Getting Through the Tough Times with a Trip to Evergreen
I don’t know if it’s possible to break the dashboard of a Mini Cooper, but I gave it a good try. The day after the 2024 Presidential election I was disappointed and stressed about the future. I was sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, parked at the grocery store and pounding on the touch screen of the radio. All the stations were set to the news, except something called Road Trip Radio that appeared out of nowhere. When I wanted to believe we would soon be living in a stronger, happier world, I was hooked on the chatter that helped me believe.
Polls were promising. Talking heads inside my dashboard were upbeat, even joyful. The consequences for our country, and especially for women of any age, were debated and driven home. Most Americans seeking sanity knew just what to do. We would welcome Madam President, and the healing in a deeply divided nation would begin. The voices who fed my hope couldn’t all be wrong.
They were wrong. There’s no excuse for my susceptibility to the positive news flooding the airways in the days preceding November 5. I worked in government for 35 years. It’s a good bet I should have known that pollsters, pundits and predictors would miss the mark. Spinning out certainty in an uncertain world has always been risky. The science of guessing has never overcome its biggest obstacle to success: human behavior. When asked for their opinions, people don’t always tell the truth. Voters lie to their friends, their partners and sometimes to themselves. Americans are distracted and entertained by conspiracy theories and residency in an alternate universe when reality doesn’t suit. Truth is an endangered commodity.
I’ve calmed down in the last few days. I’ve remembered that I’m wandering close to my 9th decade. During the 76 years that brought me to today, I’ve come face-to-face with joy, sadness and the vagaries of life. I’ve been dissatisfied and dysfunctional and hell to live with, but there was always a path forward. Now I’m not sure what that looks like.
Getting Through the Tough Times
Seeking clarity, I began an inventory of what’s gotten me through the tough times. I have usually found solace in the job of being a writer. Writers use everything as grist for the story-telling mill. There’s a landfill-sized pile of grist generated by this election. Inside scoops and outsized egos offer up a feast of words and enough blame to take us to the mid-terms. Soon I will start to write, although this may be my only piece about the election. I don’t have any light to shed on these days of our lives, but I know putting pen to paper is the first step in my personal path forward.
So, I have a plan. For now, the task of sorting through a fat file of potential topics has replaced the incessant news gathering that was nearly my undoing. I’m still struggling with the impact of my recent gloomy mood on another curated plan for the month of December. The holidays are special to me. I will admit to putting up four inside Christmas trees and draping decorative swag on the kitchen cabinets. Fa-la-la-ing has lost much of its appeal this season, but that cedes power to people and events I can’t control. That’s never a good strategy. The hell with it. Let’s celebrate!
This year my agenda is around simple gifts. I plan to continue the liberating work of marketing my own book without my publisher in my ear or on my back. This is a giddy space for me after two terrible years with a hybrid group that didn’t deliver, didn’t communicate and finally ghosted me. I’m thrilled to be on my own with books packed in the Mini I tried to vandalize a few days ago.
Trip to Evergreen
Another gift I have been giving myself is the frequent consumption of Hallmark movies. Before you judge me, let me say this. Yes, Hallmark movies are formulaic and predictable and even have a whiff of the Cinderella-saved-by-a-prince theme. But maybe these 90-minute packages of fantasy are also about positivity – about fighting back the things that go bump in our nights.
Witnessing the romance of twinkling lights, small town people reveling in community, and the magic that alters regrets and mistakes between Christmas and New Year’s works as a short-term treatment plan for my disillusioned soul. Tonight I’ll be glued to the screen for a trip to Mistletoe or Evergreen. The simple gift of a happy ending spirits me away for a respite. It’s okay. I won’t be gone long.
There’s a lot a work to do to protect vulnerable people who are in the targeted sites of our new leaders. I hope I can help. I hope to discover my place in a world I’m afraid I won’t like. Once Christmas is over and the television is turned off, I plan to work harder than ever at believing in happy endings.
Donna can be contacted at donnamillerauthor.com
