Even with tears in their eyes, the gods have been smiling for weeks at the Great Mess triggered by our choice of president. That’s what gods do when they recognize that we, in our sleep, have created for ourselves an opportunity bordering on demand to address the question: Who will I be or die trying?
Yes, we’re in for some gruesome times. Military occupation of Manhattan if that’s what it takes to get Saturday Night Live off the air? Who would bet the farm against it? Our problem isn’t that Trump is malevolent. He’s far more dangerous than that. He’s absent. The way a drug addict is absent. The way a sociopath is absent. The way “A stiff prick knows no conscience” is absent. And that absence, that absence of humility, sincerity, empathy, that absence of even a sense of humor, has become a void of integrity in which some of our culture’s nastiest instincts are flourishing.
Even we who know this may wonder why it might cause the gods to smile.
The Big Picture. Knowing that a nation lives, not by its material achievements, but in its masterpieces of men and women. Having witnessed since forever how threats of profound harm are reminders that commitments have virtually no value until they are aligned with action. Recognizing that Trump is Santa Claus for anyone whose answer to the “Who will I be…?” question is: “Bring my very best self to whatever life presents.” This is among the big enchiladas of human aspiration. And the fact that Trump (unbeknownst to him, of course) can help us achieve it––just tickles the gods no end.
