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Opinion: It’s not game over

I cried when I went to bed last night. Deep, terrified, angry sobs. Donald Trump hadn’t been declared the winner, but he was closing in, and I decided that was a moment of history I didn’t want to witness.

Earlier in the night, when things weren’t as clear, I was talking to someone I love very much who voted for Gary Johnson. I had spent weeks trying to explain to him why I was voting for Hillary Clinton, why a third-party vote was essentially a vote for Trump, why I thought it was important that he swallow his issues with the Clintons and look at the bigger picture. In the end, he couldn’t do it. “I didn’t want to have to spend the rest of my life admitting I voted for that lying bitch,” he told me.

I thought about that while I cried. That, and hearing Trump say, “Grab them by the pussy.” I thought about all the times men have put their hands on my body against my wishes, and how excusable America finds that reality. I know my loved one has his reasons for voting for Johnson, but votes for third-party candidates put a man who said “Grab them by the pussy” in the White House. So it’s hard for me not to feel that what he’s really saying is “I hate Hillary Clinton more than I hate the idea of you living in a world where people think they have a right to sexually assault you.”

I thought about all my friends—Muslims, African-Americans, Mexican-Americans—who must be sadder and more terrified than I was. And weirdly, I thought about the national anthem.

I’ve never been one for intense patriotism. I was taught bragging is impolite, so going around talking about how great we are as a nation always struck me as a little icky. When the controversy surrounding the national anthem hit this summer, I couldn’t fathom the outrage. You think a song in a sports stadium is crucial to the fabric of our nation? Huh. The national anthem never really did it for me. I also fail to feel the swelling of nationalist pride on the Fourth of July or when our athletes beat other country’s athletes in the Olympics.

You know when I’m proud to be an American? When things get hard and we pick up the pieces. I’m proudest when I think of the aftermath of 9/11, when people were terrified and shocked but more than anything, just wanted to help.

Trump’s win exposes just how divided our country is. Last night, a lot of my friends were posting statuses about how disgusted they are with our country and how they’re not proud to be an American. I share your anger. But now, more than ever, America needs you. It needs you to be decent, to be determined, to be strong. It’s a lot to ask, I know. It’s hard to commit to a country that just said, definitively, that you don’t matter as much as others.

Except that you’re still American. Just because the results of this election don’t reflect you doesn’t mean you disintegrate. People are treating this like the clock ran down and it’s game over—someone else won. But the thing about America is that it’s never game over; we’re in a perpetual halftime. Don’t be so angry that you forget to show up for the second half.