Next year, I pledge to listen with more than just my ears.

A friend that I admire taught me that lesson, although she didn’t mean to. My friend is smart, well-read, an amazing writer, bilingual, and one of the most gifted teachers I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing in action. Whenever I need guidance, I seek her opinion. I am honored that she calls me a friend. And in the span of two decades of friendship, she’s disappointed me only once.

It was fifteen years ago, and I’d just finished a book whose author I won’t mention because she’s controversial and conservative, and that alone is enough to shut down half the people reading this post. But I guess that’s why I’m writing this in the first place.

It was one of those books that made me think long after I’d finished reading it. And the first person I thought of to share it with was my friend–because it is in direct opposition to most everything she believes in.

When I loaned her the book, it wasn’t because I believed it was a superior way of thinking or because I wanted it to change her mind. Books are like movies–they’re more fun when you have someone to share them with. When you finish a book that made you think, you want to be able to talk about it with a friend. You want to dissect it, to debate it. She had loaned me books in the past that have shaped my thinking. And so I was delighted when she returned the book only days later.

“What did you think?” I asked, eager for our discussion.

“I didn’t even get through the first chapter,” she replied.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because that’s all it took for me to see where she was going,” she shrugged. “I didn’t need to read any more after that.”

That’s the one time I was disappointed in my amazing friend.

For the life of me, I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to read, watch, or listen to a viewpoint that opposes their own.  Oppositional viewpoints are the spice of life. But so often, we seek sources that merely validate and reaffirm what we already believe. When I’m finished listening to–and I mean really listening to–someone who contradicts my own beliefs, by the end of our conversation, even if I haven’t changed my mind, I’ve learned something.

Listening to the opposing viewpoint without interrupting, without thinking about what we’ll say next, without firing off a barrage of facts and evidence we’ve gained through our own research, broadens our perspective and makes it even stronger. When we listen, it makes us more intelligent, flexible, and empathetic. Who wouldn’t want these qualities?

If that’s not enough incentive to listen to the other side, and you can’t get past the feeling that every political or religious conversation is a battle of wits, you might consider a strategy of every good commander or general: Know your enemy. If anything, listening to the opposite end of our own political spectrum strengthens our own arguments, makes us more rational during a debate and in turn, gives us credibility.

Although I learned that lesson fifteen years ago, I’ve found myself abandoning it. When my children and husband talk to me, I often don’t stop typing or moving around the house. In the classroom, I find myself nodding at my students with half an ear while thinking about how to move my lesson forward. I’ve rolled my eyes and hit “unfollow” when friends’ posts made me angry and borderline nauseous (yup…we’ve all been there). When I’ve felt hurt or disrespected, particularly over the past two years, I’ve lashed out.

I propose next year we start listening to each other–particularly if we’ve heard the opposing viewpoint a thousand times. Because even when we’ve heard something, it doesn’t mean we’ve listened.

I owe you a whopping apology.

I didn’t see it before, but it’s all so clear to me now.

I finally understand how long and painfully you waited for your next president.

Finally, some common ground to stand on.

A friend of mine, who’s not one to gloat, asked me yesterday why I’ve been so silent over the past couple days. Admittedly, that put me on the defensive. Because no matter how much our country has been grieving since January 6th’s events, I believe that in a way that’s big or small, he–along with many Biden supporters and/or Trump opposers — has been absolutely loving this.

Then I thought, I can’t blame him. It’s human nature. My friend was right to remind me to reflect, to acknowledge my errors, and to embrace opportunity for growth.

There’s only one lie I’ve told so far…my friend is totally one to gloat. (That was a shout-out. We’ve actually remained good friends.)

Rather than starting a new post, I thought I’d edit this one from last month, which elicited nearly four hundred comments. As an understatement, it was an interesting ride. In my eleven years on social media, I’d always aimed for light and funny, and it was one of a handful of times I opened a serious discussion. Some of the commentary was informative and well articulated–and I learned a lot. Some of it was scathing. Friendships were made. Nemeses were declared. I won’t whine about the opposition. Every time we throw in our two cents about a controversy, we brace ourselves for the backlash–and we welcome it. Otherwise, what’s the point?

