Bursting balloons

Popping the bubbles that separate us might be the only way forward

On Friday, November 1, I enjoyed what I considered a highly successful book launch for my memoir, Living Into the Truth: A Daughter’s Journey of Discovery. Fifty people attended—a number that far exceeded my expectations. Throughout the course of the evening, I offered a reading and answered questions; we shared family secrets; I sold and autographed books; and we ate cake and drank Prosecco. People laughed, people teared up, and people connected with one another. I couldn’t have asked for more.

(If you’d like to see it for yourself, you can watch a recording of the event that includes a reading setting up the family mystery later reveled in the book: Living Into the Truth Book Launch).

Scenes from my Launch Party

On Saturday night, November 2, I hosted an online launch and again, attendance surprised me. Twenty-five family members, friends, Substack readers, and a couple writing acquaintances. Although I’ll be honest in saying that I didn’t feel quite as “on” virtually as I did in person, it was still a successful evening and I’m grateful for all those who took the time to join in.

At both events, people were hopeful that the upcoming election would move us a little closer to “The American we dream about.”¹ “Nauseously optimistic,” I heard one person describe their anticipation.

The night before the first event, my wife surprised me with a poster collage of 17 photos of friends and family—all people who couldn’t make my in-person event. And everyone was reading my book! The sight of them overwhelmed me with gratitude. Feeling loved and seen that way made it possible for me to approach the launch with much less anxiety than I’d been feeling. It made my day and beyond.

A collage of people who could not attend my launch party

At the launch, we propped the poster up on a stand and adorned it with green and purple helium balloons, the color scheme for the book (What? Your book has a color scheme? YES! But that’s for another post). It reassured me to have it there, reminding me how much support I have in my life.

My sign-in table, a photo collage, and five green and purple balloons

When I finally recovered from my launch events, Election Day was upon us. As is my tradition, I planned to stay up to watch the results until a winner was known, if not declared. At 11:00, I started to have a panic attack as Steve Kornacki was describing county-by-county results in Pennsylvania. It did not look good. I decided I couldn’t watch any longer and went to bed, making a promise to myself that I wouldn’t check the news until I awoke on Wednesday morning. A promise I pride myself on keeping. But that didn’t change the results.

The first thing I did after seeing the Washington Post headline—eerily, a headline I’d seen in my mind’s eye before I ever looked at my phone—was pop the balloons. They had already started to drop anyway, and I decided it would be cathartic to pop them. It was, although I didn’t anticipate the headache the helium spilling into my study would cause. Or maybe something else caused my headache? I guess I’ll never know that.

The balloons popped on my floor

As I’ve thought about the popped balloons over these last few days filled with numbness, sadness, grief, fear, and despair, I’ve begun to wonder if the popped balloons might not be a metaphor for moving forward. There’s no question that I live in a bubble. All my friends are liberals. My workplace is liberal. My family is mostly comprised of liberals. My church community is liberal. My neighborhood is purple, but we met a lot more liberal neighbors during this election season. It’s no wonder that we were all shocked by the results of this election. Although I’m sometimes a skeptic, I had convinced myself that people in this country would rise, like balloons filled with helium, and defeat depravity.

Instead, they doubled-down on it.

All through this election cycle, I keep remembering the 1984 election map and recalling how devastated I was when Ronald Reagan defeated first Jimmy Carter and then Walter Mondale. The entire country, except for Minnesota, turned red that re-election year.

The 1984 Election Map - A Sea of Red

So, I have to ask myself about this election, are 74+ million people who voted for the Republican candidate depraved? Has my bubble clouded my vision so badly that I can’t see the country I live in? Although some, like the ones sending text messages to Black students around the country about reporting to “the Plantation,”² are depraved, I still believe that the vast majority in this country are good people who are just trying to do their best to get by. We could all argue long into the 22^nd century about why they made the choice they made, but as long as we stay in our liberal bubble, we’ll never really know.

A Canadian friend who spent a lot of her professional life in the States said to me yesterday that we have to start infiltrating conservative gathering places—not to destroy them but to understand them, and more importantly, for all of us to find the goodness in each other. Of course, we believe we liberals are all good people, but just as we’ve demonized the right, the right has demonized the left. That has to end, and it will take each of us to end it. Marriage equality and other related rights became a reality when good people on the right came to know and love good LGBTQ+ people. If we’re to retain and expand those rights, we have to be seen as people, not identities, not a voting bloc, and not as evil. We have to get to know each other and find the common humanity we share.

I’m not naive.  I know that the likelihood that we can do this—that we want to do this—is low. I don’t want to do it. I like my bubble. I feel comfortable in it. I can rise up above the earth and look down on those less educated, those less worldly, those who believe in conspiracy theories, are sexist, and racist, and xenophobic. I like my superior bubble.

But I have to say I’m thinking about whether and in what ways I’ve contributed to the situation we find ourselves in. I believe this analysis is critical to a future where everyone is included, where everyone’s rights are protected, and where everyone has the resources to live their best lives. These are fundamental, non-negotiable goals to me.

Many of us writers have said, “I don’t have words right now.” I concur with that sentiment. But maybe if collectively we compile the few words we do have, we can develop a coherent message that will take us to the next level, and then the next one, and then the next one.

To that point, I offer two posts I read today that inspired me and caused me to look at things a little differently. In a post, “How Did We Get Here and What Comes Next?" by

Broadwaybabyto

, writes,

I also want to give a gentle reminder that making jokes about moving to Canada or saying that people should simply flee the country is not helpful right now. Many disabled people are trapped in the United States. Those living in poverty, the elderly and/or multiple marginalized feel the same.

How Did We Get Here and What Comes Next?

Oh, yeah. Although I have no plans to leave my country for another like some of my friends are talking about, I appreciate and clearly need the reminder that others’ realities are different than my own.

The second piece, by

Dan Blank

in The Creative Shift, was not intended as an election reflection. I have no idea where Mr. Blank’s politics are, but that doesn’t change the fact that his “five-step system to establish professional relationships as a writer,” could be used by all of us to bridge the massive divide that separates us from each other.

How to create conversations with readers

I hope you find something in these pieces too.

The reality is that I don’t have many words right now. But next week I’ll be traveling to Alabama to escort forty people (probably all liberals) from around the country to key sites in the American Civil Rights Movement. We’ll immerse ourselves in this history to remind ourselves that we’ve been here before and, in the words of Maya Angelou, “And Still I Rise.”

The people who fought, were jailed, beaten, and even killed to secure the fundamental right to vote have much to teach us. It is our responsibility to not let those stories of resilience and hope be forgotten. If you’d like to join a future Living Legacy Pilgrimage, you can find out more at LivingLegacyPilgrimage.org. It’s a life-changing experience and one that will prepare you like nothing else for the times ahead.

On that note, I’ll see you when I get back. I wish I could say that this nightmare will be over then, but it will not be. It’ll just be getting started. So, instead, we have to find hope, to open our eyes to what’s before us, and to not just see, but become the light in the dark sky. To quote Vice-President Harris in her concession speech,³

The adage is, only when it is dark enough can you see the stars. I know many people feel like we are entering a dark time, but for the benefit of us all, I hope that is not the case. But here's the thing, America, if it is, let us fill the sky with the light of a brilliant, brilliant billion of stars.

May you fill the sky with stars! Thank you for who you are. Take care of yourself and each other this week.

Much love,

Annette

1. President Joe Biden November 7, 2024, post-election speech

2. After election, racist texts nationwide threaten Black people with slavery

3. Kamala Harris Concession Speech: Read the Full Transcript | TIME