📌A personal story from this election

This isn't a post about politics. But also, it kinda is.

There are two topics that I’ve done my best to diligently avoid in these blog posts. First: discussion on anyone that I’m currently dating. And second: politics.

But today, I’m breaking both of those sacred rules by sharing a story from the past 2 weeks. And while it has me terribly twisted inside to venture into such unchartered terrain — radio silence on my tiny platform, also felt deafening in all the wrong ways.

After all, I preach leaning into one’s “discomfort zone.” And there’s little that makes me less comfortable than the ghastly topic of politics. For an innately conflict-averse person, politics is torturous.

But if you’re reading this post right now, you’re probably someone close to, and similar to, me. Which means: this message is for you.

So, I hope you buckle-up and stick around.

We’ve got a lot to get through.

A bit of background…

I spent the weekend before Election Day with the guy that I’ve been dating. And while we haven’t known each other long, I know this:

He’s the most integrity-governed, morally-bound, man that I’ve ever met.

He’s the type of man that self-deploys as a volunteer to a health humanitarian crisis in a faraway land, and sprints into a collapsing building to rescue a person five stories up. He’s the man that charges an armed robber in a bank heist weathering a bullet to the chest, and on instinct, dives 20 feet underwater to rescue someone trapped in a sinking car. He’s the man that does not observe, but intercepts, injustice, risking retaliation to protect any demographic of underdog. He’s the man that forgives, even when deeply wronged, and after the fact, readily offers the wrong-doer a helping hand.

He’s the man that “does right” when no one is watching. And, “rights wrongs” when there’s no possible reward.

When you spend time around a rare individual like that — someone whose moral compass points due North — you start asking uncomfortable questions of yourself.

If faced with something really uncomfortable, something really hard—would my actions actually mirror my ideology? Would I operate at the highest levels of my principles?

Would I honor my deepest moral code?

I’ve never really been tested on such. So, shamefully, I know not.

In any case, there are other lighter, more superficial traits, that I’ve come to know of this man. Green eyes. Burly guy. Interesting background. Drives a pick-up truck. But it’s the moral compass, seared into his chest, that has stuck with me most.

And on the weekend before Election Day in Pennsylvania, as I walked beside this man — arguably the most high integrity human I’d ever met — I learned one more thing about him.

He planned on voting for Trump.

Leading up to Election Day…

It was a curious thing to be here, in Pennsylvania, ahead of the most heated election in U.S. history. T-shirts were proudly worn. Hats were boldly donned. And bumper stickers blitzed every surface.

But the most troubling political statements that I could see, didn’t take the form of what people did — wore on their body, or watched on TV. Rather, it took the form of what people didn’t do — conversations that went un-had.

Statements, that went entirely un-said.

It was my first time ever voting in a “battleground” state. The label alone indicating that the window for discourse had long since passed. Dead in a ditch, somewhere, perhaps. A ditch we all dug — by digging in — with our heels.

Harder, than ever before.

In the days leading up to Tuesday, a curious hush set in. And here, in Pennsylvania, it felt less like patriotic voting season.

More like: silent civil war.

The tension was undeniably palpable. It wafted in the air. We secretly scanned those around us — at the gym, at the grocery store, and at otherwise jovial Autumnal Fairs. We scowled and squinted at fellow citizens, in an effort to exorcise their souls. Is this person one of the good guys like me, or a demon of the dark opposing force?

Depraved and evil, most likely.

Gullible and brainwashed, at best.

We were all repulsed, really. Disgusted by the sheer volume of “sheep” shuffling on the other side of the fence. Sheep, that in some cases, we’d never met.

Let alone spoke with, in any meaningful depth.

So instead, discussion remained private. Discourse scoped to our own political pastures, churning within itself. Even between friends and loved ones, perspectives sometimes went undiscussed. Different views held at a healthy distance. Though judgements, were generously thrown.

Laced in every stare. Doused in darting eyes. Glazed on every side-glance.

Moral distrust was a silent killer, between strangers most of all. And all of us, so certain, we held the moral high ground. But a high ground staged for flanking attack — all people, full participation, in quiet guerrilla war.

The political banners of both parties peppered the state. Colorful signs blanketed every intersection, bringing invisible undercurrents to a visible forefront. With just the right tint. Just the right hue. They spoke to our colored glasses.

And by that I mean: their colored glasses. The other side’s faulty pair.

And so, in the last few weeks in Pennsylvania, I found myself hardly able to recall what talking about politics even looked like. Its absence, replaced instead, with stone-cold silence. A frequency of animosity — inaudible, but felt.

A frequency, that I shamefully tuned into.

A frequency, that I only reinforced.

Many, like myself, were resigned to a deep disappointment. I was certain: this election was about values, character and ethics, and if one couldn’t see that, conversation on policy was largely pointless. Though I could make the obvious case on policy, with ease.

But it became too painful to even talk about it. It became too hard to even try to hear the other view. It became too uncomfortable to even attempt empathy.

After all, it felt absent — almost proudly rejected — by the other side.

