I’ve been at a loss for how to begin this post. I’ve started it several times and then abandoned the effort. I’ve had too many words and then, not quite enough. In fact, any words I previously typed seemed to intimidatingly stare me down; screaming ‘not enough’ or ‘way too much.’
My longest effort began with the definition of a patriot according to Merriam-Webster. For those of you who are curious, MW defines a patriot as “one who loves and supports his or her country.” In the spirit of full disclosure, I stumbled upon other definitions that included the willingness to defend said country. As I am always apt to do, I looked ALL around that line of thinking and ended at a place that conceded that anyone could feel righteous making a claim of patriotism. Anyone being me, those who stormed the Capitol last week, and all others around and between those lines in the sand. You may not want to read that, but it’s the truth, and that’s what I speak here. I think you know how I feel about that claim, but either way, such a claim could be made.
So, I folded that point into itself and started fresh. Over and over again.
Then, I landed here. Here being where I am going to begin. The start. My truth. The underbelly of it all. The common denominator.
As I believe I’ve shared many times, I have a great love for travel. My wanderlust is not limited to vacations filled with palm trees and frozen cocktails (though I’ll take it-especially right now). In fact, my adventures have taken me to some pretty remote and far-flung locations. I’ve even journeyed to locales where I felt somewhat uneasy. Of course, my discomfort was rooted in a place inside of me steeped in a solidly middle-class white person’s upbringing.
Did you just cringe? Good. We are just getting started. Before you roll your eyes, this is a not a long-winded diatribe on white privilege, though I recognize the necessity of bringing that discussion to the front of our ever-flapping lips.
This post is not that. Rather, it is a love letter. A message of exploration and adoration directed at an object of my affection, my country. The United States of America.
Much like any great love affair that I’ve participated in, there are defining characteristics that are shockingly indiscriminate. For example, the love I have for my country is not based on who holds the office of President (or other government positions, for that matter). Not even a little. Furthermore, even if the thought crosses the deepest recesses of my mind, I don’t tell my country I intend to leave it when I don’t get my way. I don’t withhold my loyalty, even when I feel betrayed. I don’t ponder its injury, even when I feel deeply harmed.
My love for the United States of America is deeply rooted, unfailing, and in many ways, unconditional. Is it easier for me to feel this passion as a gainfully employed white woman living on the East Coast? Sure. Yes. I am acknowledging that fact now so we can remain on the same page. I am not ignoring that detail. I am owning it. Living with it. Giving it voice to allow it to provide context.
Let’s rewind for a moment because you might be thinking we got off track.
Come on, you should know me better by now. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you are new here or you haven’t read enough to understand what makes me tick. Bottom line: I tie my shit together. Everything is relevant. All is secured with a neat little bow at the end. If I rant, I get to my point. If I rage, it’s for a purpose. If I ramble, I rein myself in at some point.
With that said, I will explain that the uncomfortable feelings I’ve felt in some of the places I’ve had the honor of visiting came directly from a place of comparison. I felt uneasy because of how easy I typically feel at home. Potable water, an abundance of food, shelter, and, well, peace, are “things” I took for granted. Thus, by contrast, unhygienic or restless conditions made me antsy. Fearful. Anxious. I felt these situations profoundly because I had so significantly felt and overlooked the total comfort of my regular existence.
You see, the thing is, while I didn’t abandon or abuse my love, I most certainly took this country for granted. I assumed my safety. I assumed my peace. I assumed my comfort. I assumed all of it and more.
And then, the events that occurred last week unfolded and I was no longer able to assume anything. You see, this story fits in perfectly with what we’ve been discussing. Put simply: I woke up next to someone who I didn’t recognize. I found myself flabbergasted and broken-hearted, wondering how I didn’t see and didn’t know. Well, because I didn’t want to.
These giant red flags were planted in an imposing and frightening circle around my person, and I chose to stay ignorant. Willingly dismissive. I was afraid and so, I denied. I ran away. I made excuses. I closed my eyes and counted to ten and hoped the world would be different when my lids fluttered open.
I told people around me to calm down, deep breathe, and wait. I hoped. I prayed. And well, I waited.
Do you know what came to me at the end of this wait? Terror. Abject, knee-knocking life-changing terror. Also, confusion. And dismay. And hopelessness.
That is not okay.
I am not okay.
Are you?
Maybe you are. Maybe you are unaffected. Maybe you have felt this coming for some time now and you were just waiting for the rest of us to get to where you have been this whole time. Maybe you are optimistic in spite of all evidence that suggests we are nowhere near the bottom yet. Maybe you are still flagrantly in denial, just as I was.
Maybe, just maybe, you are someone who claims to be apolitical. Here’s the thing though. This isn’t about politics. Politics is chock-filled with utter nonsense. Corruption, lies, and bullshit.
That is not THIS. THIS is a love story. There is no room for politics here. Not now and maybe not ever. This is about the love affair I have been entertaining with my country for the better part of 40 years. This is not about its demise. This is about its derailment off the path to worthy. My country is mostly unrecognizable to me these days. We didn’t just have a little difference of opinion. Our paths have diverged so materially that some days I feel like there is no turning back. And then other days, days like today, I pray to be wrong. I know in my heart I’m wrong. I vow to do everything in my power to be proven wrong.
The last time I felt fear like this was immediately after 9-11. I’ve talked about my experience before, so I won’t make you relive that situation. I will just say that I was shook to my core. I questioned everything and everyone. However, I stayed faithful and resilient and hopeful. Now, I am desperately trying to do the same and I feel like I’m failing. I am failing to keep it together. I am failing to keep US together.
Why?
Well, “before” we came together. We were united in our grief, our shock, our anger. Now, we are divided. Separated by our grief, our shock, our anger. The very things that knit us as a cohesive whole, have ripped us to shreds. We are hateful, judgmental, and paranoid. We are critical, distrustful, and wholly exhausted. We are screaming ‘how dare you’ and ‘I told you so’, so loud and so often that we’ve lost our voices. We’ve lost our way.
I am not claiming to know the answer. I am not telling you that I know how to get my relationship back on track. The only thing I can say is that I believe the approach should mirror every approach to relationship triage I’ve ever spouted on here. First, we look at the cracks and wounds and broken bits. We look closely enough to begin to understand their origin and impact. Then, we carefully and thoughtfully consider a meaningful treatment plan. We formulate a mitigation strategy. We exercise great patience and care.
It is so easy to cry lunacy. To claim disenfranchisement. To condemn. The harder work is trying to understand why. The excruciating effort is making a commitment to health and also, to healing.
This does not happen overnight and like all affairs of the heart, tough decisions must be made. And sometimes, we have to let go in order to reclaim, to remember, and to love anew. Our love might be different on the other side of that work, but do you know what else it is? Strong as hell. Resilient. Impermeable. Relentless. Forgiving. Life affirming.
Dearest United States of America,
You have never been perfect. You are indelibly flawed, but not ineradicably broken. And most of all… you, my dear, are most definitely worth it.
Though I am scared, I am in this for the long haul. I believe in you. I believe in us.
Love always and forever,
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 