I admit that I have become so caught up in the drama of the presidential election that it colors the rest of my life, and not in a good way. No matter how hard I try otherwise, I still want to know what has happened next, even when much of what is happening is that the news media is working very hard to make something out of very little. I’m now too nervous to watch the debates. Tonight is the last one and I can’t make myself do it. I’ll wait to hear what the pundits have to say afterwards. Today someone advised me that I should watch because that makes Saturday Night Live so much funnier.
I just want the campaign to be over; I want it out of my life. I’m ready to quit. But then there will be November 9, and I will find myself living with the results whichever way it goes. I wish I had something new or profound or particularly helpful to add to the conversation, but I don’t have much. I find myself doing what I can to connect myself back to real life: trying to remember what I really care about and love, enjoying where I am, and looking forward to little things that I get to affect and good moments I get to create.
A scene from a movie, “The Rookie” comes to mind. It’s a true story. Twelve years earlier, Jim Morris’s dream to be a major league pitcher ended in the minor leagues because of an arm injury. It’s now 1998; he has a wonderful wife, two young children, and a good job as a high school teacher in a small town in Texas. And then as his part of a deal with the high school baseball team he coaches, he pitches in a tryout for the Tampa Bay Devil Rays and is offered a minor league contract. He’s over thirty years old, but with his family’s support and encouragement he pursues his dream. The grind of bus rides, bad food, cheap hotels, doubt, uncertainty, and loneliness for his family wears him down until he is ready for it to be over. He wants to quit. Then in his dark night of the soul, he comes across a Little League game. As he watches from the outfield fence, he remembers the joy of playing, and the special nature of the opportunity he is living in comes back to him. The next day he strides into the locker room, clasps his friend, Brooks, by the shoulder. “Guess what we get to do today, Brooks?” he asks, with a smile on his face and enthusiasm in his voice. After a pause where everyone turns to look, he nods and answers himself with strong, restrained emphasis, “We get to play baseball!” Jim Morris would go on to pitch in the majors as a reliever for two years before he returned to his high school teaching job.
Back in my life with no help from Disney, the sun has risen on the morning of the first day after the last debate. It also happens to be the first day of early voting. As Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us: “The sun has risen on the forest and also on my awareness” I give thanks for 24 brand new hours. I awake to new possibilities, throw water on my face, step up, clasp myself on the shoulder and ask myself with a smile, “Guess what we get to do today, Jim McK?” [pause] and then nod and answer with renewed strength and enthusiasm, “We get to vote!” I get to vote. We each get to vote. And we have to. It may seem a small something compared to everything we see and hear and are afraid of and feel responsible for. But it is what we can do. The one thing we can and must do. It is our choice – to make and take. It is our central part of the special opportunity we are living in and making real. It may not seem like much, but it is each of us throwing out our first pitch for the country and the community we love and envision and hope for. See you at the Board of Elections. Play ball!
— Rev. Jim McKinley, Minister