And so, what I judged them for most, was everything I slowly became. Unwilling to even attempt insight. Unwilling to even try to understand.

Those people — surely, so ethically askew.

But then again…what about this man?

Wading into politics…

It was the weekend before Election Day, and we met up for another date.

And it was there, strolling around a food fair in rural Pennsylvania, that we found ourselves engaged in more than one messy matter, together:

Eating structurally unsound tacos. And wading into sensitive politics.

He opened up the discussion — curious to hear my view. Though I suspect, he could already guess my stance. I too sensed our seating on opposite sides of the spectrum. I too feared, that which I already knew.

But somehow, we found the strength. Perhaps, we cared about each other enough to want to. To discuss, what we know we should.

Once prompted, however, I proceeded to bulldoze past all of those tender feelings. After all, politics is about debate. Attacking other positions, and defending your own. Politics has always been metaphored through war.

So dutifully, I followed suit.

I rattled off all of my facts, studies, logical reasoning, and irrefutable concrete research. I catalogued all of the evidence of corruption and misinformation used by the other side to de-rail from good, solid truth. And I dumped a long list of anecdotes, that illustrated the unforgivable and unhinged moral uproot.

I longed to prove my point. Strived to make my case. And prayed, that I might change his mind.

And while I attempted to translate tempered in tone, I was a raging inferno inside.

After all, in this election, such intensity felt acceptable. Caustic, unbridled wrath was their rhetoric. And when your opponent fires arrows and hand grenades, you don’t arm yourself with rainbows and butterflies.

They started it.

It’s necessary. It’s justified.

I eventually closed my arguments, and proceeded to anxiously gorge on a jumbo-sized bag of kettle corn. An effort to fortify myself in a sugar coma — numb to what would surely be frustrating and uninformed arguments that I’d already heard before. I bristled, more and more, with each passing second. Waiting for him to jump into a long list of counter-points. Waiting for him to nuke this fleeting lull.

But instead, he took a different approach. That strategy, never came. His winning strategy, wasn’t trying to win at all. Instead, he countered only with curiosity. He countered only with questions. He disarmed only with inquisition.

And I found myself stunned, peeking out from over my own barricade.

I’m curious for your opinion on XYZ situation. I saw it as a mistake, but how do you view the issue? I have concerns about XYZ from this perspective, but is there any research you have that suggest otherwise? It makes sense to me that XYZ will logically happen under this policy, but can you explain more of what you were referring to about how you think it will play out?

I wanted to change his mind with a sledgehammer. He wanted to observe mine precisely as it was.

To preserve it. To hold it. To study it, up close — held gently, and un-judged.

And that’s not to say he didn’t have his strong opinions. Ones well-formed, well-backed, and fully ready to be expressed. He could have easily sparred in retort. But it was because of that act — that effort — to ask questions, with zero effort to “case-make,” that something incredible happened.

I learned more about the other side than ever before. And it was the most productive political discussion, that I ever had.

And the more we talked, the more I couldn’t help but want to try to mirror him. In his commitment to adopt the other perspective — to even make a case on my behalf. And for the first time, I processed new information, by venturing beyond my own palisade.

I paused. I listened. And I finally heard, the perspective from the other side.

And there were many examples of what I somewhat started to get, but I’ll just share one aside: all my life, gun policy felt obvious and simple to me.

Because: when I hear “guns,” I viscerally feel something abstract and impersonal that I’ve never held before. Something mostly held by bad people, with the goal of taking innocent lives. With the power to destroy.

But when he hears “guns,” he viscerally feels something familiar, a tool of responsibility that he’s held in his hands. Something held more often, by good people, like himself. With the duty to protect. With the power to save innocent lives.

A life-saving tool, more than a life-taking machine.

And it was the first time ever — ever — on more than one issue, that I even slightly understood the other side.

Election Day arrives…

We navigated our way to common understanding on some things. And not, on many others.

But we built comfort in discussing the uncomfortable. And I came out with a paradoxical feeling: disagreeing with someone’s ultimate conclusion, while also trusting their judgement.

How’s that for weird?

I repeat: mega twisted feeling inside.

I came out of that conversation, not thinking less of this man and his moral compass. But indeed, only thinking more. And as I drove back home after hanging out, I found myself feeling deeply unsettled. Squirming, in my Mini Cooper. No music on in the car.

And not unsettled with him. But rather: unsettled within myself.

He was looking to learn, more than convince. He pushed us towards ground truth. I sensed that I pushed us towards “politics.”

And while I’m sure this man is the exception in many ways, across both political sides — the feeling was still uncomfortable.

Is it possible that this man, voting for Trump, could also be net-net more open minded? With a stronger sense of morality? With more integrity?

And worse yet, is it possible I actually understood some parts of his perspective? Dare I say, selectively agreed?

Election Day came, two days later, and I was hit with another unexpected shock. My phone buzzed to a message from this man, just after 5’o clock:

“I wanted to share something with you… I ultimately decided to drive past the polls. I appreciated hearing your opinion on things, so thank you.”

