(From ChatGPT: “Here’s a proofread version of your [November 2016] piece with some edits for flow, clarity, and grammar.”)

Someone had hit me. It literally knocked the wind out of me—thud.

I instinctively wore black. It wasn’t a question; it’s what’s expected after a death…when you’re in mourning. For the next three days, I adorned myself in various shades of black. And on the third day, I felt it was time to step out of my haze and re-engage with the world around me. I chose a new color—red.

It was almost as if my acceptance of our shared defeat was being recast from stages of grief to colors of grief. The gnawing, cantankerous part of this situation was that I had already grieved. My process of acceptance began months earlier as I listened—yes, listened—to what he was saying, what they wanted to hear. I said out loud, “He might actually win this thing.”

The haze was so dense the next morning, it felt like an actual smoke bomb had gone off in my room, and I was fighting to see and breathe. Yet somehow, I found comfort in the void. I lingered in the background, knowing that just beyond the haze I would see that he had won, and the world as we knew it would never be the same.

And I don’t write in platitudes; no, I simply mean that this specific moment in time had passed, and we were already looking at history. We were already in moments of reflection, considering how we got it wrong: people were ready for real change, our electoral system made this happen…the list would and will go on.

When I went to sleep in the early morning hours after, the last public thought I shared was simply, “Tomorrow.” When I awoke from the haze, it was tomorrow, and I was moving forward. I have always believed that I live for tomorrow, and what I do today shapes that tomorrow. And so, I move forward.

The truth is, we all have to move forward—because we are all living for someone’s tomorrow, whether we are alive or not. Our history was someone’s future, our future will be someone’s history, and only our present will be our past. We, and only we, can own our section of this world’s story—and I care deeply about my section. In the future, we will be judged by how we react at this moment in our past.

The morning before the haze, my partner asked how I felt about the outcome of the election—whichever way it went. My response was methodical, pragmatic, and distinctly dispassionate, as I often am: “I’m not too concerned because whoever wins, our job as citizens is to hold them accountable and to ensure they govern to the center as much as we can.” Looking back, I realized I had already prepared myself for the outcome I feared.

It’s been a week. The haze is gone.

I was reminded of a message I shared publicly in the days following the Orlando Pulse Nightclub attack: “I promise to continue showing up. I promise to continue standing up. I promise to never be silenced. I promise to fight until my very last breath. I promise to show up…for all of you.” As we move forward, as we must, it is vital to never forget to show up—because someone is counting on us, on you.

Our Republic is greater than any one person. It is our collective selves that keep it churning and changing. It is our collective effort that ensures equity and balance sings true for all. Notably, we often find ourselves on the brink of destruction when we are presented with inexplicable paths of resistance forward together. The result of these paths of resistance, in recent times, is the outcome of this 2016 U.S. presidential election.

We move forward.

No individual can assume the mantle of leader of the free world—the President of the United States—and not be instantaneously changed. We all just hope that the change is for the better. The Office of the President is an institution, not a person. It is checked by the judicial branch, the legislative branch made up of the Senate and House of Representatives, and most importantly by us—we, the people.

If we are not fully engaged in our governance, then we cannot voice concern when things aren’t going the way we want them. We must remember that choosing inaction is still taking action. If you feel nothing good came out of this election, perhaps you’ll find that you were at least inspired to engage in governance and hold your elected officials accountable.

This wasn’t a message of grand insight. This wasn’t meant to be a powerful moment that inspired an “aha.” This was simply me processing my thoughts, getting emotions out. This was me reminding myself of the promise I made—to show up…for all of you.

Who is showing up with me?

.d.

#democracy

Densil Porteous, is a seasoned leader and advocate for humanity. With a multifaceted background in nonprofit leadership, higher education administration, strategic communications & marketing, development/fundraising, venture capital, and social impact.