Heartbreak in a Blue State: A Narrative (Part 2)

Chapter 2: Complacency Kills

Click here for Chapter 1

And so you’d think, being surrounded by all of these wonderful people in Eugene, Oregon, that I would feel empowered and inspired! This isn’t untrue. I don’t think I didn’t feel these things. However, I most importantly and most tragically felt comfortable. I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard this quote, but I think I read it once on a random cutesie Instagram graphic from a hope-core account. It reads: 

“A comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there.” 

I couldn’t say it any better myself. I felt happy, safe, heard, seen, and at peace. I wasn’t known as “the democrat” because my oh my! This whole school is full of them. I still, of course, had this passion for politics as I continued my time here. I started as a political science major but dropped it to a minor after realizing I didn’t love the atmosphere in my first international relations class. I then learned what public relations was and picked it up as my major. I didn’t follow the news much, but I took classes about my interests, which were amazing and informative but not enough to make me do anything about the world’s injustices. In short, I stopped fighting. Sometimes, and by that I mean most of the time, when it’s really good, I stop trying. I get too comfortable. I think the world actually isn’t too bad, and we’re on the right track. 

This precisely defines my past summer in London, which may indefinitely remain the most blissfully wonderful summer of my entire life. I really thought, for the first time in my life, that we might all have the privilege of having a woman of color as the President of the United States of America. I thought of all the little girls who would grow up with their first president being Kamala Harris and how inexpressibly incredible it would be for those girls to know that they could do anything. Truly anything! If they could reach the highest office of our country, then what can’t they do? This was the constructed, optimistic-but-not-ungrounded reality that I lived in. Until, of course, two days ago.

On November 5, 2024, at 11:08 pm, laying down on my bed and watching the election coverage on my TV, my heart broke. I understood that Donald Trump had become the 2024 president-elect. I wept. I stayed up for a couple more hours, just to make sure it was true, and then woke up the next day to weep again. This on-and-off crying lasted the entirety of November 6—particularly when I watched her concession speech before hurrying to class. But once again, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll talk about that later.

Four and a half hours earlier, I came back from class and sat down on my couch to watch the beginning of the coverage. At this point, I had spoken to most of my friends about the election, and they were all just as excited to see not just any woman but Kamala Harris as President. In fact, I polled my Close Friends story on Instagram, and 24 out of 25 people [who all voted for Kamala Harris] were confident that who they voted for would win. 

That’s what kind of helps make me feel less stupid; I wasn’t the only one who was blind-sided. Eugene is a bubble. A big, wonderful, nature-filled bubble. But still a bubble. A bubble where we believe that the rest of America might be just like us. A bubble that often doesn’t realize and/or occasionally forgets that there is a world outside of it. A world that may not have the privileges of our education system, supporting community, and kind friends who support each others’ human rights. 

This bubble is great until it prevents me and my friends from realizing the state of the rest of the world. And thus, it prevents me from acting on that injustice too. If I can be more inspired and enraged sitting in my room alone during a lockdown for an epidemic than I am when I am in a community of people who want to fight for the same things as me, then I have to ask the question: what is the damn issue? How can a person be mobilized if not by the amazing people surrounding her? And I believe this now circles back to Kamala’s concession speech.

This is the one thing I’ve been holding onto. And honestly, thank God for it. Before it, I felt like the world had ended. I felt like the only light at the end of the tunnel was Kamala Harris being the president-elect. And that had slipped away right before my eyes. And now the children of today will not get to see their first female president. And they might never. I felt like America had tragically disappointed us. Kamala, me, women, POC, mother nature, you, MEN…. everyone. Everyone who didn’t even knew they needed her. I felt mad. I wanted to be a patriot. Proud of this country. Finally proud to be an American. Proud of this culture. I was so ready to finally be proud. The election results showed me a lot of things, but, very succinctly, I will say it showed me that our democracy is only as strong as our education.

Now onto Kamala’s speech. I had been crying all day, but this time, I sobbed in a … “better” way. Not in a terrifying, the-world-is-ending, I-can’t-imagine-having-kids-and-a-family-in-this-world-anymore kind of way. In an extremely, grateful, humble, inspired, fired up, mournful, gracious kind of way. This woman loves the nation. She loves it maybe more than we deserve but in a way that urges to me to feel the same. Please watch her concession speech if you haven’t. It’s great.

This woman is the reason I want to love this country. She has fueled my patriotism like no other. If anything, she makes me believe that America can be great. But not again. For the first time. 

Here are some quotes that I believe could be written in history books, if our earth is here long enough to call this history:

• “The fight for our freedom will take hard work. But, like I always say, we like hard work. Hard work is good work. Hard work can be joyful work. And the fight for our country is always worth it.”
• “To the young people who are watching, it is okay to feel sad and disappointed but please know it’s going to be okay. On the campaign, I would often say when we fight, we win. But here’s the thing, here’s the thing, sometimes the fight takes a while. That doesn’t mean we won’t win. That doesn’t mean we won’t win. The important thing is don’t ever give up.”
• “You have power. And don’t you ever listen when anyone tells you something is impossible because it has never been done before.”
• “This is not the time to throw up our hands. This is the time to roll up our sleeves.”

I called my mother on November 6 as well. And if there’s one thing about my mother you should know, it’s that she’s a raging optimist. There are people far and few between that can stop this woman from finding the silver lining. I cried to her about the fact that more than half of Americans voted for Donald Trump. They voted for this exact result. She reminded me, in the beautiful way that she always does, that the other half voted for Kamala Harris. It seems so stupidly obvious, but that’s what makes it so mournfully and profoundly true.

Now, I can finally remember, being comfortable is good. Great even! But not a place to stay forever. Comfort zones are the beautifully manipulative cousin of Apathy. You think it’s great, but it holds you back from what you need to do. It makes you complacent. Two days ago, I was inevitably, abruptly, and painfully aware that voting and individually applauding a candidate was never enough. And it is never time to stop fighting.

I won’t say I am ashamed of my past actions because, well, that won’t help anything. However, I am not proud of them either. I can only not be ashamed if I choose to be better. And that’s why I must be better. I don’t know how to exactly, but I am trying. My fire is back, and I can’t believe I let it dwindle even for a second. I can’t let that happen again. Not for the benefit of me, but for what I feel is the benefit of our future, our country, and the world. Unluckily, I’m just one girl, but luckily, I have a hell of a whole lot of life left to live and more than 69 million Americans who voted for Kamala Harris.

I’m so thankful I got 17-year-old-Chloe’s fire back. Please message me to join me or help me in this. Or just to talk about this at all. Clearly I have a lot to say. And I love to listen too.