No Way Out

Like I was four years ago, I  am caught up in this year’s election cycle, but this year I have no way out. In 2012 the contest between Barack Obama and Mitt Romney had me frothing at the mouth, gnashing my teeth and driving myself a bit insane. As I inched closer to going around the bend, unable to tear myself away from the nightly talking heads, for me at least, there was relief in sight. In October of 2012 I traveled to Indonesia.

This was the trip of a lifetime. One I could hardly afford, but couldn’t afford to pass up. When would I have another opportunity to do something like this again? I was correct; I’m sure there hasn’t been another time in the past four years when I could or would have done it. I wasn’t working, my life was in total flux and I was obsessed with what the coming election would mean. I had to get out of Dodge.

Getting there took almost 20 hours. We headed east (not west) stopping in Frankfort, Singapore and finally landing in Bali, half a world and a universe away from what I’d left behind. I spent two weeks meditating daily,practicing yoga, sightseeing and avoiding the news from home. My daughter emailed me about a monster storm, but her descriptions failed to convey the gravity and destruction of hurricane Sandy. She didn’t mention the election.

The lush and fecund surroundings lulled me, and the daily meditations soothed my anxiety.  It was insanely hot; each day we’d venture out from our tiny but comfortably air conditioned villa to explore temples, festivals and sacred places. We visited healers and medicine men, we even went to see a fortune teller. Each day we’d return home and I’d be drenched through my clothes. I would put on my bathing suit, plunge into the pool and float until my body temperature regulated.

I couldn’t have found a place farther from the one I ordinarily inhabited, or a lifestyle farther removed from the insanity I’d created as I fretted over the political climate at home. I barely thought about the election, I let my anxiety melt into the shimmering heat, and leaned into the tranquility of the island. Each morning women would come and leave offerings of bright flowers around the villa. These offerings were literally everywhere, outside every house, store, temple and even in the middle of the road.

When it was time to return to the States, I cried like I had as a kid leaving sleep away camp. I had missed my daughter terribly, but in the most selfish way I wanted to stay in that moment, in that peaceful, magical place. I didn’t want to get on a plane and go back to the insanity of my life; would I be able to hold on to the calm I felt each morning when I woke?

The trip home took even longer than the trip there. I timed my return carefully; we returned on Election Day. Despite my exhaustion I dropped my bags and headed out to cast my vote. Then I went home and watched the election results unfold.

This year I have no trip to Indonesia (nor anywhere else) to bring me relief from the presidential race.  I am dumbfounded that in 2012 I was worried, in light of what has unfolded this year.  I have returned to my obsessive use of the touchstone of Nate Sliver’s Fivethrityeight.com  to reassure myself that Donald Trump will not become president.

When I was a kid my mother announced if Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, or George H. Bush became president we would move to Canada. I wonder what she’d be saying this year. I have said those words to my own daughter, in the eventuality that Trump wins the presidency.  The USA has survived terrible presidents, but somehow this all feels so different, so surreal and frightening. Whether Donald Trump wins or loses, his rhetoric has unleashed the basest and most hateful voices. His rabid followers suddenly have a champion to represent them. No matter the outcome of this election Trump has released the hounds and they will not fall silent. I’m afraid there is no way out.