The Day After Tomorrow

November 4th, 2024

As anxious as I am for tomorrow, I’m even more anxious for another day.

The day after tomorrow.

By that I mean that all of this doesn’t end when the last ballot is counted. When we say this is an election like no other, it’s not hyperbole, or the political version of The Bachelor claiming that every new season is “the most. Dramatic. EVER.”

This is different because now we know exactly where everyone stands, but the ground isn’t political; it’s different because politics today aren’t politics at all.

The way things used to be, if red won, blue would sigh (or if blue won, red would sigh) and then we’d get back to it, living and working in this country together. We would integrate ourselves until the next big game.

I don’t see how that’s possible anymore.

You and I have heard and seen things that we find ethically corrupt, morally reprehensible, and impossible to accept or ignore anymore. Not once. Countless times, over countless moments and hours and rallies and years. And we’ve seen other people accept, embrace, and celebrate those same terrible things.

Regardless of who wins, nobody sighs. This isn’t the type of shit that people let go. Over the past nine years, relationships between strangers and acquaintances and co-workers and friends and couples and families have been destroyed, not from politics, but from the worst parts of humanity being exposed in the false names of politics and party and beliefs and country.

I personally have relationships that will never be same. I don’t know many people who don’t.

And this feeling doesn’t end after everyone gets their red sticker.

My greatest hope is that the temperature does go down, enough that we’re able to talk to each other again, and move our feet to find some common ground, and even clear up some of the misconceptions that we certainly have for each other.

But let’s be honest: most of us just know too much now to go back. And it’s complicated: some of us pay more attention than others, and some of us are ignorant of issues or misinformed or don’t really care at all, and the social media of it all doesn’t help. (If anyone is familiar to oversharing on social media to the detriment of their own image, it’s the guy writing this essay.)

I don’t have a neat bow to write here. No hopeful final sentence to tie on top. Just a severe case of anxiety, a mild case of questioning my sobriety at a moment like this, and a sincere wish that I’ll be wrong, and the day after tomorrow we’ll all just sigh, and then get back to it.