.” Parents should not be kept in the dark. Beyond that, I have no opinion worth sharing. I’m still learning.

I think Donald Trump is rude and crude and has done a number on our national discourse – and, in turn, our social fabric – from which we may never recover. For me, this is the worst thing about him, though I don’t think the blame is his alone. (I know, you disagree. But this is my column.) I find him neither a monster nor a savior, just a man. I have no idea what he truly believes in – beyond power – but I don’t see him as a 21st Century Hitler, either. Lately, I see him more as King Lear.

I find Kamala Harris attractive and charismatic, but until we get past the meme-driven “brat” stage of her campaign, I won’t know what she truly believes in, either. She has reportedly backtracked on many of her earlier positions, and while I certainly believe people can change their minds, I’m waiting to hear from her during her debates with Lear. I am naturally allergic to vibe-craft, so consider me interested, but not coconut-pilled. (Yes, people are actually saying “coconut-pilled.”)

In short, I am the very model of a modern major moderate. There are plenty of us out here. “We walk among you.” We mostly keep our thoughts to ourselves for reasons detailed above. Some call us the Silent Majority.

Others call us Those People Who Decide Elections.