Weekend reads: How to survive another Trump-Biden election

Journalist and author Amanda Ripley on staying sane in 2024

(Photo by various sources / AFP) (Photo by BRENDAN SMIALOWSKIJIM WATSONMORRY GASH/AFP/POOL/AFP via Getty Images)

Happy Sunday, reader. I’ve been in Brooklyn this weekend for Dissident Dialogues, a conference organized by former Mumford & Sons band member, and Lean Out guest, Winston Marshall. Highlights included hearing the very funny Bridget Phetasy do stand-up, meeting NPR defector Uri Berliner, being introduced to the work of Ayishat Akanbi (speaking on a panel with two thinkers I admire, John McWhorter and Thomas Chatterton Williams), and one of the best public discussions about the state of the mainstream media that I’ve ever heard.

This morning, as I pack up and make my way back to Toronto, I wanted to bring you an essay from one of my favourite journalists, Amanda Ripley, offering some sage advice for this year’s election mayhem. Amanda, who has twice been a guest at Lean Out, brings a calm, curious, and empathetic approach to all her reporting and writing. I always feel like I can breathe again after reading something she’s written. — TH

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Here we are, queuing up for an election-year roller coaster that almost no one is looking forward to — one that will make us turn on our neighbors and fear enemies we will never meet. It’s nauseating and expensive, this roller coaster, and yet we’re buckling up and lowering the safety bar once again.

But what if — humor me here — we found a way to step back from the ride?

I’ve spent the past few weeks asking people across the political divide this question to crowdsource a playbook for election-year sanity. At this point, we may not have a choice about the candidates. But we do have a choice about how we respond to them.

After all, we are now, all of us, experts in how to live through a hyperpolarized election — with these exact presidential candidates. Whatever happens, we can’t keep doing what we’ve always done.

Our elections have gotten so bad that just anticipating them causes adverse health effects, according to research by psychology professor Shevaun D. Neupert. A quarter of us have seriously considered moving because of politics, political psychologist Kevin B. Smith has found. Even worse: One in 20 adults in America have had suicidal thoughts linked to politics. “Politics is a chronic stressor, saturating popular culture and permeating daily life through social media, various entertainment platforms and a 24-hour news cycle,” Smith concluded in a 2022 PLOS ONE study aptly titled “Politics is making us sick.”

This is no way to live. And the temptation, for me at least, is to withdraw. But disengagement creates new problems, says theologian Russell Moore, author of “Losing Our Religion: An Altar Call for Evangelical America.” “There’s a worry for me that there’s a numbness, an exhaustion,” says Moore, who went through a very public split from the Southern Baptist Convention over his position on sexual abuse and racial reconciliation within the denomination. “I think that’s dangerous. I want to still be shocked to some degree. Shocked but not thrown, I suppose.”

How can we be shocked — but not thrown? Engaged — but not enraged? I suspect that trying to find this balance may be the most important thing most of us can do in the next eight months. More important even than voting. (Yes, I said it.)

Create demilitarized zones

One thing Moore is doing differently these days is to allow certain core relationships to remain outside the zone of political debate. “There are relationships where the argument can’t be won,” he says, “but the relationship really does matter.”

This feels counterintuitive. After all, the stakes for this election are high. We now know exactly what these two candidates are capable of. The laws and policies we are fighting over — on abortion, the border, guns and so much more — affect millions of people’s lives in profound and intimate ways. There is little room for denial or doubt.

So why avoid talking about politics now, of all times, with anyone?

Here’s the answer I’ve come to, for now: Staying in relationships with one another is the only way to get lasting change. Hard conversations matter, but some people are not ready — not now. They don’t want to hear it — and maybe neither do you. Severed relationships harden our hearts and freeze our minds in place. Long term, that retrenchment can make everything worse by leaving us more isolated from one another.

Even when everyone in a family agrees on politics, it’s healthy to create a no-fly zone. Kelly Corrigan, the podcaster and host of “Tell Me More” on PBS, is trying to resist the urge to trade breaking-news outrages with her husband this time around. Nothing good comes from grievance swaps. “We’ve been married for almost 25 years, and we feel exactly the same way. We’d just walk around livid, just crazed.”

The goal is strategic as much as it is spiritual. “I would like my side to win,” Corrigan told me. “And I’m going to do things to help my side win. I’m going to use my platform to say some things.” But she wants to make what she says hearable — even to people who disagree. “I don’t want to insult anybody,” she says. “I can’t approach people with disgust, with superiority, with a desire to explode their every argument.”

