The day after the election was 62 degrees and overcast. In Greenpoint, Brooklyn, wet leaves littered the neighborhood’s quiet blocks, staining erratic patterns into the sidewalk.
The morning before, neighbors greeted each other on the streets by giving handshakes and knowing looks. “You make it out to the polls?” “You see this sticker?” We were all so proud of ourselves. “Here’s to finally breaking the glass ceiling!,” a PR contact had written to me, to which I’d replied with a thumbs up and an American flag. Could I remember another time I’d paired these two symbols together? There was no one who wasn’t sure.
They say after the end of any relationship, it is important to mourn. Without mourning, there is no way you can begin to heal again.
But the next day we tried. Our faces puffy and red, the six of us assembled at Tawni’s apartment and discussed the past 48 hours her living room. Where were you when..? Who were you with? It was hard not to see the parallel our questions had to those I used to ask my parents when we would discuss the political tragedies they’d lived through, not so long ago.
It is so easy to hate. To be angry and to yell. To place blame instead of ask questions, and to assume that there are two sides, and that the other one is wrong.
But on that Thursday, we threw our grief into creating something instead of destroying it. We worked together, and let our inspiration drive each other. We didn’t think about what would come next. We didn’t fear the future.
So here’s to you, Hillary Rodham Clinton. May you always inspire women to work together, as there is truly no other way.