Running and Crying in Brooklyn

I visited my son and his wife in Brooklyn just before the election and went for an early run. The run took me through the projects and down along Broadway beneath the screeching subway tracks, then to Domino Park, where I ran beneath the Williamsburg Bridge and watched tugboats and commuter ferries gliding through the molten-looking water.

On the other side of the river, the Empire State Building’s iconic silhouette reflected the morning sun, and the Chrysler Building, the queen jewel of Manhattan’s skyline, stood tall and elegant. From the water, I looped back through Williamsburg’s tree-lined streets past vintage stores, coffee shops, and yoga studios.

Running through a different city is one of my favorite things to do. That day, though, midway through the route, I felt tears streaming down my face as I watched people walking their kids to school, climbing the daunting metal staircase to the overhead train, or sweeping the stoops of their corner stores. I cried when I passed a girl with pink hair smoking a cigarette, a sleeping woman sitting in her shopping cart of worldly belongings, and a pair of men in expensive jackets.

It took me another mile or so before I recognized that I was crying not because I was sad, but because I was so honored to be here, “on this the green side of the sod,” as my Uncle Pete used to say. I felt privileged, even ecstatic, to see the tattooed artist going into his studio, the guys in safety vests stopping at the corner store for their egg sandwiches, and the mom nursing her baby on a park bench. Life was flowing all around me on the streets of Brooklyn, people of all colors and sizes and histories, and I was flowing with it, one more speck of humanity being carried by her own feet, yes, but also by all of the lives around me.

Here's the thing: whenever people talk about a divided nation, they forget that all of us are in this together. We live and work and raise our children the best we can alongside our neighbors. In Brooklyn, in San Francisco and Chicago, in Dallas and Portland, and every place in between, we are all muddling along, trying our hardest to feed and house our families, and to do work that matters, or at least a job that pays the rent. We are keeping our cars running and worrying about whether our sports teams will win or not, and maybe planning a special celebration for someone we love.

As the poet Mary Oliver wrote:

“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.”

The world will go on after today’s election, and even if there is chaos in the days to come, and we will still belong to it. So go ahead and dare to be hopeful about the future.