To maintain that equanimity out in the world, you need to practice it at home. In previous election years, I might have told myself that these gripe sessions would make me feel less alone; now I know they just leave me feeling more aggrieved. There is usually nowhere good for that energy to go.

Map your sphere of influence

Next, look around. Who trusts you — and to do what? We can all let go of the grandiose idea that we can coerce Democrats to vote for a Republican or vice versa. “I wish I could be like Thanos and snap my fingers and get change, but that’s just not what it is right now,” says Kessonga Giscombé, a therapist and meditation teacher on the Headspace mindfulness app. “You have to accept that there are certain things that you can do and certain things you can’t.”

Understand your superpower, however modest it may be. “My intention,” Giscombé says, “is to make this world a healthier and happier place. I believe, very humbly, that mindfulness can change the world. At least it’s a start, right?”

If that doesn’t sound sufficiently political, then maybe our definition of politics is too small. That’s the conclusion of Caleb Follett, a corrections officer and Marine Corps veteran in Lansing, Mich. “Good politics start with your family and spread to the rest of the world. Are you a moral individual that’s doing good things in the world? Are you teaching [your kids] good things?”

In the past, Follett loved debating politics on social media. He supported Trump in 2016 and 2020. But this year, almost everyone following him is already voting for Trump. “I feel like, ‘What more can I say?’” Also, he’s noticed that negative political posts kept him in a state of perpetual indignation. “I realized, man, when I used to be posting all the time, it was fueled by anger.”

This year, so far, he’s been posting exercise tips — fun, high-energy videos where he weight-lifts his kids or explains how to set up an inexpensive home gym. “It’s like I stepped back, and I found a problem that I can help people with,” Follett told me. “What’s more powerful? Me getting one person to change their vote, or me getting one person to change their life?”

Monitor your vital signs

When you do get on the election roller coaster, pay attention — so you know when to get off. “I’m fully aware of what I’m feeling when I’m looking at the news,” says Giscombé, the meditation teacher. “And the moment I feel that anxiety creeping up, it’s like, ‘Okay, it’s time to pause.’” In 2020, he would have tried to power through that distress; now, he puts his phone down immediately. “That’s been a game changer.”

Personally, I’m trying to ask myself, “What will I get out of reading this story?” before I wade in. I don’t always have the discipline to do this, but I wish I did. I can’t do anything about a brutal murder in a distant community. There’s enough tragedy to contemplate in my own city. At the same time, I’ve learned I have to nudge myself to read less-frightening stories — to help my brain see a fuller picture. Wait, America’s violent-crime rate was near its lowest level in more than 50 years last year? I need to know more about that, even if my first instinct is to scroll on by.

Interestingly, on some days, Giscombé notices, he can read many alarming stories in a row in relative peace. But, on other days, if, say, he’s had an argument with his wife that morning, the alarm sounds much sooner. The key is to listen.

Think in years, not months

This is a long game. Things are likely to get worse in America before they get better, politically speaking. “There will be many, many attempts made this year to colonize your imagination,” the writer Jake Meador recently warned in the journal Mere Orthodoxy. “Cable news and political podcasts and morning radio and social media reactionaries will all be there, demanding your attention.”

Even if the candidate you support wins, this roller-coaster ride won’t stop in November. As soon as one ride ends, another one comes chugging around the bend. The difference is, many of us are now less vulnerable to manipulation. We have some immunity, which may be the one upside to this déjà vu election.

“The narrative of this election is not as compelling because it’s so familiar. And that is, strangely, an opportunity,” says April Lawson, who has spent the past six years working for the depolarization organization Braver Angels. “We’re looking for something fresh, something different. There’s the potential for a new story — not about Trump and Biden but about who we are, as Americans.”

We are craving a new kind of politics, a new story about ourselves. We need to carve out enough space in our heads to be able to imagine it — and build it. I don’t know what that looks like, but I know it requires getting off the old roller-coaster ride.

It’s paradoxical: This is an important election. There are real threats on the horizon, with some of us facing more risks than others. Which is why it is so hard to pull away. But we are all human. Pulling away, temporarily and intentionally, is the only way to live to fight another day.

This essay orginally appeared in The Washington Post.