Want enlightenment? Work at your local election.
Beautiful people everywhere.
We had local elections this week. I’ve worked at these elections before and it is one of my favourite jobs ever.
Let me explain.
First, a cross section of humanity.
All kinds of bodies and styles. The human form in all its creased and crinkled glory. We all have scars. The lady with the eye patch. Her exposed eye was huge, yellow with red lines, looking like a constant state of alarm. The skin cancer guy with half his nose gone. Old flirty men with the bluest eyes. Hands with such thin skin that they would bruise if you looked too hard.
Second, the unguarded faces.
People show up with their political views written all over their faces. The fury, the enthusiasm, the annoyance… it’s all there for me to observe. It’s like an actor’s masterclass. They don’t see me. I’m invisible. Just a role behind desk. But I see them.
Third, life is happening.
The widow who cried because this was the first time in 40 years that he voted without his wife. The newlyweds, wed at 80, voting together for the first time. The guy who declared that this would be his last vote ever because he was scheduled for medically assisted dying next month. Canes, walkers, people unable to grasp a pen, and the worst… when someone would drop their ballot and attempt to pick it up. We are coached to not intervene unless requested. It’s hard not to step in, “I’ll get that for you.” Dignity. Quiet capability. That’s what these people want. And if they need help, they’ll ask for it.
Fourth, life advice.
In the downtimes, I chatted with the other poll workers. They were ladies of a certain age. They gave marital advice (keep busy), cooking advice (the best pie crusts), and even gambling advice (sworn to secrecy).
I walked away from the polls with a mind full of beautiful people. It’s easy to slip into a pool of outrage these days, especially in politics. But people… real people… they are what pull you out. Just their beingness and aliveness and walking through life armed with scars so severe that you see the heroic feat it took to show up and vote.
The guy who is getting the medically assisted dying next month… he hugged me before he left. In that hug, I wanted to pull all his aliveness back in, even though I knew it was seeping out of his mortal self. Last month he had a birthday party where he announced his plans. He’s been gleefully goodbye-ing ever since. The word: goodbye… good bye. Having a good departure. He’s gifting himself a string of good byes and leaving rapture in his wake.
We are lucky to be living.
We are fragments of sunshine. With our savage scars and ridiculous little daily ups and downs, we are still glowing in our aliveness. And it was a stroke of dumb luck that for a brief time I could see the luminescence emanating from these fine folks.
For where 2 or 3 are gathered… and all that.
My position was at the end of the line, where you drop your ballot in the box. Naturally, these people are happy to see me because they are almost done. I spent the whole three days of the election working my material to make people laugh. Workshopping my Tight Five. By the end of the third day, I collected some laughs, hugs, and a whole load of kindness. And for that guy who is heading off next month, it was nice to be one of his last ports before departure.
Janice
PS The March Cottage Letter is out the door and it’s a beauty. Sign up today and I’ll pop your letter in the post. Check out the Instagram video:
