Hope: Could It Be, Some Good News(?)
- Tiff
- Dec 4, 2024
- 7 min read
I didn’t know what I wanted this blog post to be. It can’t be me shouting into the void— that’s what TikTok is for! (Just kidding). Not acknowledging that Donald Trump won and Kamala Harris lost seemed, well, unpatriotic. Discussing how the election will affect the masses and the environment on local and global scales seemed like an exhausting exercise in futility. A “travel tips” post spouting fears seemed counterproductive. To not write anything at all seemed worse. Not to mention, this is a website for all readers. Finding common ground for all people, from the U.S. or elsewhere, no matter who you voted for is a priority of mine. This is a space to get travel tips and laugh at my consistency to not plan, for God’s sake!
I thought about what this post might be. Maybe an advocacy post on the things you can do to fight against climate change. It felt wrong to write anything about how best to travel. Who cares bout a travel tips post when the future is so uncertain? I thought about providing a post that didn’t acknowledge the election at all, using my words as a form of distraction from the headlines pouring out of the free press & broadcast on news channels & spouted in right-wing media & lamented by left-wing podcasters. I brainstormed what my first post-election post might be. These were some working titles:
What you can do to help the environment
Traveling to California’s national parks before they’re destroyed by natural disasters
F*ck the EPA, who needs it anyway?!
It’s not that bad (is it?)
Finding common ground: the fight to keep nature natural
Why Project 2025 Wants the World to Literally Burn
Policies to keep an eye on
As fun as it is to go into doomsday mode, it’s really, actually not. I want so badly for this website, my words, to be a beacon of light and hope. This principle applies always, not just in times of national uncertainty.
I also need to acknowledge that you, dear stranger or friend, might be in a state of happiness and relief because of the U.S. presidential election. If that is the case, thank you for getting this far into this post because I would have left by now (who’s that crazy tree-hugging liberal white lady, anyway!?). I also want to acknowledge that, as a proud tree-hugging feminist, I did find the election results dismal at best. What I write might make you angry with me, but know that I’m trying to walk in humility, empathy, unity, and hope. And I promise the rest of this post won’t be a feminist rant, so hang in here with me for a few more lines!
So with all that in mind, of all the options of what this blog post could be, I decided to say f*ck it and tell you a true story of a little girl who picked up trash on the Columbia River. Here we go…
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I don’t handle anger well. To cope in a healthy way, I run. I put my headphones in on max volume and I go for miles without stopping. I do this to exhaust the anger out and to get my endorphins flowing in.
After the election, the first thing I felt was shock. I truly couldn’t believe it. I don’t know if it’s because I live in a blue bubble in the state of Washington or what, but I really did believe Kamala Harris would be the 47th president of the U.S. A day passed. Then another. Then anger came. And I didn’t know what to do with it. So I went for a run, telling myself to be slow to anger, be quick to kindness.
I drove to a spot on the Columbia River in Vancouver, WA. I run from this semi-industrial spot to the end of the waterfront and back. The Vancouver waterfront is becoming something of a spectacle. Skyscrapers keep getting bigger, forming an adolescent skyline with promises of more growth. Vancouver sits on the northern bank of the Columbia River. In lieu of a sandy beach, there is a continuous steep slope of small boulders and rocks for miles. The concrete pedestrian path is beautifully landscaped. Pathways intersect sprawling lawns dotted with saplings and a few mature trees. A dock replicating the mast of a ship hovers over the river. Blocks of stone embedded in that rocky slope act as stairs and steps. All bordering the grand Columbia River. The stomping ground for gulls and geese, for salmon swimming upstream, and the sea lions that prey after them. The home of stunning great blue herons that hunt on its rocky shores. The sunset’s grandest mirror. The culmination of hundreds of tributaries, making it the second largest river in the United States, and only a few dozen miles before her fresh waters meet the salty coast. It is one of the many places that makes me feel so small and insignificant, a feeling I was searching to find after the election.
So I angry ran. And instead of releasing anger, I found myself getting agitated at those around me. Momentary thoughts filled my head. Why is that man in my right of way? If he would just look up from his phone he could move out of my way! Ugh, men! I thought as I swerved to avoid him. Then I caught myself thinking that, and would tell myself be slow to anger, be quick to kindness. You’re better than this.
A group of four took up the entire width of the path. Don’t they know this is supposed to be a shared path? Be aware of your surroundings! Then they spread apart as I approached, and I reminded myself be slow to anger, be quick to kindness.
