Musings

But…what about your business?
What about your clients?
What if people unfollow you?
What if you get a nasty email?
What about alienating your loved ones?
What about screaming into an echo chamber?
What about Aunt Wilma who posts the most BIZARRE conspiracy theories?

The “What abouts” are real, guys.

These are all thoughts I've had; all thoughts expressed in my small business community too.

And yet, as I've mentioned before, from the tippy-tops of my toes to the roots now growing out of my head, I know not saying anything isn't an option for me. It feels grossly negligent to just stand by.

I'd like to gently nudge you in that direction.

Rachel Rodgers has a post today that inspired me enough to put down some words before I go for a run to clear my mind after WHAT AN ENTIRELY SHIT SHOW WEEK WAS THAT, YOU GUYS?!

Because, you see, that's what I do. I write.

It's my gift to you. As, “Let's all get in a circle and list 3 things we're grateful for,” as that sounds—that's my power. That's me sprinkling a little bit of infectious (for the love, not COVID-style) stardust on this corner of the interwebs, asking you to take pause, and reflect.

When you hide what makes you special, you become invisible. When you keep doing something that's not working just because you don't want to rock the boat, ultimately, you drown.

Rachel Rodgers

The kicker is: when you take a stand, make a statement or share your opinion, you often account for some sort of blow back in your life. 

That often comes in the form of friends and family. Our loved ones.

Defining your circle of friends and family can be a lifelong culling process, more often than not, reflecting how true to yourself you've been. Are these the people you choose to surround yourself with or those who are there by-proxy based on the facade you've presented yourself?

Ouch.

That can be why it's hard to take a stand. Harder to voice an opinion when you know you will offend. Why you may think it doesn't matter in the end. 

And here's the pain-point most often missed with that worry of the possible backlash: you'll be okay.

• You'll be so okay that you'll revel in what finding your voice and rocking the boat feels like. 
• You'll be so okay that you'll find out who admires your stance.
• You'll be so okay that others will follow your footsteps and not only stand by your side, but hold your hand saying, “Thank you.”
• You'll be so okay that the bravery it takes to speak your truth when you know you will offend someone, will provide rocket fuel for the next time you decide to karate chop the dreaded, Pollyanna, “let's not get political” territory. 

As you start defining these things about yourself, you naturally attract those to your circle who want to support and share in your ideals. Just by being you. Just by taking a stand.

So here's my stance:

I am voting for Joe Biden.

I do not think Donald Trump is fit to be president. Amongst many other things, he openly mocks POC, people with disabilities, women and more often than not, lies so much that we are left wondering if statements from the highest office in our country are accurate.

We absolutely cannot afford another 4 years like this.

I will absolutely not cast my vote for a third-party or write-in someone for an election this important. I certainly understand that not having a candidate that reflects my values entirely is frustrating, but I'm voting for more than just me.

(My qualms with the two-party system are something that deserves to be actively worked on during the 4 years of a presidency—not just discussed during election season.)

I will not worry what those statements may do to my business, my friends, my family, my next-door neighbor who so adorably blasts Hawaiian music while working in his garage because—

Here’s the reality:

Staying out of politics is a political move.

Staying silent to appease some out-dated business model is both irresponsible, offensive and short-sighted.

Staying quiet in order to remain affable and get more clients (money) is more a matter of character than politics.

Staying neutral screams a lot louder and says a lot more about you than you think.

My business. You. Me.

We deserve better than that. 

Taking a stand will cause a ripple effect because bravery has a way of doing that. 

Who are you willing to be? Who are you willing to offend?

Today, I’m asking you to be brave.

If you're finding yourself shouting that we've read about this in history books, we've seen how this plays out based on the past, we know where we are heading because we've watched other countries march into their future to the same vicious drum beat, then know you aren't alone.

I often find myself too frustrated for words, which says something as I'm paid to do it for a living. This frustration then turns into fear. Fear of not being able to accurately express myself. Fear of remaining relatable enough to both those who feel similarly so they know they aren't alone and those who may disagree but will continue to read.

Then that other fear rears its ugly head. The one where I add to the often misused and now politicized word: divisiveness.

So I don't write.

I avoid putting the words down.

I tell myself that the actions I take, whether that's donating to causes, marching the streets, encouraging people to vote are important—and they are—so that should be enough.

But, truth be told, for me, living my truth means putting it down into words.

A declaration in times like these is too crucial to be avoided.

It's imperative that people know where you stand.

And if you're murking in the shadows, feeling that it isn't right or the best time or your voice is just one amongst many or that you may offend people you love, I'd like to pause for a moment.

Perhaps sharing a personal story can show us that we are more alike than different right now.

I wasn't always declaring my Not Your Average Gal-ness. I desperately wanted to be “normal” and fit in during school, simultaneously embracing my quirks but also just wanting to be asked to the dance so I could feel like everyone else it seemed. (Key word being seemed.) I dealt with the blow back of saying what was right and wrong enough that I became somewhat of an outcast on one side of my family. That sort of rejection is painful, especially given it's family. It gave me pause for years as to what I should or shouldn't say in front of people in order to remain affable.

But the hard reality is, the truth exposes itself eventually. Whether that's from lies and secrets uncovering themselves, a product of ruthless erosion that time relentlessly provides. Or from enough people waving the white flag of exhaustion, their conscience unable to stomach the ugly bile of knowing what's right, what's true.

What happened was I found out quite quickly while telling my truths, that I wasn't alone. Sharing my thoughts only uncovered that shroud of secrecy in our similarities.

I'd hate to think I left someone feeling alone because I wasn’t willing to say something out loud.

So here we are.

The truth.

Founded, substantiated, not an opinion, not up for debate, not simply a preference, not simply a difference of opinion.

Science is real.
Black lives matter.
Rural America isn't stupid.
Women's rights are human rights.
The pandemic isn't a hoax.
Climate change is happening.
My ER doc husband and his hospital aren't getting kickbacks for COVID.
I watch too much reality TV.

None of these statements are political in nature. None. If you’ve been convinced otherwise—on either side—you've been conned. Hard stop.

Okay, I'll carry on…

On a fundamental level, people want to be heard, to be valued, to know their life matters.

Whether that manifests itself amongst often-forgotten rural America that idolizes a guy with a relatable no-holds-barred-approach, that sneers at the political elite and jeers at fellow Americans who don't look or talk like them. Or reveals itself through country-wide marches decrying the lack of value for black lives, systemic struggles amongst minorities, all while we watch another Black American murdered in broad daylight in our streets.

We're scared.

Scared about the loss of jobs, about a deadly disease, scared for the lives of our fellow citizens.

So it's the perfect moment for fear. It's the perfect moment to play into the worst amongst us, stroking it with a consoling hand that it isn't anyone else's fault, but that other guy's.

What happens when fear reigns supreme, is a blow-hard dives in and points to fellow citizens as the problem. It's the immigrants. It's China. It’s the government red-tape. It's women who are asking for it. It's not raking your leaves properly to prevent wide-spread, catastrophic wildfires. It's 200,000 lives lost because…it is what it is.

That's exactly what Donald Trump is doing. Playing into our worst fears. Giving it a voice.

So, I'm using mine.

This isn't the America I know. Frankly though, I didn't know it well enough before.

I love my country. Each time my flight descends and the squeaky wheels hit the runway announcing my arrival back into America, I feel a sense of calm and pride. Conservatives and republicans may tell you the liberal mob hates America, but the hard truth is, they do not own patriotism. (Oh, and I'm not in a liberal mob.) I may have serious issues with our American past, I may not like certain bills that are passed, I may fundamentally disagree with lots of politicians, but that certainly doesn’t mean I'm not grateful to be born here. Proud to put my hand over my heart and sing the national anthem or take a knee silently asking for change. I didn't understand Making America Great Again because it was already great in my mind. It's certainly been a harder stance to take as of late.

But, that shroud of my privileged, cushy life revealed itself as fellow Americans painfully decried this isn't the place they liked or the life they wanted for their children. On both sides, mind you.

(For what it's worth, the catchphrase Make America Great Again quite simply, by the words itself, means America isn't great.)

What we're witnessing now is slow descent away from democracy and the normalization of crude, compassion-less hate for fellow Americans. Political scientists are often left struggling to find another time in modern history where political decency has left the building and calling women nasty or Mexicans rapists is acceptable.

So we’re left with an election and a political call to arms: putting country over party.

Conservative family and friends have confided in me their regret for voting for Trump in 2016. That he does not represent the Republican party they joined decades ago. That his lack of political knowledge and all-out disdain for foreign policy scares them.

I'm left wondering, is that enough? Is that fear enough to get them to vote outside their typical party?

The fact is this is more than party-politics too. It's about the security of our nation, the fundamentals of democracy crumbling. Nearly 500 national security officials formally backed Biden this week, with some saying the announcement was political. They would be right. To publicly politically align with a candidate, when in the past that move would be considered a faux pas, is saying this goes beyond politics now.

It's about our country.

I'm not naive enough to think this small corner of the interwebs would do anything to change the all hail Trump crowd. As they've been told, either by political talking heads or Trump himself, you and me are the reason this country sucks so much. Anyone not a part of their crowd is somehow part of the liberal elite, the mainstream media and certainly isn't a proper Republican if they don't vote for Trump.

The two-party system leaves much to be desired. So much so that even when a man with the Presidential crest shrugs when questioned about hundreds of thousands of Americans dying, they are still left wondering if they can vote for the other party.

That's terrifying.

Biden certainly isn't my ideal candidate, but this election is about more than just me.

What I found as I marched in Washington in 2017, rallied to get out the vote in 2018, sat through hours-long Women's March, Moms Demand Action and Black Lives Matter meetings listening to women and men tell their experiences which profoundly altered my worldview and then marched alongside my black community for their lives in 2020—is that we all love our country and citizens enough to want better.

Wrapped in that nugget of love is the complexity of a modern revolution demanding to take place.

Your vote is part of that.

Your voice is part of that.

Your actions are part of that.

Silence can be deceiving. Especially on social media. As people have reminded me, their silence on social media shouldn’t be mistaken for condoning the current administration. Their actions of joining anti-racism groups, advocating for voting access and making sure nursing homes are registered to vote in real life are far more effective. Performative allyship, placing that black box in your feed and forgetting the daily struggle, is certainly much worse.

Which leads me to my job.

My words.

I may find it easier to share exactly how I feel, exactly how horrified I am, than others do. But I know others are feeling similarly.

It's critically important that your friends and family know who you are voting for so they do not feel so alone when going to the voting booth or mailing in ballots.

Be sure the people you love know it and know why it's important to you that they know. There is power in numbers. Power in knowing you have an army of people hoping decency reigns again.

So I share these words, so you can too.

In the last episode of Challenger: The Final Flight on Netflix, in which they recount the tragedy of the Challenger space shuttle explosion in 1986, then Vice President George Bush is caught off-guard while walking down a hall and asked what he thinks of the explosion.

It was a simple response. One in which he said he doesn't have the full details yet. One where he said he was sad and his heart goes out to the families of the astronauts on the space shuttle and for what they must be going through right now.

It was such an unremarkable response then. And yet, here in 2020, my husband and I both reached for the remote to hit pause so we could revel in the dignity.

It was a profound moment because we'd forgotten.

We've forgotten that sort of compassion that is critical to hold the office.

Compassion that is necessary when representing all of us.

When I vote in this election it is not just for me, for my party, for my taxes, for my stocks, for my family—it's for freakin' all of us.

It was an awkward moment. As most of my moments are really. As I hopped out of my friend’s car and said goodbye, she asked me if I wanted to meet for coffee on Friday morning.

“Oh, I can’t. I have that support group I’m in.”

“The one for doctors wives?” she asked while remembering I had mentioned it awhile back.

“Yeah.”

“What do you guys…do there?”

I could feel myself itching immediately. The blood rushed to my face. I looked at the ground while I was grabbing my purse out of her car. I probably scratched my forehead, as I often do when I’m nervous and not wanting to lie but fear the truth may be odd to hear.

“We…support each other, you know? There’s a camaraderie in the loneliness of the long hours and dedication it takes. It’s, uh, faith-based. Some of the other women call it bible study. But, I don’t bring one. Sometimes I don’t get the references because I’m one of those heathens.”

Silence.

I continued nervously, “I couldn’t even tell you where my bible is.”

More silence.

“…I like it though.”

My friend had one of those cheeky grins on her face that she used to have when she’d come up to my desk at work and not say a word, which was always my cue to head out back for a smoke break at our awful entry-level ad agency jobs.

“Caroline and bible study, huh? Never thought I’d hear that. But, cool if you like it. Have fun at bible study!”

We laughed, blew kisses goodbye and, as any great friendship that has stood the test of time will tell you, didn’t blink much as we’ve watched each other morph, grow and try things we never thought we’d do 15 years ago.

Like get married or have kids. But, I digress…

When I moved back to Michigan, I joined the hubster in the throes of the third year of his ER residency. One in which some cruel soul thought it would be ideal to make the entire third year…night shifts. Not only did I have to reacquaint myself with living with him again, I now had to literally and figuratively tip-toe around our home so as to not disturb a grouchy, sleep-deprived, overworked doctor.

Even if we had been together 11 years at that point. Even if we had been married for 5 years. Even if we had gotten through medical school and, hell, living apart for two years. Nothing, I mean nothing, could have prepared me for the third year (of four) of residency.

What little life had been left in the eyes of the hubster after medical school, was sucked out by this point in residency. It was tough to digest. Living 1400 miles apart provided me a sanctuary from the everyday trouncing that it was.

You can be the most supportive wife in the world and still can’t comprehend what they see. That’s the most sadistic kick-in-the-gut part of it. We’re often relegated to the sidelines. As much as we may try, we can’t take care of them enough to wave the magic wand to make it okay. Those coping skills are up to them and them alone.

I was left with quietly putting the dishes way, running errands while he slept, cooking hot meals, making strong coffee, hoping he came downstairs in a pleasant mood and saying hello at 5pm.

I didn’t know if I would make it. I didn’t know if this was the rest of my life. I still had another year of residency left! I was sick to my stomach for the first few months. I couldn’t journal, meditate or scream into the abyss enough to make it better.

I didn’t have much support myself from people who “got it.”

It was awful. Full stop.

---

“So there’s this support group I’m in for wives or partners of those anywhere in their medical journey from med school to attendings. It’s a bible study. But we’re not overly preachy or religious or anything like that. It’s Christian based, but anyone is welcome.”

My friend Judy was telling me this across the kitchen island during our loud and fun Friendsgiving last year. She was the multi-tasking champ: feeding a squirmy 2-year-old in one hand, drinking wine from another and offering support to someone (me) who may have looked a little worse for the wear when she asked me how I was doing.

I’ve never been very good at hiding sadness in front of people I know will get it.

“I don’t know. I’m the least religious person you may know. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone with my views.”

She assured me that it wasn’t like that. That she herself used to be a regular church-goer, but left, as many do, because of certain issues that weren’t resolved in her mind. She told me she likes to ask questions. She wants to ask questions. She likes to hear what others think.

“Yeah, but that’s you,” I said. “Not everyone is as open-minded.”

She told me to just think about it and she didn’t bring it up again for months.

Little did I know, this was the gentle prodding I needed.

---

I say “fuck” a lot. I sometimes make it into a mountain of fuckity fucks, with fuckery and fuckalicious goodness if I’m feeling mighty fucking saucy. From just that alone, I shouldn’t be going anywhere near a church.

But, by January of that year I was at the point that I would try anything. Even a “bible study.”

So, on my thirty-eighth birthday, I walked into a room full of strangers who sat in a relaxed circle and nervously announced, “Hi. I’m Caroline. I just moved back to Michigan from Florida. My husband’s in his third year of his EM residency. I’m a copywriter. Own my own business. No kids. Oh, and today’s my birthday.”

I was welcomed with surprise at my revelation and a nearly unison, “Happy Birthday!” from a group of smiley, supportive women.

My previous church going experience didn’t extend much beyond elementary school after my parents got divorced. I was like many people I know: Christened. Christmas & Easter. I had opted for the Basic Christian package.

I had wondered if that would be enough.

What proceeded in the months following was a revelation (pun intended) for me in what is, very often, our own preconcieved notions.

I listened as women shared the very same fears I had when the hubster was in medical school, over the very same exams and boards and STEPS and residency matches.

I watched as women simultaneously rocked their baby to sleep while discussing the common threads of a challenging motherhood.

I heard gruesome, grueling stories of longer surgical residency hours than the hubster has ever had to experience.

I witnessed that faith may look different on different people, but the “we’re all in this together” mentality was the overarching glue.

I heard stories of woman after woman juggling a medical journey and working towards bigger goals that serve her, while putting faith in her God and family that it will work. That there is an end.

I shared that my version of God may be more spiritual and based on the universe and human spirit.

The world didn’t stop. The record didn’t screech. Tomatoes were not thrown at me. I wasn’t chastised with holy water and kicked out the door.

I was heard amongst a fierce group of women-warriors, even if our ideas of faith are different. Sure, I may not understand every reference, I may not know the bible at all in comparison to some, but I was met with an open, judgement-free zone when I asked or questioned or expressed how it may come across to non-believers or those who have a different faith.

While the common thread for these meetings is based in a faith, what I’ve taken from it is so much more than that.

We all have the same goals. The same fears. The same dreams. The same hopes for children. The same frustrations with marriage. The same love of the third season of The Crown. Oh wait, no, that was just me.

This is why traveling is so emotional for me, why it ticks so many boxes in my happy-heart list. We are so much more alike than we think. For fuck’s sake, even for a heathen like me.

I anticipated judgement because I have experienced it. I’ve experienced the nasty part of religion where it’s self-serving and judgmental and in a knee-jerk reaction, I painted a broad stroke that all of these faith-based woo-woo, ra-ra-shish-com-bah, Jesus-can-you-hear-me-meetings must be like that. For a person who knows that so many things fall on a spectrum, I sure wasn’t allowing much room for there to be a different way to practice.

So, I’m graciously acknowledging my own judgement too.

It may have been based on some pretty crappy versions that would give anyone with the same faith a bad name, and Jesus do I know there’s more out there.

But my fear of judgement shouldn’t create more on my part.

After nearly every single meeting I come home feeling a bit more grounded, a bit less alone. We are experiencing the same medical journey together, in various stages and versions. But the support is foundational and standard at every meeting. I often watch in wonder at these women who find such comfort in their faith. That unyielding trust that there is a path and we’re on it together, regardless of our differences.

Imagine that. Loving someone that may be different.

How very Christian of you.