Where do we go from here? To the Polls.

I am sitting in my closet. My office is in my closet in our COVID world, not in the Bronx. It's a pretty closet, all things considered. There is a skylight and space for a small desk. I am lucky.


The rain is coming down hard outside. Where I live (now) we faced a drought all summer. The rain, cold and wind are welcome. I am lucky.


My kitchen counter has ingredients for cookies laid out. My daughter will be off Zoom by noon and we will bake together.

We are lucky.

We are safe.

We are fed.

We are warm.

We have so much more than so many others.


So why do I feel so tired, so heavy, so very worried? Because Tuesday is Election Day.


Four years ago I strolled proudly and excitedly into my polling place. I brought my daughter, then four, with me and let her help me elect the first female president of the United States of America. You already know what happened to my vote. What happened to millions of votes.



I've worked tirelessly over the past four years to protect those with less wealth, less privilege, less protection than I enjoy as I walk through the world.

I donate.

I read.

I march.

I share my ideas.

I talk back to family who haven't done the work.


And it's really hard to know if it's enough. If it will make a difference. When I scroll the news or social media I see so many signs of hope- voting lines around blocks, the highest early voter turnout ever, the largest number of young voters since 2008. But it's hard to watch the news, or doomscroll, and not be worried.


So I will sit here today and for the next few days and weeks and hope.


And this morning, I went to the polls.

Alone.




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