Having been Far away on election day

      Before we left the country for a few weeks abroad, we wondered whether it would be better or worse to not be in the states for Election Day. We really couldn’t decide.

      Turns out, it was much, much better.

      Although not at first.

When we first got the news, it didn’t matter where we were. We were solidly in the land of depression, wondering how we’d ever emerge.

But instead of continuing to be submerged in dismay, slowly being so far away took hold. Instead of dwelling on depressing news, we explored ancient streets. Instead of following minute-by-minute vote tabulations, we drank some ouzo. Instead of falling into despondency after all the tabulations were finished, we ate moussaka. Instead of commiserating with friends on the days after, we wandered through the ruins of the Minoan civilization.

      It was, that is, easy—maybe too easy—to forget what was happening, what had happened, 6,000 miles away. We weren’t surrounded by friends crying, by neighbors bemoaning, by relatives worried and by so many talking heads on television explaining how it happened and what it meant that Donald Trump would be the next President of the United States.

      We had gotten the news, of course, and had recognized the seriousness of a bigoted, angry, vengeful buffoon once again becoming our president. We understood, of course, the reality that the last years of our long lives would be marked not by progress, increased social justice and growing equality; not by efforts to confront climate change; and not by the fulfillment of all we had worked for and hoped for. That instead they would be marred, tarnished by racism and retribution and the reasonable possibility of an America fully transformed into something close to evil.

      But we were so far away.

      Indeed, we didn’t fully comprehend how fortunate we were to be so distracted and how good it was to be otherwise engaged, until we were home and started getting in touch with friends.

      “How was the trip?” they’d ask. And we’d tell them, detailing all the things we had done, places seen, experiences had, food eaten. Then, how are you doing? we’d ask.

      “Oh,” said the friends. “Really depressed. Sad. Don’t know what to do.”

      This is how oblivious we were: we wondered if the depression and the sadness were because of a health issue, a problem with the grandkids or a financial problem.

      “No,” the friends would say. “It’s…”                                                                      

      And then we finally grasped how very fortunate we had been to be 6,000 miles away from Election Day. Because now we’re back, and, yeah, it’s…