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Stranded in Queens, waiting for a tow . . .A couple of days ago, I had plans to meet my daughter for lunch. Normally, I take the Long Island Railroad. But because of my work schedule, I missed the train and decided to drive instead. Which is to say, I broke one of my own rules: Never drive in the city if you can take public transportation instead.
Lunch turned out to be a very early dinner because, not only did the drive take almost two-and-a-half hours, about fifteen minutes from my destination, I got a flat tire. See rule above. I was on the Cross Island Parkway when it happened, one of the worst roads on which to break down but, luckily I was near an exit and managed to park on a residential street in Queens, my old stomping grounds.
My daughter picked me up and, because I had to get back to the city for work after our meal, I took the train home and planned to take care of the car the next day. When I woke up, though, I felt very depressed. The logistics—getting back out to Queens, getting the tire fixed, not knowing if I could change the tire or if I’d have to get it towed, all felt completely overwhelming.
That’s actually been happening a lot lately: Things that I’d normally take in stride, even if I find them annoying, make me feel undone. So, I've been trying to piece together what’s happening. Not surprisingly, it's all related to the context in which we’re all living our lives.
Every day we’re inundated with bad news that is sometimes disheartening, sometimes infuriating, sometimes demoralizing, and, sometimes, all of those things at once. It’s hard not to feel out of control, knowing that in less than 30 days, win or lose, a significant number of Americans (literally tens of millions) are going to go to the polls and vote for fascism. It's hard to take, and it does make everything else that goes wrong, even if it’s something relatively minor, seem like a bigger deal than it would under other circumstances.
For a while now, I've been very conscious of the fact that I have been waiting for this election to be over; by which I mean, I've been putting everything else on hold. There is, after all, so much work to be done. But by everything else, apparently, I seem to mean living my life.
I'm reminded of another time I did this. I worked for a year in the admissions ward at a state psychiatric hospital. When I applied for the job, I lived in Manhattan, which would have entailed a long but not too-terrible commute on public transportation. When the job started, however, I lived on Long Island and my commute was a three-hour round-trip by car. That was pretty stressful enough. And when you work in the admissions ward of a psych hospital, you see, evaluate, and treat patients when they're at their absolute sickest. Because it’s a state hospital, many of our patients had no support system. If there was a family, they very often weren’t interested in being involved in the patient's care or in supporting the patient after he or she was released.
In addition to that, for the first six months, I also had to run groups on the sex offender ward. These patients were rapists, serial sexual assaulters, and, in some cases, pedophiles. That's probably the hardest work I've ever done in my life, and I had a nightmare every night the entire time.
When the year was half over, some of my colleagues and I put a calendar in the lounge and started counting down the days I didn’t think about what would come next, I just wanted it to be over.
The day after I finished, my daughter started kindergarten, her first time being in school full time. Although I still had to write my dissertation and I was teaching part-time, I didn't have much of a schedule. I hadn't made any plans.
After I dropped my daughter off that morning, I sat in my living room and thought, “What do I do now?” Because I hadn't thought ahead. It feels a bit like I'm doing the same thing now—with this exception. Part of the reason I’ve put everything on hold is because I’m having a difficult time imagining what my life will be like after November 5th. I felt similarly in 2020, but the consequences of losing this time around seem even worse.
How do you envision two outcomes that are so diametrically opposed? We're either going to be living in a struggling democracy that has another chance to set itself right, or a fascist America with a leader who wants nothing more than vengeance.
So, this is my totally unsolicited advice: Don't put anything on hold. As I mentioned, I was depressed the other morning, faced with the prospect of having to spend the day taking care of my car. I was exhausted, and couldn’t imagine how I would put one foot in front of the other. But I did, and when I got outside, it was a stunningly beautiful day in Queens, New York, sunny and warm with hints of autumn in the air.
I was out in the world. Despite the real concerns about what might happen in three weeks, there are a so many things to look forward to one way or the other. There is so much to enjoy. My pledge is to stay connected to the rest of the world: to hug a tree whenever I come across one; to go to a museum and revel in the art; to sit by the river and read a novel. There’s so much still there for the taking, regardless of, or I should say, especially because of how hard everything else is.
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