MY HAPPY PLACE

It’s strangely unsatisfying to be so happy at a time of national sadness

I’m a white, gainfully employed, college educated 50-year-old, happily married, father of two living in Oregon. My health is near perfect, my family-life is truly enviable, I like my job and love the city and region in which I live.

I am comfortably middle – to slightly upper – middle class, own a very nice home and have zero debt. Further, my wife and I have a darn nice nest egg in savings which will be able to pay for both of my kid’s college education and a large chuck, if not all of our retirement. Speaking of the kids, they are truly special young people who get good grades, stay out of trouble and bring my wife and me true joy. 

Finally, we are in our 21^st year of marriage and things are as great as ever. She also has a job that she enjoys and provides a steady income. We are preparing for a family European vacation later this summer.

In short, If I am not the happiest man in the word, then I am a whole hell of a lot closer to him than to anyone truly miserable.

Ironically enough, I have never been sadder about the state of our nation and the occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

For I must add to my biographical information above that I am a liberal democrat, who greatly believes in diversity, equality, strong government, religious freedom, an independent press, a woman’s right to choose and tolerance toward all. And if you are all those things, you can’t help but practically weep openly not just at Trump and his cronies, but at the millions of fellow Americans who genuinely like the way he talks, acts and reacts.

So yeah, it’s weird. It’s weird to be so personally happy and to have so many blessings to be happy about – all in the shadow of the most regressive, repulsive and downright mean executive and legislative branches in my life.

My laptop these days is a schizophrenic collection of circuits, wires and plastic. One minute, my wife and I are booking rooms in really cool looking pensions in Munich for that trip of a lifetime this summer, and the next minute we are gaping slack-jawed at the latest constitutional crisis eagerly courted by the president. One minute we are celebrating the online postings of my daughter’s straight A report card, the next we are firing off angry letters to the editor.

My wife cried deeply on election night, I had a panic attack.  Three days later we were playing a rollicking game of monopoly with our kids and practically stumbling over the giddy domestic bliss of the scene.

In some ways if feels like winning the lottery and receiving a cancer diagnosis on the same day.  Thereafter, you are eagerly planning trips and purchasing dream cars, only to suddenly catch yourself and wonder, “but will I be around long enough to enjoy any of this?”

Recently, my place of business was bought be a larger entity. I joined with my colleagues for several days wondering if I was about to be laid off. I wasn’t. It turned out the new company likes my work and will keep me on. But not so, others.

This sets up a kind of survivor’s guilt at work.  I never talk about the new job afforded me, nor do I ask them about their status. We talk about the weather a lot and try and avoid deeper conversations.

It’s a little like that now with people I know who are or will suffer to a much greater degree than I am or will under Trump. As mentioned, I am white, I have a degree and a good job with good health benefits and substantial savings without debt. But I know a lot of people who are minorities, have debt, have deep reservations about their health insurance and are part of the LGBTQ community.

My family and I – at least in the short to medium term – will be fine under Trump. Yet, we will live in the same community, drive the same streets and breathe the same air as people who will decidedly not be fine under this president.

A few years ago we lived near an area that was devastated by fire. I remember touring the burned out neighborhoods with a friend and he pointed to a pristine house on a hill that was untouched by the blaze. All around it however, black earth and the smoldering wreckage of dwellings. He said how lucky that homeowner was, to be one of the few the fire left unscathed. Yes, I thought…sort of. But every day from now on, he will wake up and look out at a hell scape of destruction and wonder: “should I be happy that my house and stuff are safe, or should I be sad because everyone else’s is destroyed?”

Perhaps that might be the biggest difference between Red and Blue America today. Red America would chose to be happy because their home and all their possessions are intact. Blue America could not chose to be happy because of the isolation, loneliness and suffering visited unto others in the community.

I’m sorry, but there very much is an “I got mine” mentality emanating from Trump and his millions of supporters. Whereas, we progressives feel deep down in our hearts: “I can’t be truly happy if so many others are miserable.”

So I live like that person on the hill – reveling in the happiness of my near perfect bubble – yet knowing that right outside the window lies sorrow and bleakness.

It is indeed strange to be a happy little island in a sea of bleak.