Division

Many say that the truth of the matter is that most of us really, underneath all this Trump stuff, actually agree about everything, but for some reason we can’t see that. I believe that, but I still feel this deep sadness about the division I experience everywhere I go. I feel division at family and friend gatherings. I feel it in small comments, but most often in silence. I feel it in the paranoia that crops up inside me when I am talking freely and begin to worry that someone I love might have heard what I said and disagree. I feel it when a big pickup truck revs by, flags flapping, expletives flaring across their bumper, overtaking our vehicle. I feel it in the violence of that. I feel it the curt note my old friend sent telling me she is ok with us not being friends anymore. I feel the division  in the regret of the memory I have of the political fight I got into with my elderly mother not long before she died. It feels like despair, it feels like grief, it feels like a black hole, like nothing will ever be the same.  I remember a time when political conversations would come and go and not tear the room apart. I blame the president for this. I know that of all things he’s done, it’s this awful, toxic division he will be remembered for.