America

A little over a week ago I ran the New York City Marathon.  That's me in the blue shirt and strawberry blonde ponytail. The day was gorgeous, the experience perfect. In the week since I've had my share of exasperated conversations, texted with many bewildered loved ones, and bitten my tongue frequently. I know every election is difficult and polarizing.  I know that my beliefs differ from many people that I care for and admire. And I know that I care for and admire many people whose political views would offend my more conservative/liberal friends. The disdain and misinformation would go both ways, cut equally deep.

I count myself lucky.  Because the vast majority of folks feeling exhausted or scared or exasperated by this election did not have the opportunity to run or witness the NYC Marathon. It's probably a privileged and naive perspective, but I do not believe you can feel hopeless after witnessing or being a part of such a thing. Before the race I chatted with a dozen different folks, over half of which did not share my uber-Irish skin tone. As I waited at the start line, I got turned around and couldn't figure out where the water station was located. I asked the nearest volunteer and she replied, with a big smile and an accent that could have been Mexican (or any other accent that a non-Spanish speaking American would assume was a Mexican accent), "oh here, just take my water bottle, good luck" and she thrust it into my hand before jogging off to help another runner. As we waited for our wave to be called, I chatted on the grass with a young, black woman who was running NYC as her first marathon. I never caught her name. But I know that she is as emotionally attached to her Sauconys as I am to my Asics. I gave her one of my packs of gummy chews because I accidentally bought a lemon-lime flavor that she liked and I loathed. I hope she finished happy.

My name was written on my shirt and as I ran I heard my name yelled in multiple accents, some I could place and some I could not. Hearing shouts of encouragement from strangers is always helpful. But hearing my name shouted by folks who placed the emphasis in a quirky place or used a short "a" instead of a long struck me as infinitely more powerful. If Heaven is an actual, physical place, I believe it to be full of strangers who warmly welcome you in hundreds of accents.

I do not discount the distress many feel due to the election. I do not discount the distress that lead many to vote for someone I believe does not have their interests at heart. Fear is a mighty, often irrational thing and it has the ability to steer us both away from and towards violence, destruction, apathy. So I do not want my optimism to come across as ignorant or flippant. I only know that my experience two days before the election made me hopeful, and I have tried to remind myself of that feeling in the days that have followed.

Sometimes we are runners, and sometimes we are on the sidelines.  Sometimes we speak in a language that is immediately understood, and sometimes our perspective is accented, easily confused for threat or ignorance. Sometimes we experience danger, and sometimes we struggle to believe danger exists. I am as much at fault for my personal bubble and bias as those who voted differently from me. But I have heard my name spoken with joy and encouragement in accents far flung from my Southern and Midwestern roots and I am hopeful America will continue to be a place where we can fling encouragement as emphatically as insults. I have hope that the words we choose and the actions they underscore will strengthen our bonds more frequently than break them.  And I have hope that we are early in this race.  Early and pacing strong.