Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

I’m not an especially optimistic person by nature. I skew more toward middle of the road, fusing hope with expectation of the worst followed by sheer relief when I land somewhere in between.

This election season I made a conscious choice to be hopeful. It seemed preferable to spending months in anxiety, dread, and mopping up that terrible drippy fear-sweat. I’m not ignoring the facts nor disregarding the dialogue. I’m just taking a lot of deep breaths and reminding myself how many decent people will do the right thing.

In 2016, I was cocky. In 2020, I was cautiously confident that Joe Biden would save us — and he did. While I’m not going to shoot for confident in a race this tight, I do have a hopeful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I intend to hang onto it as long as possible.

For the record, I will always be grateful to Joe Biden for saving us. He didn’t have to do it. But no one else could,, in my opinion. And President Biden put us first again when he stepped aside. That had to be rough.

Over the past year, I‘ve had to rethink how hope works in my life. There was a time when I felt bereft that I could save myself in the face of utter disaster. I learned that hope isn’t just a feeling in me. It is a dynamic that flows between me and those who helped me, a vibe you might say, rather than an isolated experience.

That, I choose. I will fight to maintain that hope.

Back to 2024. I opted not to attend to Pittsburgh rally in person. I stayed home, burned my finger badly on a pop-tart which definitely helped me get grounded in the moment. And appreciate health care.

I hope you have a plan to vote. I hope you find comfort in whatever the outcome is.

I’ll be devastated/terrified if Trump/Vance win. but I’ll still hold onto hope. What else can we do?

#NaBloPoMo