My time volunteering at the drop-in center was a little different this week. I talked to some of my buddies and made a few rounds greeting acquaintances, but the homeless and marginalized folks who come for coffee, food, and company weren’t, for the most part, concerned about what did or did not happen in the election. The words and impression I get are that they don’t have any party affiliation and don’t feel like who the President is has any tangible impact on their lives. It’s probably the only place I can go where a White guy wearing a Trump hat doesn’t scare or anger me. Politics is generally not a popular topic of conversation among community members.

But the volunteers are a different story. I spent most of the morning listening to, consoling, and freaking out with the wonderful septuagenarian and octogenarian White ladies I’ve been volunteering with for the past 2 1/2 years – a Sister, a former RN, and a former Social Worker who served the same population she volunteers with now. The nurse was particularly concerned about the prospect of RFK leading healthcare, the Social Worker about the LGBTQ community, and all of us about the poor, the homeless, the immigrants (including the beautiful Ecuadorian family that runs the kitchen, who suffered for months while their oldest son was held in immigration detention in a fucking prison in Louisiana, and who have finally felt a little stability), and, of course, democracy.

I rip on White women a lot. (It’s okay. I’m White.) For fuck’s sake, they voted for that misogynistic rapist AGAIN. But I love the ones who show up. I love these women. They haven’t been coming to the center – for Years – to grace the peons with their presence or foist lessons or morality upon anyone. They come to be with people, to talk, to listen, to humanize those who feel less than that, and to revitalize themselves as well. Their privilege doesn’t set them apart from the patrons, it increases the diversity of the whole group, of which they are absolutely a part. So we joke about being occasionally yelled at or called racist, and we mourn the loss of friends who didn’t make it through the night, and we worry about those who are particularly vulnerable, and get frustrated when they seem unwilling or unable to help themselves, and when the system fails them again and again, and we keep showing up.

I’ve been emotionally stable this week, which seems weird. I’m sure it sounds weird, too. I think I pre-grieved this potential outcome in my freak out a few weeks ago, (perhaps I’ll have my comeuppance, like Roman) Whatever the reason, I am so grateful to be, essentially, okay. For as long as it lasts. It allowed me to meet my students where they were at on Wednesday, to keep away from the fear and hatred on Facebook (no judgement, just observation), and to be present for these strong, loving, single women and everyone in our community today, whether with a coffee refill, a laugh, a movie recommendation, or a hug.

This is what I believe. Show up. Show up in your body with other bodies when you can. Show up wherever you can: in your family, in your neighborhood, in your workplace, in your spiritual center. Show up with a hello, a cookie, a conversation. This I can give. This I can control. I’m full of love right now. Wherever you’re at is fine, but I hope wherever it is, you can see a love & community from there.