Growing up in a household of dedicated progressives, with both parents working in education, I learned early on how pivotal elections could feel. Public schools depend on taxes, and some politicians seem to have a deep-seated aversion to them.
In our home, even minor elections carried a weight akin to a storm alert in a region not known for severe weather. Major elections were even more intense, akin to a full-blown tornado warning. The stakes felt high: if the wrong person won the presidency, disaster awaited us. If a certain candidate became governor, we were in trouble. And if a specific individual made it onto the school board, it was truly dire, especially since my father was the superintendent and that person was out to get him fired.
Results would trickle in late at night, and I’d lie awake, anxiously waiting to hear my parents’ reactions. If I heard cheers, I breathed a sigh of relief; we were safe, at least for now. But if I caught them swearing or, worse, heard silence, it felt like the end was near.
When Edward King was elected Governor of Massachusetts in 1979, I anxiously asked my mother if we’d have to move in with my grandmother. Her tearful response? “I hope not.”
To my surprise and relief, life remained unchanged after those elections. Not only did we avoid relocating to my grandmother’s living room, but in reality, very little shifted. I don’t mean to imply that the political landscape was inconsequential—when a tax-slashing, dishonest politician was at the helm, it definitely affected my parents. But through it all, we maintained the same home, the same meals, the same friendships. Our life remained constant year after year.
Remember those cilia—the tiny, hair-like structures on cell surfaces—learned in high school science? They respond to harmful substances by flattening out, similar to how my political enthusiasm has dwindled. My election-related hopefulness took a nosedive around 1982, and it hasn’t truly bounced back (I wasn’t even particularly upset about Bush v. Gore, despite knowing the implications).
I consistently vote and am clear about my choices and their reasoning. Ultimately, the most pressing issue is climate change, and many of those who were elected recently either dismiss it or refuse to acknowledge its reality. In response, I chose to indulge myself with a delightful three-hour lunch. So forgive me if I’m not devastated or threatening to relocate to France. I recognize the value in being concerned, but I also see the wisdom in not letting that concern consume me entirely.
This article originally appeared on November 7, 2014.
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In summary, I’ve come to accept election outcomes without the anxiety that once consumed me. While I remain engaged and informed, I choose to place my focus on issues that truly matter, like climate change, rather than getting overly distressed about political shifts.