It’s the post I don’t want to write.

It’s the space I don’t want to inhabit.

But four years ago, I didn’t really even truly consider that it was possible for a smart, talented woman like Hillary Clinton to lose the presidential election against a blustering, lying reality star and oaf like DJT.

That was naive. I was naive.

I thought… yeah, she’s got an uphill climb – being a woman and dealing with sexism and the old boy’s club. She has a lot of enemies. I knew DJT, despite his laughable idiocy, had a rabid fan-base. But Hillary is smart. She has experience. She knows her shit. I trusted the polls. I trusted she’d persevere.

She did not.

Today we are 9 days out from, potentially the most important presidential election of my lifetime. Some of you will think that sounds dramatic or over-the-top. Some of you will say, “Oh, every generation thinks that at some point.”

Perhaps.

But perhaps with a better understanding of your own privileges, you might see how much has already impacted vulnerable communities qnd populations. You might realize how much is still at stake, hanging by the threads of democracy — healthcare, equal marriage rights, immigration policies. These are all things that effect real people: our neighbors, our co-workers, our families. And to have a narcissistic, power hungry, mentally unwell leader, who is only interested in lining his own pockets, at the helm?

We are 9 days out.

We are 9 days out and I have to confront that the polls don’t know, the experts don’t know, and we the people don’t know who will win this election.

We don’t know how quickly all the early votes, mailed in votes, and day-of votes will be counted.

We don’t know how far other countries will go to meddle and interfere in our democratic processes.

We don’t know if there will be active voter intimidation at the polls.

We don’t know if in-person voting will result in another surge of (already surging) Coronavirus cases.

We don’t know if 3rd party voting will help Trump get re-elected.

We don’t know if the results will be contested. (Having lived through my first election-year vote for Al Gore in 2000, I will remember that it was not a fun process, but kind of feels like peanuts now.) We don’t know if a corrupt Supreme Court will make a corrupt decision in favor of the narcissist-in-chief.

We don’t know what kind of violence could erupt.

We don’t know if decency and hope will prevail.

We don’t know if enough people will vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. We don’t know if they will win.

They are not perfect candidates. They weren’t my first choices in the large pool of potential candidates. I’m not here to argue their merits, experience, potential policies. But I will stand on the side of decency and the vulnerable and say as boldly as I can that Trump has to go. Our country cannot endure 4 more years of anti-intellectualism, science-denial, racist pandering, hateful gaslighting and fear-stoking.

They may not win.

Knowing (or even thinking we know how things will play out) is a comfort.

But we don’t know.

I really don’t want to think this way.

But I have to open some mental and emotional space for these possibilities.

One of the principles of ACT (acceptance and commitment therapy) is that the bulk of our mental distress comes from actively denying and avoiding our troubling thoughts, emotional pains, and problems. Yes, it takes energy and courage to sit with hard feelings and explore them and write posts you don’t want to write, but it takes SO much more energy to suppress our pain, worries, fears. It leaves us sick, stuck, listless, defeated.

No matter what happens in 9 days, I don’t want to be defeated.

I wanted to get away from my busy house to confront my fears, and to write this post. I wanted to go somewhere and sit by the water and get some perspective, some peace.

Luckily I live in northwest Michigan, and rivers, bays, beaches and lakes (some of them Great) are a dime a dozen. I headed out and into Traverse City, reading the mess of red and blue roadside signs as I drove. Some hopeful. Some nasty. Some outright dishonest. But I drove on, and catching sight of the bay through my windshield, I took a deep breath and began to look for a roadside park or a lot that I could pull into to escape the madness I was trying to avoid.

And directly across the street there’s all this sporadic horn-honking. Why? Because two trucks, each sporting two ridiculously large Trump flags, are parked across this lot. They’re outside their vehicles, whooping and hollering and selling more of these flags. They’re holding signs that say “Honk 4 Trump.”

I’d honk for him to be impeached, get indicted, go to jail … but here we have his fan club, singing his praises and stoking his divisive ways. And somehow, weirdly enough, helping me by reminding me to confront the uncomfortable possibilities, and to stay with my worries and fears for a bit.

Not because I want to spiral into a hopeless place; because I want to remember that no matter what happens in 9 days, that I am not alone. This world does have a place for hope and diversity and justice. No matter what happens, the next 4 years will not be an easy road to travel (unfortunately, the haters aren’t going to retreat), but we cannot let our spirits be defeated.

We may have to mourn, lament, cry out. God, I hope not, but if we must grieve – we will grieve. But we will not change the truths we believe in, the people we care about, or the work we need to do. And in the meantime, we fight like hell.

Thank you for confronting this discomfort with me. You may not agree with me on everything, and that is okay. I remember counseling a client who was convinced that her socially awkward, anxious interactions might just kill her. It may sound silly to you, but it truly immobilized her and made her feel so alone. By confronting our fear about what might happen, we can realize we’re not alone and that fear won’t kill us. We just begin to get a better understanding of the work we might have to confront.

The bay is beautiful, by the way. There are seagulls swooping across the water, boldly colorful trees lining the water’s edge. And … there’s still some damn honking happening from the Trumpians every now and then, reminding me I have some middle fingers to throw as I get ready to drive home. Seriously, eff ’em. Ok, you got me – I’m not generally a middle finger thrower. But that fighting spirit will carry me, no matter what happens in 9 days.