The Day After in America

Oil and water after Election Day

Places and times hold specific memories.

When my wife and I started to remodel our 1936 California Bungalow fixer-upper, we’d pull up the edge of the carpet or knock down an old piece of drywall and pause. We didn’t coordinate this. We felt the shift of energy simultaneously—a long-dormant mark on the hardwood floor—a set of initials on a stud in the wall.

When you look closely and listen, you can hear the past. You can feel the quiet, the laughter; death, joy, and fading time. Some images and feelings come from nowhere and force themselves in front of you. When these moments happen, it’s a sign from God to stop and hear what the world has to say; don’t attempt to apply rational logic or the intellect. Feel the moment as it demands to be felt.

If you’re old enough, you remember where you were when the September 11th attacks took place—the collective anxiety and fear. The subsequent coming together; the suburban streets lined with American flags. These are the days where, ten years later, you can count the hours and images from sunrise until sunset

I had a similar moment today, the day after the election.