January 6 is celebrated by many around the world as the “Epiphany.” I had one of those epiphanies myself.

There was one particular point where the President raised his hands upward with a sad smile on his face, while droves of sycophants droned, “We love you…we love you….” I’d always known President Trump to be a narcissist, but I think it crystalized even more in that moment how much he relies on the adoration of his followers. Furthermore, maybe it’s the teacher in me, but I anticipated bad behavior 345 miles away. I never thought a group of domestic terrorists would invade the Capitol, but I anticipated bloodshed in the crowd. Even before the chaos unfolded, I stayed home that day with the windows boarded up and the shades down (OK, not literally…but you get the point). I imagined unrest radiating from D.C. and leaking into the streets. To me, it seemed irresponsibly risky to amass a million people who’ve felt ignored, slighted and stifled on the day the clock was due to run out on them. When the President urged the crowd to march down Pennsylvania Avenue, I held my breath and waited. And I cursed him for not being able to see what was bound to happen.

Some feel he knew exactly what was going to happen. Some say he incited the riot, that he egged the violence on. Some say it was all about one man’s greed, wounded pride, and refusal to accept defeat.

This is where we disagree. Seeing how his objective was an emergency 10-day audit, and in light of an administration marked by championing law and order, I believe his intent was peaceful protest. Anyone with the IQ of a flea (although many of my friends would argue that’s the case) could predict violence would be a fatal shot in the foot. Furthermore, I don’t believe any outsider barges through a corrupt system of career politicians for power or an ego boost. I think he genuinely saw a need for change. He understood the kind of sacrifice and risk that would be sure to ensue, and unlike most of us, he had the courage beyond a keyboard to change it.

I hate his personality. I hate his narcissism. And if indeed he did get set up the way Nancy Pelosi got “set up” by her salon, I resent him for not having the wisdom or foresight to prevent it. I don’t think it’s too much to expect wisdom and foresight from the leader of the free world.

Throughout the commentary on this post, my liberal friends kept calling me out for “supporting Trump” and “being fooled” by his claims about voter fraud. Either they didn’t hear or understand–I found there to be a lot of talk and little listening. That’s OK. I teach kids, and I have three of my own at home. I’m used to repeating myself.

It was never intended to be a pro-Trump post. And I never said I knew there to be fraud. Truth be told, none of us will ever know for sure, because it was never discussed or brought to light in a meaningful way. I watched, along with the rest of the nation, as thousands of sworn affidavits, incident reports and in my mind, damning video footage were shoved under a table (so to speak). I don’t know squat about legalities, but I had a gut feeling that there was something there worth talking about. 

I resent that we don’t have constructive conversations in this country. And I resent that the information we receive is filtered and delivered to us with childproof caps. I worry about the consequences of throwing our hands over the mouths of such a large and restless portion of our country. And my fear is that what transpired at our Capitol is just the beginning.

I don’t agree that my questions should have warranted concern from my friends who have sadly expressed to me that I’ve been “brainwashed.” And I don’t agree that by asking questions, I now have a hand in the events that unfolded at the Capitol, as proclaimed in more than one scathing post that entered my feed.

For the past four years, I’ve heard the tones and seen the facial expressions of the media, and I’ve had the unsettling notion that they were trying to sway rather than inform me. They do it on both sides. No one is in the middle. It is on the rarest of occasions that I watch a broadcast or read an article without being able to decipher how the reporter feels. As a journalism major in college who once dreamed about a career in journalism, this shakes me to my very core.

“It’s not bias…it’s called reporting facts!” my liberal friends will clamor. But what are facts? Admit it or not–all of us choose a media outlet that resonates with us–one that aligns with our personal beliefs–and we rehash what we hear. We know very little firsthand–some of us are wise enough to recognize that, and others have a ways to go.

