Intimate Strangers

I barely slept election night.
 
Like many of us here and around the world, I was glued to the TV, anxiously following election results, wondering about the fate of the many causes, policies, people, institutions and values that matter to me. Like so many Hillary supporters, I felt stunned and profoundly unprepared for the outcome. I am a New Yorker and perhaps I had been living in — as one friend put it — a “liberal bubble.” But I was so certain that Hillary would win and so ready the promise of greater diversity, inclusivity, connection, tolerance and equality.

​I caught Trump’s speech live and then, around 4 am, I checked my phone and found several emails and texts from two friends that had come in an hour earlier. The sentiments were the same. 
 
Can’t stop weeping.
 
Terrified. 
 
Heartbroken.
 
Shell-shocked.
 
We struggled to name feelings, to understand how it was that America had chosen a man with so little regard for so much. We did not yet know that, in fact, America had chosen Hillary. That she would win the popular vote. That, but for an arcane, 18th century idea called the Electoral College, she would have taken us forward.
 
At 8:30 am, the phone rang. It was the physician’s assistant I’d met at the dermatologist’s office the previous day.
 
“How you doin"?” she asked. For a second I thought: this must be a routine follow-up call.
 
“Mentally or physically?” I asked.
 
“Mentally,” she replied, and I could hear her smile. “I told my friend how long we’d spoken yesterday and I wanted to reach out and see how you were.”
 
How sweet, I thought, and then, for a split second wondered, is this appropriate? I hadn’t given her my number.
 
But doubt yielded quickly to compassion as I realized: she needed to connect. The call was as much for her as it was for me.
 
The day before, she’d shared with me that she’d voted for Hillary, but that no one else in her neighborhood had. Unlike the Upper West Side where lines were long, there had been no wait at her polling place. She explained that she lives in the projects near Far Rockaway and that her neighbors were either too angry or too disinterested to vote.
 
As she spoke, her eyes had filled with tears.
 
“It’s been really hard,” she said in a choked whisper. “I had to go off Facebook because none of my friends and family share my political views and I couldn’t stand reading what they were writing. I had no idea how different we are.”
 
She stopped and then, waving her hand in front of her face as if to shoo away the tears, said, “Sorry.”
 
“That’s ok,” I assured her. “This matters. A lot.” And with that, I began to well up.
 
As I did, I had an urge to fight back the tears, to hide my emotions — the vestige of a lengthy
legal career. But it was too late for that. I was already in. I'd heard her fear and sense of
isolation. I'd felt her longing for something better. I was touched by her willingness to share
herself. So, I let myself be, as I was: teary, open, present.
 
The moment was quite beautiful. And unexpected. I remember thinking, Four minutes earlier
we were complete strangers. Now we were connected through the intimacy of shared hopes,
longings and dreams of a brighter future.
 
We chatted for several minutes by phone and, before hanging up, we exchanged email
addresses. I encouraged her to reach out any time and suggested she might think about ways to
surround herself with people who understand her concerns, and share her values and vision for
the future. I realized in that moment just how much I and others need that right now. A
opportunity to grieve and a way to process what we feel. Together.
 
As the uncertainty that accompanies a Trump presidency sets in, there’s an opportunity inside
of our rawness to be open, vulnerable, and compassionate with ourselves and each other.
 
We need each other.
 
We need to be with those who understand the sense of loss.
 
We need connection. To see and be seen. To hear and be heard. Not only on Facebook or other social media, but in person, in our communities, eye to eye, shoulder to shoulder.
 
That’s where our healing will begin and our next steps will take shape.
 
Together.
 
Stronger still.