Today the line for my soy latte was longer than normal, and the only answer I needed came from the eyes of those waiting behind me. The world stayed up late to watch the fate of our nation, 15 billion eyes glued to their TVs, taking mental notes of what will inevitably be one of the most pivotal moments in world history.

The walk to my latte seemed different, too, for even the leaves on the ground, seemed to be in mourning. Yesterday, we valued the beauty in their differences. Today, they sit, piled high and pushed aside. Like their very existence is an inconvenience, and I think how is it possible, that we can treat things as beautiful one day, and a disposable inconvenience the next.

And then I saw a leaf that looked like me.

My neighborhood felt different too, quieter, yet not serene. Normally I associate silence with calm, but today seemed more like an absence of something, rather than a presence.

When I work with self harm, often an explanation that arises is a marked desire for the outside to match someone’s inside. When I walked out of my front door, I almost expected the neighborhood to be draped in black, as though the whole city is sitting shiva, mirrors covered.

And then it occurred to me, that half of my country is exploding with excitement, over the death the other half of us just experienced.

As I passed strangers on the sidewalk, I thought about mirrored neurons, and how intensely i could feel their sadness or their joy. I imagined my brain lighting up in different areas, in response to a reaction I cannot control, influenced by those around me. And then I thought back to the map I watched alongside the rest of the world, so intently last night, lighting up in red. And I think about Jung, and the collective unconscious.

Normally, I wouldn’t be one to challenge one of the greatest minds our world has ever seen, but I cannot wrap my brain around the notion that this many people in a united country can collectively, unconsciously, have so much hatred, ignorance, and bigotry residing within themselves.

It occurs to me that just maybe, they should be the ones draped in black.

I experience a brief moment of empathy, trying to imagine what it must be like to live with so much hatred in my soul, so much ignorance in my brain.

I purposely kick a pile of leaves back into the sidewalk, letting them know they are not fated to being swept aside or forgotten.

The fear is real, and the sadness and shame persist, and yet I have so much to be grateful for. I reach into the stroller to pick my daughter up, and noticed a single tear rolling down her cheek. Maybe mirror neurons and the collective unconscious are real, after all.

I wipe the tear off her face, kiss her forehead, and begin to think about the fact that next year, new leaves will bloom, and we will call them beautiful.