Once again, we would not take a chance. Too much at stake to change is what I heard and read–time and again–as if America cannot walk and chew gum at the same time. Admittedly, I have my doubts about that, too.
But what better time to take a chance! Our republic is in shreds as we fight foreign interference, corporate corruption, and party manipulation. Warren had plans, lots of them to rescue our republic, and we were all included, especially the middle class, which she believes can be the backbone of America, again. Isn’t that what we asked?
Maybe when it comes to restoring country, we are not so keen. We cry out for change without accepting what it takes to weave it into the fabric of our lives. Warren was trying to add a political lane–she thought there was room–she found two ways and neither one was for her.
Change means leaving some part of life behind for something untried. It’s risky. Warren made no pretense of a panacea but for a bright, shining moment we were strong, and then, we were silent as Elizabeth grew invisible.
She believed in what is best in us but not enough of us believed in what is best in her. Everywhere she turned on Super Tuesday, she was soundly slapped. We stood for hours to get a selfie with her but when we stood in line to vote, it was for others.
I have gone back-and-forth about voting for Elizabeth Warren–I feel neither the Bern nor the Biden–I live in Florida so I still hold my ballot close to my heart (cheesy, I know). I am old enough to remember that democracy means messy and a contested convention is exciting when the nominee is not a foregone conclusion. That’s democracy in action, a party seeking the best for the country. That seems a novel idea now.
It’s a good thing to stand strong for your candidate, to fight with all your might with your moral compass as your guide, the righteous fight, as Elizabeth called it, the one that may leave you bloodied but the better for it.
Admittedly, this old white woman is tired of voting for old white men for president but before any panties get twisted, I am voting blue no matter who (m). Now, I am working on down-ballot races, and not only in my state, for we need to take the Senate and maintain the House. There is no time to sit on the sidelines.
Speaking of, it is time to let go of this post. If this were back in the day, I would have filled a small notebook by now for my anger runs deep. I am a writer so I write, making my way to the core of the energy of my emotion. From my gut I learn.
I can’t begin to imagine how Elizabeth Warren feels. She and I are (almost) the same age, advanced degrees, teachers once, administrators, and feminists, both having to learn about color and what our white skin has meant and continues to mean. That’s where the similarities end. I am no Elizabeth Warren but in different moments, we have known similar worlds.
People get lost in the fear of change, what it will mean to their lives. Many times, it seems better the devil that is known. Not too long ago, I read more than one post by women reluctant to identify as feminist because there is no longer a need for feminism. Good luck with that.
One of the many perks of being old is knowing that learning and letting go are one and the same breath, in and out. And if one breath doesn’t do it, there is always the next. Persist.