After Trump jumped into an early lead, I was too nervous, sad and exhausted to watch any more and went to bed.
I woke up shortly after 3 a.m. with a sense of dread that the unthinkable had happened. My mind raced with thoughts of people being deported en masse, media organizations being muzzled, and of nuclear annihilation. I worried for the future of my sons.
But after getting up and digesting some of the coverage, I was somewhat surprised that columnists and editorial writers weren’t in full-blown panic, foretelling the imminent demise of the world.
And as I stood in my kitchen with darkness outside, I started to feel less threatened and jittery. I actually started to feel cautiously optimistic. It’s like the dining-room-table family donnybrook where simmering resentments were finally released, harsh words spoken, and everyone staggered away. The next morning, we feel physically bruised and sore, but now we know where every one stands.
The emotional charge has been released, and we begin to examine our own part in all of this. And eventually, we will move toward some healing.
Am I just naïve and caught up in my own cloistered Canadian niceness? Perhaps.
While it does appear desperately bleak that someone spouting racist, misogynistic and inflammatory vitriol is poised to become head of the most powerful nation on earth, there’s a part of me that says Armageddon and a return to fascism are not imminent.
I have faith that innate human traits of compassion and love will prevail. This gives me hope.
The human spirit has survived and thrived despite horrors undertaken by madmen in power and immature boys. And we’ll survive Donald Trump. Another hope is that this great airing will result in less polarized politics in the U.S., and that there could be a societal renewal of higher consciousness and awareness somewhat similar to what emerged from the assassinations, war protests, race riots, Nixon, and the Cold War scares of the 60s when indeed it looked like America was going to hell.
I’m also basking in the afterglow of witnessing men discovering that being a mature man is synonymous with being a loving and nurturing man.
I returned Sunday night from helping lead a New Warrior Training Adventure (NWTA) just west of London, Ontario where 30 men of all ages, stages, colours and creeds put themselves through an arduous experiential weekend that tested them physically, mentally and spiritually.
They could have left or declined to participate, but all of the men soldiered on despite their fears, exhaustion and monumental challenges.
They were supported by about 35 volunteer staff men who pushed, modeled and guided them. For the participants and the staff alike, it’s enormously taxing and even scary.
So why bother? Why go through such an ordeal?
Love.
There’s many layers and reasons men undergo a NWTA—to become better partners and fathers, to get unstuck, find fulfillment, and on and on.
But I think that everyone involved does it for love. Love for themselves, their families, their colleagues and communities, and for mankind.
So, if this reads like a Pollyannaish, feel-good hug of a blog similar to songs, banners and chants asking us to give peace and love a chance, so be it.
Whether it’s a NWTA, volunteers at a food bank or people doing development work in third world countries, these are examples among many that provide me with cautious optimism that my American friends will be OK and that the world will keep on turning and we’ll survive and thrive.
I’m betting on love to get us through. That’s the choice I’m making.
About Tim O'Connor
