Not ready to talk about the election? Here's 3 pictures you can use to stop conversations.

If you're anything like me, you've spent the better part of today endlessly refreshing Twitter and Facebook, hoping that the next update will magically reverse what just happened to our country.

It won't. Put that out of your mind.

The bad news is clear: Donald Trump won the election. That's a BFD, with potentially serious, negative consequences for a lot of Americans — women, people of color, immigrants, LGBTQ folks, and those living with disabilities.


There's lots of news out there today. Lots of posts from people you know who are angry, sad, frustrated, bitter, and need space to vent. If that's productive for you, you should, by all means, vent to your heart's content. If, however, you're the kind of person for whom reading a steady stream of lamentations drives you further down the rabbit hole of your own despair, please feel free to opt out. If you need time to process, if you need time to let it all sink in before you're ready to talk about it, that's OK.

Right now, you don't have to read about, think about, or talk about the election. Not if you don't want to.

That's right, you don't have to talk about politics with anyone today. You heard it here first. To help you deflect those conversations you're just not ready to have, feel free to share the images below.

If you're a barista and people come by to order coffee, and you just can't stand to hear another "Whoo, boy what an election, right?" comment from someone who really just needs a coffee, slap this down at the register.

Image via iStock.

If you work at a salon and can't stand the thought of having to listen to political chatter while you're cutting someone's hair, tape this to the mirror.

Image via iStock.

If you're a woman, a person of color, an immigrant, living with a disability, part of the LGBTQ community, or literally anyone else who is feeling gut-punched by the election and you just can't handle another person asking if you're OK because even trying to begin answering that question feels too overwhelming to comprehend, feel free to wear this damn thing on your forehead.

Image via iStock.

This is not a permission slip suggesting you can or should ignore the news forever — or get complacent or wish it away.

We just experienced the longest, roughest election in a generation. If you haven't processed everything yet — and really, who has? — take that time now. Go for a walk. Go for a run. Go for an ATV ride. Read a book. On an ATV. You'll feel better. Maybe just a little better, but better.

The information will still be out there tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that. We still have months to digest what happened and start planning for the next steps to ensure that women's reproductive rights stay protected, that our LGBTQ friends can live here in peace with their families, and that our Muslim neighbors are shielded from hate crimes. There is so much more work to be done. And there will be time to do that work.

For now, you can do you.

And that's OK.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
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Glenda moved to Houston from Ohio just before the pandemic hit. She didn't know that COVID-19-related delays would make it difficult to get her Texas driver's license and apply for unemployment benefits. She quickly found herself in an impossible situation — stranded in a strange place without money for food, gas, or a job to provide what she needed.

Alone, hungry, and scared, Glenda dialed 2-1-1 for help. The person on the other end of the line directed her to the Houston-based nonprofit Bread of Life, founded by St. John's United Methodist pastors Rudy and Juanita Rasmus.

For nearly 30 years, Bread of Life has been at the forefront of HIV/AIDS prevention, eliminating food insecurity, providing permanent housing to formerly homeless individuals and disaster relief.

Glenda sat in her car for 20 minutes outside of the building, trying to muster up the courage to get out and ask for help. She'd never been in this situation before, and she was terrified.

When she finally got out, she encountered Eva Thibaudeau, who happened to be walking down the street at the exact same time. Thibaudeau is the CEO of Temenos CDC, a nonprofit multi-unit housing development also founded by the Rasmuses, with a mission to serve Midtown Houston's homeless population.

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Empathy. Compassion. Heart-to-heart human connection. These qualities of leadership may not be flashy or loud, but they speak volumes when we see them in action.

A clip of Joe Biden is going viral because it reminds us what that kind of leadership looks like. The video shows a key moment at a memorial service for Chris Hixon, the athletic director at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida in 2018. Hixon had attempted to disarm the gunman who went on a shooting spree at the school, killing 17 people—including Hixon—and injuring 17 more.

Biden asked who Hixon's parents were as the clip begins, and is directed to his right. Hixon's wife introduces herself, and Biden says, "God love you." As he starts to walk away, a voice off-camera says something and Biden immediately turns around. The voice came from Hixon's son, Corey, and the moments that followed are what have people feeling all their feelings.

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Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
True

Glenda moved to Houston from Ohio just before the pandemic hit. She didn't know that COVID-19-related delays would make it difficult to get her Texas driver's license and apply for unemployment benefits. She quickly found herself in an impossible situation — stranded in a strange place without money for food, gas, or a job to provide what she needed.

Alone, hungry, and scared, Glenda dialed 2-1-1 for help. The person on the other end of the line directed her to the Houston-based nonprofit Bread of Life, founded by St. John's United Methodist pastors Rudy and Juanita Rasmus.

For nearly 30 years, Bread of Life has been at the forefront of HIV/AIDS prevention, eliminating food insecurity, providing permanent housing to formerly homeless individuals and disaster relief.

Glenda sat in her car for 20 minutes outside of the building, trying to muster up the courage to get out and ask for help. She'd never been in this situation before, and she was terrified.

When she finally got out, she encountered Eva Thibaudeau, who happened to be walking down the street at the exact same time. Thibaudeau is the CEO of Temenos CDC, a nonprofit multi-unit housing development also founded by the Rasmuses, with a mission to serve Midtown Houston's homeless population.

Keep Reading Show less
via Witty Buttons / Twitter

Back in 2017, when white supremacist Richard Spencer was socked in the face by someone wearing all black at Trump's inauguration, it launched an online debate, "Is it OK to punch a Nazi?"

The essential nature of the debate was whether it was acceptable for people to act violently towards someone with repugnant reviews, even if they were being peaceful. Some suggested people should confront them peacefully by engaging in a debate or at least make them feel uncomfortable being Nazi in public.

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The English language is constantly evolving, and the faster the world changes, the faster our vocabulary changes. Some of us grew up in an age when a "wireless router" would have been assumed to be a power tool, not a way to get your laptop (which wasn't a thing when I was a kid) connected to the internet (which also wasn't a thing when I was a kid, at least not in people's homes).

It's interesting to step back and look at how much has changed just in our own lifetimes, which is why Merriam-Webster's Time Traveler tool is so fun to play with. All you do is choose a year, and it tells you what words first appeared in print that year.

For my birth year, the words "adult-onset diabetes," "playdate," and "ATM" showed up in print for the first time, and yes, that makes me feel ridiculously old.

It's also fun to plug in the years of different people's births to see how their generational differences might impact their perspectives. For example, let's take the birth years of the oldest and youngest members of Congress:

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