Evil is unspectacular and always human,

And shares our bed and eats at our own table,

And we are introduced to Goodness every day.

Even in drawing-rooms among a crowd of faults;

he has a name like Billy and is almost perfect

But wears a stammer like a decoration:

And every time they meet the same thing has to happen;

It is the Evil that is helpless like a lover

And has to pick a quarrel and succeeds,

And both are openly destroyed before our eyes.
W. H. Auden

Last week, evil, with spectacular cunning and self-congratulatory malice, picked a quarrel and succeeded, sweeping so many of us downriver in a torrent of grief. I am still fighting for purchase, gasping for air and looking for something to hold onto as I struggle to reconcile a sadness that for the moment, is beyond reckoning.

The morning after the election I awoke hoping for some intervening middle-of-the-night miracle. It seemed impossible that a man, who through his own reprehensible words and actions demonstrated he was unfit to serve as this country’s leader, had been elected. And yet, there it was—there was no magical out. His ascension revealed a fracturing within America that was far worse than we had imagined, forcing me to accept that my beautiful, beloved and wholly imperfect America—the one I grew up with, was proud of, the one that I have always had such high hopes for—had died. In no small measure, it helped steady my grief to know that the majority of my Facebook community felt the same way. Their morning-after thoughts a welcome salve on the wounds of my post-election despair.

But there was also the “other” side of my Facebook community: people whose values—and this is not necessarily limited to political leanings—proved so grossly misaligned with my own. The bombastic “know betters” and self-proclaimed pedants who, through derisive and inflammatory comments, sought to tell me how I should feel, what I should believe, how I should act. Some posts and comments so outrageous that I, a woman not given to rage, found myself engaging in spiteful fantasies of recrimination not worthy of my better self. Further evidence that this deeply polarizing election has given rise to a nearly unprecedented mean-spiritedness (and that is a diplomatic characterization) in public forums that I for one have had enough of.

This was not the vision I had of Facebook when I began to build my community. Perhaps I didn’t think about it enough—I simply presumed it would be a place where like-minded friends could kick off their shoes and be themselves with impunity. But on reflection, I suppose it makes perfect sense that what I’ve ended up with is a community that doesn’t always make sense. In the early days of Facebook, I got caught up in its intoxicating novelty—friending everyone I met and failing to bring the notion of discernment into the equation. But the time has come to exercise agency, because now more than ever I want and need to feel at home within my community. I want to feel that my Facebook friends—even the ones I don’t know that well—are people whom I would wholeheartedly welcome into my home.

And in my house, first and foremost, we observe and promote basic rules of civility and human decency. We are not nasty or unkind. We acknowledge and support each other’s feelings and opinions, and when we have different points of view, we do not berate or bully or intimidate. When emotions run high, we are tender with one another.

In my house, we believe that “love is love is love.” We support gay marriage. We support people’s right to determine their own sexuality and sexually identify in whatever way is right for them.

We believe that all men and WOMEN of all races are created equal. Full stop.

We believe in religious freedom and further, that religious beliefs are personal and should not be imposed on anyone else—and that extends to the right to not believe in anything at all.

Not everyone is welcome in my house. There are only so many spaces around my table, and if my values are not in line with yours, I respectfully ask you to leave a seat open for someone else.

This is not simply a matter of politics, although certainly, that is a motivation. Trying to sell me on Donald Trump’s finer points is akin to trying to convince me that Hitler wasn’t such a bad guy. It won’t work, so please stop.

But there is another driving force behind this and that is my desire to create a community of people who legitimately care about who I am, what my values are, what I can contribute to the conversation.

If you friended me years ago and don’t remember why or who I am; please feel free to exit. If your interest in me is professional, let’s connect on LinkedIn.

If we elect to leave one another’s communities, it doesn’t mean that we can’t interact meaningfully and congenially in other ways. But this is my home and I want—and deserve to be—fully comfortable within it. And so do my guests.

If you are not a word-lover, the fact that April is National Poetry Month probably doesn’t even register on your ‘I find that mildly interesting’ scale.  But for those of us who are, it’s right up there alongside British Period Dramas and French Cinema…..and of course…..Girls.

I think what I love most about poetry can be distilled down to one word: economy.  I have always marveled at the way great poets and lyricists manage to do so much with so little.  How they can tell a story of staggering heartbreak in just a few lines.  Tom Waits (who I think is one of the great poets of all time) does this consistently.  Sometimes humorously, and at others, with such powerful dramatic punch, it brings me to my knees.  Dylan.  Leonard Cohen.  The poet-songwriter list goes on and on.

The notion of ‘economy’ brings me to another poetic marvel––Six-Word Stories, which even if you’re not a lover of words, you might actually love these.

Six-Word Stories as an art form, was allegedly started (allegedly, because it has never been verified) by Ernest Hemingway, who was challenged by a literary agent to tell a story powerfully and completely, in just six words.  Here’s his story:

For Sale:
Baby shoes. Never worn.

-E. Hemingway

Here’s my one word response:  Wow.

