I haven’t written for this blog in a while because I didn’t want to face it.
Because the last time I did, I was on a high about how we were about to have our first female president and defeat Donald Trump.
This was going to happen. All the polls said it would be a landslide. I grabbed my baby girl by the hand and marched her into the polls with me, in hopes that she would remember being part of this historical moment.
Then we went home, opened up a bottle of champagne and flipped on the news.
And at some point that night, that champagne turned into shots of whisky as I alternated between sobbing and fantasizing about walking out the front door with a can of gasoline and a match.
While the first weeks wore on, I found my outrage changing into a billion questions about how it all happened. How did we get here? How did we elect Trump???
And for the first time I can remember, I’m finding myself at odds with members of my own party. Between those of us who want to do what we’ve been doing HARDER and those would want to change strategies.
I want to figure out a better way. Not because I think we’re wrong, but because it’s not working. I’m a practical realist, which is getting me into all kinds of trouble right now.