He had decided not to vote.

“I left that conversation wondering if there’s a lot more that I don’t know,” he added.

And for me — that certainly summed it up.

Because I left our conversation that day, with precisely the same troubled feeling.

Only, about myself.

What the story is all about…

Allow me to be clear, about what this story is not:

It’s not a plea to hold hands and sing Kumbaya in harmonized apolitical chorus. It’s not a rally cry to continue trying really hard to convince “other people,” to see the light. And it’s definitely not a high-five, for swaying the vote of one person towards our ~ever-perfect~ infallible side. In fact, it’s a story about just the opposite.

It’s not about how I may have swayed this man’s views, ever so slightly.

It’s about how he radically shook mine.

And none of that is to say that I would have changed my own vote in this election, whatsoever. I’m still deeply troubled by what’s unfolding, and my sentiment on our president-elect remains adamantly the same.

But my conscience is also quite conscious now of moral failures that bleed wide.

Not only over there — but indeed, also within our own side.

For the first time ever, I saw the boundaries of our tolerance. The borders of our own understanding and empathy — which we tout deconstructing, but also sometimes, selectively fortify.

In my case: I preached moral values, leading up to this election, but I also wasn’t wholly living it. I wasn’t really doing the hard thing when it counts.

I wasn’t seeking out, sitting with, or patiently listening to perspectives from the other side. And I definitely wasn’t hearing, when I struggled so hard to uphold a judgement-free headspace.

I demanded, that which I didn’t have.

And approaching politics from a place of genuine curiosity, doesn’t mean you don’t take a stand. The two can co-exist together. That’s what I learned from this man.

He had no ego, and no attachments — to his own existing research, or personal experience. And in no way, did his open mind translate passive or timid.

Trust me: “weak” is not an adjective one would use, if you could only see this man.

And so, if we all believe ourselves to have truly “strong” moral character, I sense more is required from all of us to actually prove it. The most morally sound thing that we can all do going forward, is to get even closer — uncomfortably close —to those wildly different. To shut our traps, and listen to individual people — the humans actually comprising the ~amorphous~ other side.

And the more uncomfortable that feels, the more we must do it. The more we crave enwrapping ourselves in “kindred spirits,” the more we must proactively not.

When it comes to matters of morality, after all, it’s not about doing right when things feel easy and safe. It’s about honoring our principles, in the moments that feel tough.

So no: we cannot withhold empathy and stop listening to understand, just because we don’t “feel it” reciprocated back. That’s not how “morality” works.

It doesn’t make moves only once things feel comfortable. It doesn’t honor its principles, only when things are fair.

Morality just does. And it does so, without keeping score.

Taking this small step ourselves, doesn’t absolve the actions of the “other side.” It’s merely ownership over the role we can, and must, play in solving this problem. Mastering the balance between compassion and conviction is hard, but there’s no excuse not to try.

To solve the “selective hearing,” that I suspect, spans both sides.

And more status posts on our social media pages, to our own loyal brethren, won’t change the tides for all. Rather, we need to branch out of our bubbles — and branch hard.

Listen, and ask questions with no agenda, to the people that see the world most differently.

Invite for coffee, sit with, and sit within — the persona of the other side.

Conclusions

In this brave new world that we’re living in, I sense this is our only hope.

Where false information propagates rapidly. Where “news” can be warped and intentionally misused. Where the algorithms that once built discourse by democratizing access to information, now actively deconstruct. When we comfortably scroll in confirmation bias, we funnel deeper into our siloes.

Our faith. Our demographics. Our upbringings. Our lived experiences — the longer we stay in tight proximity with our own, the more we harden myopic worldviews.

And in a world that will only become increasingly saturated in misinformation, it will require all of our heads pushed tightly together, more than ever, seeking truth to break down those walls. So that technology doesn’t play right into our existing alchemy, and forever shape and stratify political views.

And while I may not have literally cast my ballot for this president-elect — I now wonder: if my behavior inadvertently did.

If my dogma spiked in defense because it’s what I saw the other side doing. If I became precisely that which frustrated me most: unwillingness to even contemplate and empathize more with people so different than me. I wanted them to practice tolerance, without consistently practicing it myself.

That’s what I didn’t understand — my own double standard, buried deep within.

Until it was illuminated right before me when I witnessed a true act of moral courage — quietly, humbly and unequivocally embodied — in the actions of this man.

Doing the right thing, irrespective of what the other side is doing.

Doing the hard thing, every time.

And this past week, as I hugged this person closely even in my deep sadness at the election’s results — this is what I thought about. This man may have ultimately decided to rescind his vote in the election, but there’s no doubt in my mind who did the greater public service.

Who changed who, for the better. Who more widely opened the other’s eyes.

Opened eyes, that stopped scowling at other people. And instead, started looking a bit more closely within. At a woman whose actions, I hope, embody her ideology. Precisely, like that of this man.

That’s the moral of this story. The moral reminder for us all.

Going forward — how we uphold the code, we all miss in this country.

And how we embody, who we claim we are.