Another Perfect World

It's coming to America first
The cradle of the best and of the worst
It's here they've got the range and the machinery for change
And it's here they've got the spiritual thirst ...
Democracy is coming
To the U.S.A. (Leonard Cohen)

You know how they always say that stress is really bad for us, how it messes up our hormones and our ability to sleep and heal and generally is about as good for our bodies as snorting finely ground glass? I think what stress is to the body, cynicism is to the soul.

And I should know, because in the last decade or two I'd really become one cynical bitch. I'm not quite sure what happened or when. I think sometime back in the '80s, when Reagan let AIDS burn across America like a wildfire without so much as saying the word, and all my friends were dying, I lost the thread of public idealism and political activism among all the bedpans and pneumonia and funerals. One day I was raising money and yelling a lot, and the next day I realized I hadn't gotten out of my pajamas in six months. But the exact moment I lost heart? I just can't place it.

I equally can't place just when it started to come back, when I realized that I'd at some point let my idealistic side come out of the shadows. Maybe it was listening to the DNC's winter meeting, when the former governor of Vermont got up to speak and said, "I'm Howard Dean and I'm here to represent the Democratic wing of the Democratic party."

It was probably before that, though, because most likely it required a certain amount of pre-existing idealism for that to give me goosebumps.

Whenever and however it happened, I'm absolutely sure that I'm a better person for remembering how to be starry-eyed, how to cry and laugh and dare to hope for a better world again. Because just like stress eats holes in your immune system, cynicism eats holes in your mental health.

Oh, no question that we need to maintain an attitude of skepticism. None of us should blindly believe what we're told; just watch the White House Press Corps to see how that works out. And no question that being an idealist brings with it its share of sadness.

I was watching the Democratic National Convention with my mother, a 68-year-old yellow dog Democrat who'd actually gone to a Dean Meet-up with me despite not being able to program her own oven timer, let alone use a computer. Howard Dean, who had by then set aside his own presidential ambitions and was staunchly supporting John Kerry, came out to speak. The crowd was with him, screaming his name, and not letting him start speaking until after two minutes and 40 seconds of applause. He lit up from inside and began to talk about his America again. I glanced over at my mom and she was crying.

"I know that Dean could never have gotten elected," she said through her tears. "I know Kerry is our best chance to beat Bush. I just wish we lived in a country that would have elected a man like Howard Dean."

Me too, mom. Me too.

Comments

[Gina]

Me three, Christie.