This is not an essay about politics.
“Power is the ability to effect change with purpose.”
—Brené Brown paraphrasing Martin Luther King, Jr.
Friend, I had grand plans for this essay. I was, actually, going to write to you about politics. I had the big idea to write to you about citizenship and civic responsibility; discourse intended to understand instead of persuade; and the ways in which we’re collectively failing each other when it comes to trying to solve the big problems of our day. I staggered my way through three drafts and two rounds of review from my non-fiction editor, who reviews these essays for me and somehow always helps me transform what I’ve written into what I actually meant to say.
I was going to talk to you about our duties as citizens, and how critical it is to be thoughtful and conscientious about who we choose to represent us in government (not just at the highest level, but at every level). And I was going to draw similarities between politics and the Olympics—how democracy, as my friend/editor brilliantly pointed out, is the business of collaborating on the structure of everyday life, and politics is the sport that gets people paying attention every few years. I was going to point out how the system is intentionally divisive, and encourages people who think differently from us to see one another as opponents. And I was going to draw a straight line from our civic duty to our political choices to the impacts of those choices to issues of great importance, like guns. (And oops, I did, in a way, just talk to you about it).
But, even with her astute observations, the thing never came together. You know that feeling when what you want to say is on the tip of your tongue, but you just can’t quite get the words together in a way that makes sense to anyone but you? Maybe you’re in a conflict, or in a fast moving conversation, and you just can’t grasp at the thing you’re actually trying to convey? And then you’re frustrated because you don’t feel understood, and it’s because the language that will help them understand you—and help you understand yourself—is amorphous as smoke.
That’s how I felt.
Instead, I decided to give you links* at the end of my essay to the two articles that inspired what I was trying to say, and I truly hope you’ll read them. They’re thought provoking and emotive, well written and articulate, and I promise they’ll be worth your time.
However…as often happens with things that are hidden somewhere in our brain or our soul and need to be written, I couldn’t let it go. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I had to figure it out and get it in words. And then I read this post on Instagram**:
(Click the image to read the full text)
And friend, as it sliced through me like a knife through warm butter, I finally realized the common thread of emotion that’s running through all the things I’ve battled with how to say.
It’s powerlessness. It’s the feeling that the stakes are high—so high—and there’s nothing I can do to change it.
It’s struggling to ignore behavior I don’t understand in favor of trying to learn the motivating factors, which is nearly impossible but also the only way forward with meaningful discussion.
It’s aching with compassion for the communities devastated by and reeling from Hurricanes Helene and Milton, the ones that came before them, and the ones that will come after, but feeling like sending money and granola bars just isn’t enough.
It’s feeling the raw fear of the ways violence can befall my children, but being unable to restrict access to guns.
It’s feeling the weight of this year’s elections, presidential and otherwise, but having only one vote, and a voice that likely won’t carry.
As my brilliant friend/editor put it, “We can talk about gun control and (willful lack of) civic education and how we scream past each other every four years, but at the end of the day we're all just worried that we don't really matter.” And then she pointed me to a quote from Pirkei Avot, which is a well-known Jewish text, generally attributed to Rabbi Tarfon and, more recently, Rabbi Rami Shapiro: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.” (emphasis is mine)
But what amount of action, then, is enough? What can I do to contribute to these big problems of our day, instead of doing nothing or making them worse?
Friends, I don’t have an answer for you. Not a clear one, anyway. There are so many ways we can try to move the needle: my vote joins many, and makes an impact. My voice in the school community contributes to the conversation about how to keep our children safe. My granola bars fill the bellies of the people who get them. Our voices and our actions do matter, especially when they join the words and deeds of many.
I truly believe that, as a nation, we’re less divided than more when it comes to particular issues. Nothing is black and white, and there’s so very much nuance. Coming back to my example of guns: they shouldn’t be banned, nor should they be freely accessible. The answer on that issue, like nearly every issue, lies somewhere in the middle, and we’ve got to take a collective breath and recognize that the most radical view generally isn’t the one shared by most people.
But I think ultimately it comes down to this: the key to conquering powerlessness is claiming responsibility. It’s owning my responsibilities to myself and my family, but also to the communities large and small to which I belong. It’s showing up to conversations about how to solve these problems. Even when they’re hard, even when it feels like I’m reaching in the dark for something that may not be there. I think many of us have lost sight of the fact that to fix these big problems of our day, we have to compromise. And to compromise we have to understand. And to understand we have to listen.
I wanted to write to you about the importance of voting, and of engaging positively in our system of government. But it’s about so much more than that. For me, it’s about living my values every single day and hoping with every fiber of my being that I can be, on balance, a force for good. It’s by doing what I can, even when it feels small. Even when it's as small as a granola bar.
*Further Reading
How to Raise a Citizen: https://melindawmoyer.substack.com/p/how-to-raise-a-citizen
Opening the Little Locked Box: https://katiemaemitchell.substack.com/p/opening-the-little-locked-box
**The link should open even if you don’t have Instagram, but if for some reason it won’t or you can’t get the end of the text that’s in the comments, please let me know and I’m happy to send the full text to you.
Recommendations Roundup
Click on the cover of any for which you’d like to read my short review.
Parting Shot
Final Thoughts
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. I know your time is limited, and you’re choosing to spend a slice of it here, with me. It’s a gift, and one I take seriously.
I wish you the peace that comes from living the life you want for yourself, the hope that comes from seeing your own potential, and the joy that comes from stepping back and feeling gratitude for it all. Go forth, my friends. I wish you well.
Love,
Sarah
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