My Best Work

Y'all.

The election rocked me.

Yes, this is me, six months later, talking about how the election rocked me.

Or at least just putting it out there because I'm about six months behind in processing.

It had nothing to do with Clinton.

Nothing to do with being surprised (I wasn't), nothing to do with the job hopes I had getting crushed, the planning I had done for months being put off track, the anticipatory waiting stripped away, nothing to do with cat hats and marching and people showing up to participate for the first time.

It had nothing to do with the abject disappointment I had when true and converted DJT believers in my Facebook feed started to creep out in the open.

Nothing to do with going to work every day with a tried and truer, and parsing every work of thirteen years feeling like he's a total stranger.

Nothing to do with my stablest of stable friends weep, fearing for their black husbands who work off hours, for the Hispanic maintenance workers in our office building who looked shell shocked, for the Mama who fears for their child attending weekend education at the mosque, for the families who rushed to get second parent adoptions done, for the village of powerful women sang their karaoke voices out with rage and joy and joyful rage.

I've changed my favorite sandwich shop, altered my commute route to not go back the White House. I've chosen my seats in restaurants so I don't have to look at the hotel.

I am far from alone.

And then last week, I saw my first second third and 50th signature red hat.  High school kids, joyful on their senior trips to DC.

It felt like the universe punched me in the face.

I wanted to stop, and yell "WHOAREYOUANDWHATAREYOUDOING??!"

The world has had some twists and turns in the last six months, and I can't find the exit because it wasn't in the map I was given.

I want off this map.

My life is joyful.

And it is joyful in ways, that for the first time in 20 years, have nothing to do with where my phone alarm, memorized drive to work, tick-tock every minute of when the Costco and the laundry and the grocery and the school meeting and the change of clothes and the pediatrician and the birthday party gift and the mortgage payment and the damn who kicked the bumper again, and let's not forget the beautiful precious totally planned parenting weekend moments were going to happen.

So I'm working but I'm putting my passion now into my best work.

I'm not missing another teacher coffee again.

I'm not skipping the trikeathon and the field day and the parent education and the opportunity to pick up food for the school food bank.

I'm not banking my use or lose vacation for a rainy day, and then losing it at the end of the year without fail.

I'm not wasting those minutes when I could be bouncing at trampoline parks and packing picnics and watching snakes and climbing walls when the kids are on Spring Break.

That's what I've always done.

No more.

I'm working on school food pantries and testifying on charter school laws.

I'm making all the meals I've been meaning to deliver for months.

I'm planting pinwheels instead of flowers in the chalky clay of our front yard that's never going to grow a damn thing after twelve years of trying.

I'm attending the fashion show and buying something out of my comfort zone.  (But let's be honest, after I find a better coupon code online)

I'm noticing that bunches of flowers are $5.99 at Trader Joes, and $4.00 at Harris Teeter and I'm buying those flowers.

I did this work. My best work.  For the last seven days.

It is good work indeed.

I'm going to work to live.  Pay the bills for all this living.

Watch out kids.  This roller coaster has a new driver.

Photo Dump

I can't even with the election right now.

So:

It's Personal

I thought this election was personal.

I was delighted to share in this moment of history with A, celebrating powerful women shattering ceilings, achieving it all, having no limits to what they can become.

I thought it was about being with her, celebrating leadership and femininity and courage and pantsuits and bossiness and intelligence and wit being tied into a story that is beautiful and to be celebrated.

I read stories of the "why hers".

I reacted so viscerally to the reasons of why not him.

I made careful to speak only positively of Secretary Clinton, naming her opponent to R and A, but never speaking a word negatively of him.

I tried not to chuckle when R said yesterday, out of no where, "Donald Trump says mean things."

I tried to ally.  Not to borrow other's reasons why her and why not him, even when they are amazingly compelling.  Stark.  Clear.

I celebrated with the PantSuit secret Facebook group.

I'll wear one tomorrow (and so should you)

You know I was one of the first ones in there, as you do.

I was motivated and inspired by stories.  Real stories of adversity, and why their vote is making a difference.

I muted it.  It was too much celebration.   Too much sharing stories.

It turns out not just Methodists like to share stories. (SO MUCH SHARING!)

I started to panic last Friday.

What if.

I all out wept at work today when a well-meaning colleague came in to chat about the possible election results.

And I finally said to an undecided male Virginia voter and friend.

"Please, do it for me."

You see?  I don't have a unique story.  I don't have a particularly compelling one.

I wouldn't be a Humans of New York sensation.

I likely wouldn't even make a Human of my zip code unless it was about that time I organized the epic karaoke night out.

But I have a story too.  A story of why.

Vote for Her for every woman who was walked home from a bar after dark by a well meaning friend, who didn't have all the well meanings.

Vote for Her for the woman who was left in a room of very drunk clients at the age of 24, to "settle the bill"... and who wasn't allowed to leave for two hours bound by fear and their aggression.

Vote for Her for the woman who took an angry client call three weeks into maternity leave by a man who wasn't pleased on how his account was running in my absence.  And said "couldn't I have made arrangements for the baby not to cry" during that call?

Vote for Her for every missed field trip, parent-teacher conference, playdate, school celebration, volunteer opportunity.

Vote for Her for the time you were at a meeting in the Deep South and you had to walk out.  People don't say things like this in human company... right?

And the time it happened again in the industrial North three weeks later.

Vote for Her for the time that the room turned to you to get the water refilled or the notes taken because you were the female in the room.  Not the junior staffer.

Vote for Her for those days you saw the phone ring with school calling at 9:35, on a day of huge meeting.

Vote for Her for the time you put a little Tylenol in your "he's just sleepy" kid, and knew you were doing wrong, but you could NOT miss another meeting.

Vote for Her for the colleague who said "Why are you here?  Moms don't work on Fridays!"

Or for the one that said you can't go on business trips now that you have three children.

Or for the one that used THAT WORD.  The one you can't even type.  To refer to a woman.  Knowing you were in  that meeting.  You were the only woman in that meeting.

Vote for Her for every strong woman... even the one in the mirror who can't always speak up because the stakes are too high.

For every woman whose heart races when things are not right, but her mouth stays closed.

Vote for Her for Me.

For Opportunity.  For Equity.  For my reality.

It's personal.

"I can't walk or run!"

A funny parenting moment?

The first time your kid's foot falls asleep.

R:  "Mama!  Mama!  Oh no!  My foot!   I can't walk or even run!"

(I will not laugh at my child.  I will not laugh at my child.)