For me, the protesters on Wednesday (not to be confused with the minute fraction of rioters and terrorists who invaded the Capitol) were standing up for all the freedoms that have been slipping through our fingers–no, I’m not referring to the freedom to walk around in public places without a mask. I’m referring to a host of (in my mind) more important freedoms–like freedom of speech, freedom of information, and freedom of the press.

I have a dozen or more friends who are amazing writers–articulate, genius, even–and powerful with words. And it floors me that they watch passively (and some, righteously) while the other side of the political spectrum is stifled. I get that censorship feels good when it blots out danger, stupidity, and lunacy. But isn’t is reasonable to predict that once we start stripping dangerous, stupid and crazy people of their First Amendment rights, that the rest of us will eventually lose those rights as well?

Gun-toters will defend the Second Amendment to the death. Why aren’t the writers in my circle doing the same for free speech and freedom of the press?

To me, that’s what the protest during the electoral count was supposed to be about. If you’re thinking it was about white Nazi fascist nationalism, well, we don’t have much left to talk about.

I opened my previous post with the line “As someone who doesn’t lean much toward one side or another, here’s my view, for what it’s worth.” A liberal-minded family member pointed out in the commentary below that I “discredited” myself with that opening line. I thought about that for a while.

At first, I was confused–then indignant. Admittedly, I do lean away from the Democrats. I love social justice, and to me, the only way to empower people of color in our country is to free them from governmental dependence, rather than binding them to a system of social support that can be snatched away from them as quickly as it came. To me, this has never been a priority in the Democrats’ agenda. But I’m not exactly enamored with the Republican party, either. So which way do I lean?

I finally came to the sad conclusion that for some of us, there’s not much to lean on or toward, for that matter. All I know, at the risk of sounding like a flower child’s daughter, is that it’s not toward “The Establishment.” I think it’s our job to question the government. It’s our job to consider (but not necessarily believe) everything, even if it discredits the things we most cherish. If the term for that is “conspiracy theorist,” then I guess I’ll have to wear it.

I won’t get much into the hypocrisy of the sudden attention and abhorrence from the left about rioting (with a newfound appreciation for the police, might I add). “It’s just buildings,” many said. In my mind, the flags at the Capitol should have been lowered at half-staff starting last summer.

I also won’t conclude this post by challenging those with conflicting viewpoints to unfriend me or to “f*ck off.” I won’t say any opposing viewpoint is unwelcome, because, well, that doesn’t seem democratic to me at all.

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Below is my original post, from Dec. 6:

As someone who doesn’t lean much toward one side or another, here’s my view, for what it’s worth–

What I’ve been hearing loud and clear is that one covid death is too many.

Who in the world would object to that?

Let’s invest our time, energy and money toward fighting it, because every life is precious and sacred.

Here’s something else I’ve been hearing a whole lot–

“There is absolutely no evidence of voter fraud.”

(More than 400 sworn affidavits later…)

“There is no evidence of WIDESPREAD voter fraud.”

(Approximately 12.000 incident reports later…)

“There is no evidence of widespread voter fraud that would change the outcome of an election.”

My question is, if our sacred vote is so crucial–whether fraud can happen once, a hundred times, or hundreds of thousands of times, why not take the time to investigate?

Maybe every incident report was made up. Maybe the damning footage has a reasonable explanation. Maybe every last affidavit is perjury. But why isn’t every American demanding to find out?

No matter which side of the political spectrum we lean toward–If our election process is as sacred as we scream about, isn’t it worth protecting? Shouldn’t we do everything possible to keep it honorable, even if we’re perfectly content with this year’s outcome?

Every life silenced by Covid is tragic. Criminal, even. And as an understatement, unacceptable.

As for every legal vote silenced by an illegal one? I think it’s high time we say the same.