“The art of being wise is knowing what to overlook.”  ~ Henry James

The election has been over for a month and three days (yes, I’m counting) and my neighbor still has her Trump sign up. I live in a condo development, so my neighbor’s tiny yard is just a few steps from my front door. Every morning, I wake up and look out the window – and there it is – the five-letter word that compels me to spew four letter ones.

It’s not just the sign – but that would be enough to unhinge me these days. My neighbor came to the U.S. from Cuba to escape a dictatorship and now she supports another dictator. Why? I would love to ask her, but she speaks little English, and I speak no Spanish.

Honestly, I’m more sad than mad about it. I have always liked her – she lives with her elderly mother and another woman close to her age. They keep their condo looking neat and pristine and they wash their cars more often than I floss. They are pleasant neighbors and now I think they are trolling me. For the record, I couldn’t take my Harris sign down until last week. It just made it all feel so final.

I’ve been hibernating since the election – mostly for my own protection. I have been short tempered and mad at the world, well, specifically the 49.9% of voters who elected Trump. I’ve been heartbroken and feeling hopeless at times. I’m keeping my cable news fast and finding solace in the quiet. Until I see that damn sign.

My dear wife tells me to ignore it, and I’ve tried to do that to no avail. So instead, I fantasize about pulling the sign out and throwing it in the dumpster – a perfect metaphor. But I would never take down someone’s political sign, especially if that someone had a Ring Doorbell camera.

I assume the sign will come down eventually, at least I hope so because I am fairly sure I can’t convince my wife to move. And even in my depressed state, I know it’s not really about the sign – but how the sign makes me feel differently about my neighbor. And I don’t even know my neighbor’s name. It’s not like those of you who now feel differently about folks you have known and loved for a long time. My sister is struggling deeply with two such relationships. I wish I could comfort her, but I got nothing – save for sadness and bewilderment, oh, and righteous anger on my good days.

I’m taking time to grieve what might have been and reflecting on what I want my next four years to look like. I know for certain that I want them to be spent working for something rather than against someone and I know there are almost seventy-five million folks out there like me. And there’s probably a couple of you in that group that know a guy who knows about taking out yard signs.

Just kidding.

I’m going to leave you with a sweet epilogue to my recent post about my friend Will.

Here’s an excerpt from that post:

The best advice I’ve gotten as I’ve been wallowing in despair came from my young friend Will, the son of one of my best friends from fourth grade. Will is in his late 30’s and works as an accountant. He is differently abled and like all of us who represent a minority, is worried about what the Trump administration will mean for his community. We love to talk sports – especially since my wife has below zero interest in them. He told me the story of how Jackie Robinson was angry and worn down by the racism he was experiencing as the first African American to play in Major League Baseball. Robinson’s wife simply told him, “Keep showing up.”

And that’s what Will said to me at the end of our long conversation late last week when I was feeling so hopeless – “Keep showing up, Addison.”

So, I came home last night from dinner with friends and had a package in the mail from Will. Wait for it…

Yep. Will sent me my very own Jackie Robinson action figure. Are you kidding me? And they say there’s no crying in baseball.

Batter up, friends. We’ve got work to do.