Holding Space for This Familiar Grief
I'm hosting special small-group conversations tonight and tomorrow night.
I don’t have anything brilliant to say. The outcome of this election still feels surreal. Which is weird because I’m aware that the guy who won had already won before. I typed a few sentences but then erased them. I don’t want to say his name, don’t want to think about him, don’t want to talk about him. I’m so sick of Donald Trump. Perhaps you can relate.
And yet somehow, this is apparently real life. This is apparently really happening. One of the worst among us, unfit in countless ways, has been given the most important job our country has to give, again. It was hard enough to swallow the first time but I thought surely, finally, this election would bring an ending to the Trump era. I had to believe that the majority of Americans would make the reasonable choice, not because Kamala Harris is perfect but because she was by far the better option. She strikes me as decent, stable, intelligent, capable of empathy, capable of humility, capable of service. On the note of that last bit, it’s easy to forget that service is kind of the whole point of being President.
I’m still coming to terms with the fact that Kamala Harris didn’t win, and that instead the majority of Americans voted for a man who consistently appeals to the worst in people, a man full of anger who fuels racism and hate, a man with zero interest in uniting a country or telling the truth. Trump seems to have no capacity for basic human kindness or compassion. He seems to care for nearly no one but himself. And yet Donald Trump, whose drug of choice is power absolute, will be the next President of the United States.
I need (want) to take a nap but I don’t know how to land the plane. Like I said at the start, I don’t have a brilliant viral take to solve it all, but I do want to keep showing up. If you’ve followed me in recent years or paid attention to my work, you may have heard heard the words, “Hope is a commitment to the future.” I didn’t come up with that line—it’s from an article in the Guardian about climate change. Those words have become something of a mantra. I like the idea that hope does not depend on circumstances or emotion. It goes beyond a good song or a sunset or a crush. (For the record, I’m a fan of each of these). If hope is a commitment to the future, then you can count me in in no matter what. If hope is a commitment to the future, then I will choose to stay. If hope is a commitment to the future, then I will be here come what may.
With all of the above in mind, I’m showing up tonight and again tomorrow, and you’re invited. Holding Space for This Familiar Grief is a special small-group conversation that I’m offering for people who are hurting in the wake of the election. This isn’t a debate and we won’t skip ahead to quick solutions. Tonight and tomorrow night are truly about holding space for people to talk about their questions, their fears, their pain.
I've come to believe in the power of gathering with like-minded individuals who are willing to be vulnerable. It is a beautiful thing to be reminded that we're not alone. If this sounds like something you could benefit from, please consider joining us.
Together we'll fight the long defeat.
If you're interested in a speaking event or private workshop along these lines, the team at Collective Speakers would love to help. There's almost nothing I enjoy more than using my voice to encourage groups of people, whether the setting is a corporate meeting, festival, or high school gym. I like to go where people go and I like to talk about the real stuff. Events can be in-person or virtual, public or private, and we're happy to get creative to serve the unique needs of each audience. Learn more.
Life is worth living even now. September's message is feeling very relevant this week. We printed a few extra sweatshirts if you would like to grab one. I’ve been reflecting on this poster too.