As my limited gambling history demonstrates, my best guesses are nowhere close to reliable. But on the eve of what promises to be an historic presidential election, I have what I can only describe as a sense of foreboding. Things could get ugly, as if the campaign wasn’t ugly enough.
If the election is as close as it appears, we may not know the outcome anytime soon, but that doesn’t prevent a little personal nostalgia. I recall a sense of foreboding the day before an unprecedented hurricane crashed through my community, and on that occasion I sent a mass email to let everyone know our plans in case things went badly. Apples and oranges, I know, but a similar feeling resurfaces today, as silly as that sounds.
I anticipate significant acts of violence should Donald Trump “not” be elected president again. I hope that such violence does not occur, but, you know, history. And I anticipate a very different but even greater set of dire consequences if he wins. That’s because, among other things, many of his former military commanders have spoken in no uncertain terms.
So again, pardon the PTSD, but I feel this strange desire to board up some windows and prepare for dangerous winds and waves.
While I have leaned Left for many years now, my concern regards Donald Trump the candidate and not the Political Right. I used to say that the winner of the presidential election didn’t matter nearly as much as we are expected to believe because winners tended to “govern toward the middle” in our clunky two-party system, but I don’t say that this time.
And my thoughts are further complicated because I understand a portion of the Trump appeal to those who for decades of their lives felt the sting of disdain from various types of “elite.” I don’t want to dismiss painful emotions and experiences.
But that we have come to the absurdity of yet another Donald Trump candidacy mostly makes me sad. As just one dramatic example, while Sean “Diddy” Combs understandably sits in prison as evidence of sexual assault mounts against him, Donald Trump expects to be the next president of the United States despite, well, everything. And if I had to bet a nickel, I’d bet that he wins.
I attended a panel discussion recently on the impending election, and one of the panelists said that the outcome of the election will say more about the American people than about the campaigns themselves. That seems about right, and I think that may do more to describe my sense of foreboding than anything else.
Vote bravely and wisely, everyone, and then batten down the hatches.
My recent time away was beneficial, and of the many thoughts that came to mind once I had an opportunity to think again was that I should find some way to disembark the social media train at the next station. It was a relief just to think it.
As I rise each morning and retire at night, an unread book sits peacefully on the nightstand, white letters on a bright blue screaming its title in all caps: NECESSARY ENDINGS. My new friend Matt shared it with me, and I only have a general idea of what it has to teach me, but it sure seems appropriate.
My daughter and I decided to hike the scorched hills behind our house on Thanksgiving Eve to get a firsthand look at the aftermath of the Woolsey Fire, and we witnessed the vast expanse of earth charred to smoldering nothingness. It was breathtaking, and I’m not even talking about air quality. Imagine strolling through a gigantic ashtray with a spectacular mountain view of the sun dropping into the Pacific Ocean and that pretty much captures the scene.
Starting to Look Up 