Smith Magazine spring-boarded the Hemingway Six Word into a group of successful books.  One of which, was given to me by a very lovely man (you know who you are) who I stepped out with a few years back.  It is titled “Six-Word Memoirs on Love & Heartbreak By Writers Famous and Obscure.” There are ‘wows’ aplenty within those covers, let me tell you.  (And some good laughs too.)  Here’s a sampling of some of my favorites:

Pining.
Falling.
Crashing.
Burning.
Not interested.

-Stephanie Gerst

Now I hate hearing that song.

-T’Anna Holst

I trusted her forever.
Good choice.

-Nate Koechley

You holding my hair,
me puking.

-Diana Greiner

Romantic comedies screwed me for life.

-Daniela Medina

Which brings me to my Six-Word thinking challenge for you:

If you were going to write your life story in six words, what would it be?  Would you be happy with your Six-Word Story?  If not, what needs to change in order to create a re-telling of your story?

My Six-Word Challenge has got me thinking; that’s for sure.  And while I’ve yet to write mine (and I will) what I know, is that making the courageous decision to follow my passion to write, has meant even if I’m not quite there yet, (with the happy ending) I sure am getting close.

I’ll end with an excerpt of a Raymond Carver poem I’ve posted before.  I’m sharing this with you because when I read it for the first time several years ago, I realized I was not happy with the trajectory of my life story.  And while I had absolutely no idea how to change that, I committed to embarking on a truth-seeking quest to figure it out.  After a journey than has been in equal measure painful and wonderful, I can happily say, I’ve narrowed the chasm–––I’m getting closer to feeling myself “beloved on this earth.”

Eventually, it happens to all of us.

Some sooner; others more later than does them good.  A lucky few have it from the get go.  For the rest of us, it comes to us as it will.

New life; mid-life; end of life.  Job lost; job found.  Joy.  Tragedy.  Marriage.  Divorce.  Mercury in retrograde.  Full Moon.  No moon.  Too many hormones; too few.

The Tipping Point.  The Unstoppable Groundswell.  The “Mad as Hell and Not Going to Take it Anymore,” show-stopping line in the sand.

The day we wake up and say, “I’m done.”   Done with a major, tattooed capital D done.

Done.  Over.  Through.  Mad as hell, DONE.

Done with the  misogynistic boss; the sabotaging, subversive employee; the condescending coworker. Had enough of the hypercritical in-law; the gossipmonger frenemy.  ‘Bout ready to pop the discounting spouse; the attorney with attitude; the crappy contractor.  So completely over the client who takes advantage; the abusive customer; the snotty service rep.

We’re no longer willing to be discounted, degraded or deliberately demeaned.  We’ve finally found our voice.  And we’re ready to tell the world.

We shower-script our exits; rehearse ‘I’ll show you’ speeches; plot befitting endings while streaming old episodes of Dexter.  In short, we get a tad bit carried away.

And though I am sorry to interrupt, (since you are clearly having a very good time) I do have to urge you (most vehemently, in fact) to pull back those reins.  Because, Nellie, you’re about ready to get yourself into one mighty big heap of trouble.

So, take that resignation letter out of the inbox; put away the pepper spray; redact that tweet and consider this:

1) The Dastardly Nature of Drastic Measures.  Do not blow up your life.   Are you listening?  I’ll say it again, because it’s very, very important:  Do not blow up your life.  (At least not without thinking things through.)  You are in the middle of your very own existential tsunami so get advice; give it time.  If after exhausting all the ‘let’s fix this’ alternatives, you still believe that drastic measures are required, then okay.  But first, develop a rational plan, vet it with your ‘team’ and then go forward; clearly, soberly.

2) The Continuum of Pent-Up Demand.   Think of your emotions as points on a continuum.  By staying silent, you’ve been hanging out at zero.  When you finally get in touch with how angry you are, (about having swallowed your words for soooooo long) you’ll find yourself suddenly rocketed into the land of ten.  Productive change happens at that place in the middle.  Stay cool until you find it.

3) The Complexities of Anger.  Anger turned inward leads to depression; turned outward, can get you twenty-to-life.  Own your anger, but find appropriate, self-supporting ways to express it.  (Kickboxing is a personal favorite.  Nothing like punching that bag.)  Imposing your anger on someone else?  Not so much.

4) It’s Not Their Fault.  If you’ve gone for years letting ‘them’ get away with it, then ask yourself, who’s really at fault here?  Before you shoot, think about how you have enabled ‘their’ bad behavior.  And then ask yourself, is this relationship, this job, worth saving?  What would need to happen to make it productive, positive and healthy?  And from there, be the instrument of change.

5) It May Not Work; They May Not Get It.   Or, ‘they’ may not care enough to get the relationship back on track no matter what you do.  Finding your voice, invariably means leaving people and situations behind.  It’s just the way it is.  Which is not to say it’s easy; because it’s not––but you will get through it––you will.  And remember, you don’t need to make those big break-up speeches, nor do you have to detach completely.  Sometimes distance is all that is required; at others, it will be better to ‘go gentle into that good night.’

It may take time to find the right melody, the steady beat, but eventually, you will find that pitch perfect voice of yours.  It takes practice, but it’s there, waiting to shine through.