We fear what we don’t understand. We live in terror of the unknown and unknowable. Many of us contemplate the future remaining filled with Trump and shake with a kind of atavistic terror usually reserved for our worst nightmares. Already, we have forgotten about the things that Trump cannot do or affect.
I live in a place with an extraordinary sky, and every day I make sure to lift my eyes to it and allow its magnificence to wash over me, to calm and center me; Trump’s being president cannot and will never rob me of it, my sky, and its grandeur and beauty.
My life is filled with people who love me and whom I love. Trump’s being president has not, will never, dam the flow of love, will not turn it into a thin, dirty stream. With or without a Trump, that love will remain clean and strong and life-giving.
I have read that Trump is a liar, an allegation that his behavior seems to support. I can’t speak to the truth, or lack thereof, of this claim, but I am a liar. Most people are. Some of us prevaricate at the slightest provocation; others take care to utter only the tiniest and least offensive of lies. Trump’s being president certainly has not saved me from my own lies, but neither has it caused them to multiply or strengthen.
I am aging, as are we all. Parts of my body have come to the conclusion that retirement would suit them nicely. When I jog in the morning or walk in the afternoon, I breathe thanks that I am able to jog and walk, even while knowing that one day I will be unable to do either. Trump’s being president will not bring that day forward, will not shrink the span of relative health remaining to me.
I know myself. I know my strengths, my weaknesses. Some people like me and some do not. With the Trump, many more people in the world than already do will dislike me, the American, even though we have never met. But Trump’s being president cannot make me dislike myself.
Trump’s being president is what it is, but it does not diminish my existence.