I wanted to write sooner . . . sorry, just needed a little time.

I was a precocious and peculiar gay boy who grew up in an immigrant family as proud to be Americans as Italian-Americans.  We were union people (descended from a likely illegal “alien”) who revered our savior FDR not for the alphabet soup of programs he told us would make us fear less, and fearless, but for the hope, the freedom, and the peace for which he reminded us we all aspire and deserve.  He and Eleanor spoke eloquently to those forgotten and yet incredibly able.

And their legacy and influence last to this day only if we remain vigilant.

I fell in love with my country at a young age and aspired to be the president, while the other boys in my neighborhood idolized athletes.  I then allowed my sexual orientation to extinguish that dream early in my adulthood.  Instead I, like so many of us, created emotional distance from my pain of letting go of a life of politics.  My coping mechanism: study like hell to become an academic of politics.

So I taught courses to college students about the presidency and how the outcomes of global crises are dependent in part on the psychology of the president.  I was praised for remaining detached from emotions and laser focused on the facts.  Students loved my “impartiality” in an ivory tower with little impartiality.

This impartiality is what now makes me a successful coach, but not always a successful citizen.

Let me make something as clear as I can: This was an election like no other in American history . . . no other.  Emotions are flying high everywhere.  Many of you are grieving.  Prolonged distance from these emotions is often unhelpful but these same intense feelings may become dangerous if not used to foster concerted and virtuous action.

I remind my clients that when we face a loss, we must grieve and feel the full panoply of emotions.  To paraphrase Lincoln, it is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.  So I am throwing caution and distance to the wind to share some of mine.

I am  . . .

1. Confused that my country always finds a way to throw a curve ball when I least expect it.  “How could I once again be so stupid?”

2. Ashamed that I did not see it coming, and would not allow the evidence of its coming, to dissuade me. “How blind could I have been?”

3. Anger that I did not do more to stop it.  By “it”, I mean our penchant for accepting simple and cost-free solutions to complex challenges.  “How could we fall for such nonsense?”

4. Sad for friends, family, and clients, the women and men of goodwill who are experiencing so much pain. “How could I just sit back and watch them fight without fighting with them?”

5. Furious that we live in an era where authenticity and improvisation are valued more than virtue and discretion. “Just because you can say or do something does not mean you should!”

6. Self-delusional because I thought that “education” and “mobility” are the answer for all. Some people are not interested in moving away and to make their lives “better”.  What they once had was better.  “Why is no one telling them they too must grieve and plan (and help them to do so) since it is not coming back.”

7. Disappointed that logic and reason are often outmaneuvered by fear and anger. “Damn it, we must speak from the head and heart!”

8. Scared, that after all of my journeys, racism and misogyny and elitism are all unconscious in me and in so many other people of all races and genders.  “Help me to see the light here.”

9. Reminded that all things have a beginning, a middle, and an end, and our country is no exception.  “Stop believing that everything will be ok, and do something to make it ok!”

10. Hopeful that all the people of goodwill will learn from mistakes and continue the struggle. “Canada is not the answer, but it is a wonderful place to vacation!”

After the 2004 election, when anti-gay marriage initiatives were on the ballot in so many states, and when our president at the time advocated for an amendment to the Constitution to ban my future marriage, I left the USA, and went to Europe to start a new life.  My emotions overwhelmed me and I required geographic distance.  In short, I escaped.

And do you know what I found?

You cannot run away, you cannot escape, from hate, from confusion, from pain, or from sadness.  It will just reveal itself in another place, at another time, and in another way if you do not face it head on with the help of trusted allies.

I started a business in Hungary and soon after witnessed rabid neo-nazi groups targeting that business and the people who supported it.  The year was 2008, Obama’s year.  What a confusing sequence of world events for me to unravel.

It was time to come home.

A few years later with the help of numerous straight allies, one Reagan, two Clinton, and two Obama appointed Supreme Court Justices told the world that according to the United States Constitution my marriage to my husband is legal and protected.

You see, I was so jaded by the majority of the first decade of the 21st century that I never thought either a black president or gay marriage could happen in my lifetime (and do not for one moment think these two events are not inextricably linked).  So many changes were happening right under my nose I refused to see.  I could not see because I had become the cynic.

Cynics disengage because “What’s the point?  We are all going to hell in a hand basket anyway.”

But cynicism is rooted in fear and a perception that we cannot make a difference because we are weak and/or unworthy.

So, to paraphrase President Obama, I want all of us to feel the pain, but then we get up, we dust ourselves off, and we come up with a plan for our future and our country’s future.

The Founders did not expect nor want the president to do much more than preside. His power still resides in all of us.  And as an aside (and I am not sure this is any solace to anyone), many presidents, on the left and on the right, have tried to unfairly maximize their power while in office.  Even some of our very best (the aforementioned FDR just to name one) have been rightfully rebuked for these efforts.

JFK reminds us that the key to peace, the peace we all seek comes from our freedom.  If we lose our freedom, we only have ourselves to blame.

So as the sadness lifts and the anger hopefully spurs you to virtuous action, tell me, what is your plan?  How do you prevent cynicism from becoming your cop-out?  How do you face your fears and make the difference you want to make . . . now?