I’ve grappled with writing about the election for the last sixteen days, since You Know What befell us here in the land of the now increasingly overtly Disunited States.
During this time I’ve read seemingly innumerable editorial responses to You Know What, and You Know Who. I can hardly stand any more prophecies and predictions of doom, as they appear to be to me, a middle-class woman with undeniable white privilege, exacerbated by a doctorate in how we think about, how recognize, that we do, actually, create our realities.
But I can’t help throwing my own typing hands into the written ring today as one way of celebrating Thanksgiving. What I’ve been grappling to articulate is not so in fashion right now. I offer it aware that I may be proven just plain wrong, over time, though I sure hope not.
The only vision that I truly want, in my heart of hea...