The healthy robust love a mother has for a thriving child is different than the heart-wrenching, agonizing, cherishing a mother feels for a sick child.
America is a sick child. I have never loved her so much.
On all sides of the political spectrum, from the opposite extremes to the centrists, we all agree the well-being of our nation is under threat, albeit for radically different reasons from entirely different directions.
Opinions are strong, implacable and calcified. Peel off the layers of judgments and what both sides have in common, at the core is fear. Fear keeps us from talking to each other.
Fears are real. Fascism, like smoke from the fires in Canada, is coming our way, an uncontainable ephemeral dangerous mist. Anxieties are too vast and terrifying to be contained in one person’s heart.
Years ago, in this publication, I wrote about the threat of nuclear war in such exquisite detail, I alarmed myself for the rest of the day. Then I watched small minded humans fighting with each other over nothing on Dr. Phil. That calmed me down. Those conflicts I could wrap my brain around.
Who can really contemplate nuclear war for more than a few minutes? On both sides of the great divide in America, the possibilities for catastrophe outcomes are an equalizer.
Maybe progressives could sit down with some Trump supporters to discuss our common vulnerabilities.
My compatriots were reluctant. I asked them. We might be afraid we will hate them. Maybe we are even more afraid we will like them.
Would we find such individuals? Will they want to talk to us?
The Bible tells us to “love our neighbors and our enemies.” In these times, often the same people.
Friedrich Nietzsche said, “Love your enemies. If you do, loving them will bring out the best in you.” What would we have to do to rise to Nietzsche’s lofty adage?
The laws of physics tell us two things cannot occupy the same space. We are crammed full of uncompromising sureness. There is little space in our psyches for healthy doubt.
Imagine setting all opinions aside for a few hours, checking our beliefs at the door, creating an emotional empty space knowing our convictions are safe and will be there intact when we leave.
The weight of what we human beings have in common is so much denser than what we do not have in common.
We all sleep at night, look forward to a delicious meal, navigate conflicts with loved ones, think we have the truth, search for meaning, need love, clean ourselves, are afraid of pain and illness, require down-time, are sometimes joyous, and we all need to accept the inevitable fact that our lives will end.
Our similarities are substantial. Opinions, regardless of whether based on misinformation or fact, are transitory, amorphous. At least they should be. In spite of new information, points of view often stay static, shutting out examination and reconsidering. The spectacle of both extremes, each accusing the other of falsehoods, is way easier and less frightening than to do the deep dive into discovering a truth that could change a belief. If the facts are available, these days they are hard to find.
What will be accomplished by listening to each other? What most likely will not happen is a 180-degree change in political and philosophical strongly entrenched convictions.
Perhaps though, through the magic of proximity, if we share a meal, dance and sing together or just agree to talk, staying away from controversy, we might turn down the animosity proliferating in our nation.
Top on the list of commonalities is our shared love for America and hope for healing for our country and our planet.
Join the family! 