I saw two young women taking photos of each other as the sun set over the river. Do they even know what just happened? I wondered. Do they know their reproductive healthcare is at risk? God forbid they have a miscarriage if they travel out of state! Neither woman was pregnant. The thoughts just kept creeping in. I teared up, telling myself be slow to anger, be quick to kindness.
A man my age smiled at me. Ugh, I hate when men look at me! And again, I had to catch myself and repeat the words be slow to anger, be quick to kindness. It was a kind gesture, not a predatory action. Why was I so upset at all of these normal human actions? Over and over, be slow to anger, be quick to kindness.
The day’s mantra did not seem to be working.
I approached where I wanted to end my run, but I couldn’t quite yet. I still had tears bubbling to the surface. I had to work something out. So I kept going. Then I went to a full sprint, giving everything of myself to the last hundred yards. I wanted to use up all of my energy so I would have none left to give to anger. So I gave it my best attempt, concluding my run bent over my knees with heavy breaths.
Music was still blaring loud and sweat streamed down my forehead and pooled on my chest. It was all so much, all so heavy. Then I stood up. I started stretching. And I took out my headphones.
I was met with a world of quiet.
Water lapping in small waves on the rocks a few yards below me. Gull calls. Car tires over pavement that echoed from the I-5 bridge. And a small, mighty, high-pitched voice of a girl.
A dad stood on the sidewalk looking down at his daughter. Down by the shore, a little girl with curly blonde hair and a frilly pink dress was hauling plywood from the rocks. She carried the plywood that was as big as she was up the steep slope, wobbling the whole way up. She made it to the top, dropped the plywood, then turned right back around. She made her way down to the shore once more, collecting litter and calling up to her dad “What about this?” And “Is this one okay to take up?” He would answer “yes, that’s fine” or “no, leave that one there.”
I walked over to this determined little girl’s dad. “Is she just picking up trash from down there?” I asked.
“She wants to make a fort. There are some things down there I don’t want my seven-year-old picking up, but mostly it’s fine.”
We spent the next few moments watching, helping, and bringing plywood and other assorted articles of trash up from the shoreline. Once her final journey was complete, this little girl in a frilly pink dress got down on her hands and knees to build her fort.
And that’s the story. I am sure there is a metaphor to be made there, but I do not wish to write it. I want the purity of this child’s endeavor to remain intact. This seven-year-old saw plywood on the rocky shore of the Columbia River and thought "I can make a fort out of that," and then she did, all of her own volition.
So no, I do not wish to find a metaphor. I wish to create a good world for this girl to grow up in. For her to feel safe in. And I want to be like her. I want to see garbage and say “Hey, I can do something with this.” I want to be unperturbed by obstacles. I want to wear a pink frilly dress and get dirt on both my knees. I want to pick up litter because it’s there to be picked up. I want to be this little girl when I grow up.
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This girl did not magically snap me out of fear and anger. But she did remind me that there is still hope, even if she’s not aware that she is the hope. I hope one day she will be aware of that. And I hope she is not afraid to keep her clothes bold, her body covered in dirt, and her imagination intact. That is who this world is for, and may those who hold powerful positions pave the way for her to do so. May all of us, no matter our political affiliation, hold politicians to the highest standard and keep pushing them towards what we want, because that is the power of democracy.
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Just as I did not know how to start this post, I don’t know how to end it. I don’t know a lot of things right now, but I suppose that’s what growing up is. I hope that I can emulate this little girl’s stubbornness and passion. I hope we all can. I hope that even though the world is shifting rapidly around us, we stay true to who we are. I hope we are all slow to anger and quick to kindness. I hope I can practice what I preach in times when I don’t know where to place my emotions. I hope, I hope, I hope. fervently and continuously. And since I refuse to end my blog with an adverb, I hope that the little girl loved the shit out of the fort she worked so hard to build.
some beautiful pictures to end your read. Thank you for reading my story :-)
Tiffany, your mother shared this with me. I remember a sign one of my employees had over her desk. It said “it will come to pass.” We have a difficult two years and then I suspect it will be so disheveled that voters will vote Dems into control in Congress. For now, we need to hold on to our values and fight for what’s right. Never give up.
Tiffany,
You are an amazing writer!
I love your honesty, your soul searching, & your grit!
Keep it up!😘
Love your tree hugger picture. It's so beautiful and it must have felt great!!!!!