Hello, friend. It’s been a couple of months since I last spent time in this space. I relish this sweet return.

Where does today find you?

It is a bright and frigid day here in New York City. My Beloved, in true finance bro fashion, calls it “vest weather”. He’s right. It is vest weather. It’s trench coat weather. It’s big, fluffy sweater weather. It’s thigh-high boots weather. Gone are the warm evenings. Gone is the dawning light. The shift is visceral; I can feel the weighted blanket of seasonal depression lift as Autumn commands center stage. The biting breeze is flirtatious in nature. The colors of Central Park are like white rabbits, tempting me to spiral into their vibrant haze.

We are fresh off the heels of a particularly intense week. Election week in the United States. Some are dancing, tapping their toes to their sweet tune of victory. Some are dragging their feet, hearts adread with what is to come. There are some who maintain a steady pace, unbothered. Whatever outcome you were hoping (or not hoping) for, the fact is this: Donald Trump is projected to be the next president of the United States. Convicted criminal, rapist, former entertainer, former president – Mister Donald J. Trump. He campaigned opposite the 49^th Vice President, former Attorney General, and overall female icon – one Ms. Kamala Harris. Trump led the Republican party while Harris led the Democratic party. It was a toe-to-toe race, one that made history.

Whether it was in Butler, Pennsylvania or his more recent rally in New York City’s Madison Square Garden, Trump commanded every stage he took. And whether his words were coherent or not, he made sure to spout to the people his ideals, his dreams, and his plans. Harris used her platform to speak with the people, to encourage them, to reassure them that the America they are hoping for is the America she is fighting for. With every scowl that Mister Trump sported, Ms. Harris showed up with a smile.

It was simple: the two candidates were running very different campaigns. Mister Trump’s campaign consisted of harsh condemnation of his opponent, impassioned tirades, and a fueled resentment towards those he deemed “liberal”, “fake”, etc. Ms. Harris’ campaign consisted of laughter, joy, and nourishing the hope of the younger generations.

The morning after election day, I (as well as many women) woke up with this reverberating sense of despair. Not the kind that echoes a defeat. The kind that creeps up on you when you least expect it. I checked my phone. I’d gotten a text from my sister, “Trump won.”

My heart sank to my stomach. It was still dark outside, the city quiet. I checked the news. She was right, he was projected to win this election. I put down my phone. I laid back down. I curled my knees into my chest. And I wept. I wept for all of those that had mailed in their ballots and stepped out of the polls with hope & determination that good would win out. That had done their part in fighting for the future, a future we might give to our children, to our grandchildren. I wept for Ms. Harris, for all that she’d given to us in this election. I wept for all of those that will be harmed by Trump’s plans for America.

As I walked to work later that morning, I could feel the city’s sorrow. She was quiet, eerily so. While waiting to cross the street, I locked eyes with a young woman. In her face, I saw my own pain. Our pain. A pain that stems from a deep sense of betrayal. The numbers were telling enough. The message that our country was sending to us was very clear: You are less than.

I hear you, America.

And I’d like to give you a response: Fuck you.

This is not uttered with aggression, not the kind found at any Trump rally. No. This is a quiet, determined whisper. Resolute in my compassion, my empathy, and my love for those I know, for those I don’t know. For those who are living a reality that looks different than mine.

Ms. Harris’ concession speech was, to no surprise, gracious and caring. I could see the fight in her eyes. I’ve heard a lot of people feeling weighed down by this election repeat the same sentiment. “I’m afraid of hoping.” Ms. Harris helped reintroduce hope to our nation, in a wonderfully tangible way. Hope did not come to an end when her run for presidency did. We are to be hopeful amidst the return of Trump’s America. Oppression has plagued this country for a long time. Hope is one of many weapons we must use against it. And to those that are still grieving the outcome of this election, I’d like to remind you that grief and hope can coexist. Unlike Trump & his wife, they can occupy the same bed.

Family members of mine, as well as other loved ones who voted for Trump in this election love to use the expression, “It’s just politics” in defense of their fateful decision. Those who get to sluff off moments like these with “it’s just…”, let me be very clear when I say: You are privileged. Whether it’s a race-related or gender-related or class-related privilege, privilege is privilege.

“It’s just politics” my ass.

Privilege is not a blessing. It is not a reward. Privilege is a tool, one that we are to use with care and with consideration. It is a tool to help build a loving and safe environment for those that do not have it.

To those who are continuing to fight the good fight, I give to you my encouragement and my support.

To those who are celebrating the return of the Trump Administration, I give to you my compassion and a question: How does your vote better America?

Until next time.

M’wah!