Why I am NOT voting for Mitt Romney

Mitt Romney

As my husband, Dave, and I walk the pathways along Park City, Utah’s Swaner Nature Preserve my thoughts are clear. My words come easily. They come in strings of vivid analogies, perfect metaphors and complete, well formed thoughts, or, at least in that moment, that is how it seems. The sun is shining, and my thoughts are pushed forward by our momentum. I feel solid. Then I declare why I will not vote for Mitt Romney.

“People should use their own experiences to decide!” I firmly state.
“Absolutely!” Dave responds.
“Believe me. I am using my own experiences and they may not make sense to anyone, yet they are what I stand on and stand for.” I laughed.

Maybe it is because, like a cheesy 1990’s Tom Cruise movie, Dave really does complete my thoughts, or maybe because I knew Dave was listening and was not feeling threatened, defensive or challenged by my words, in that moment, I knew I was safe. I was free to figure it all out and process my conclusions.

Then tonight I read Dave my post over the phone. He asked if I (really) wanted to post my thoughts here. See, I read to him while he was stuck in LA traffic and was wearing a headset while we spoke. Consequently, I knew I had his attention. (By the way, he is probably still somewhere on the 405.) I know he is concerned about pushback and pointless debate. I am grateful he is. After I heard his concern, I told him what I will now share with you.

See, along the way I decided that sometime, somewhere I need to stop having one foot in and one foot out, get off that fence, and stand on my own two feet. My two feet may be shaky and poorly worded, but they are the two I will try to stand on. It has not been an easy thing for me to do and here is where I start. You may not like what I have to say. You may want to pray for me or even try to save me. All your prayers are welcome, by the way. My thoughts are real and believe me I am not trying to convince you how to think or even how to vote. I want everyone to think about the why. Why are you voting the way you do?

Be informed.

As we walked and worked through our words it was increasingly apparent that my experience with the LDS church is central to why I am voting the way I am. Why wouldn’t it be? As hard as I try to be just Beth, the fact that I was raised in the Mormon church is and will always be a part of me, how I am perceived and how I am treated. It is no picnic living in a community where the non-Mormons only invite you to daytime (non-drinking) activities, or simply exclude you or are afraid of you because they hear your name and the word, Mormon in the same sentence.

Worse for me are the Mormons. It is worse because I know what they have been taught. And really, I am talking specifically about the Mormons who keep you at arms length. The ones who only talk to when they are assigned to, or show up at your door with a chicken concoction when someone close to you is in the hospital or has died. These Mormons do not let their kids play with yours, yet when you see them, they hug you and tell everyone what good friends your kids are such good friends. Confusing at best. I am guessing we experience the local-Park-City-Mormon “Pariah” treatment because Dave and I do not go to church. Nothing is worse to a Mormon than a lapsed Mormon. At least non-Mormons have hope. They still can be converted. Thank God for the Mormons I know who seem to know I am not evil. They still accept me even though I do not drink the Mormon beverage of choice: Diet Coke and not the cafeine-free variety [wink wink].

It is hard because people are fluid in their choices while in the moment seeming very black and white. When someone criticizes me for not wearing my Mormon Temple Garments, I feel like I am bad. Years later, when that very same black and white soul no longer believes, I equally feel less than when they accuse me of believing in an invisible God. Why would I vote for someone who is proven to be so black and white in his words, yet seemingly so fluid in his plan. It makes no sense. I have researched and tried to figure our what Mitt’s plan is. I do not understand why he cannot share his taxes and I think it is lame that he can write off his tithing donations or charitable contributions into a tax shelter, but my friends who seek help from their local church leaders are treated like they are less worthy because they are asking for help. Google it. My experience with people who make bold, black and white statements is that they will always change. Extremes are just too hard to maintain. This minute they firmly believe A, the next they say that A is dumb and you are dumb for believing A. Makes no sense. Do I?

For some strange reason Dave and I have always remained firmly planted in the grey. We tend to see-both-sides and I am grateful for this perspective. When friends on all sides of the line openly share their opinions, I want to hear what they have to say, and consider their words. I can be swayed, that is, until someone shoves their words down my throat and has no interest in my response. Why would I want a president who not only sees people on welfare as lazy and worthless, but sees people raised in his own faith as not as worthy, because they are not as wealthy or do not go to church? I want a president who values me as much as he values my friends on welfare and as much as he values someone who does not believe in God. I want to know that there is a place for me, and what I have to say. I am not sure Barak Obama is that person, but for me, at least he was not raised in a Mormon Patriarchal society.

We kept walking and really my thoughts were emotionally driven, I know. I am going on character and not policy yet character is how I vote, at least right now. “Dave, I like talking politics with you. We never fight. We discuss and we work through our issues, and even when we don’t completely agree, we are cool. It is safe. You do not shove your ideology down my throat and you trust me to make the best decision for me. ”

Ok. Sure. We are married. Dave knows me and knows how I think. It was completely refreshing that he did not criticize me when I said, “birth does not begin with conception.”

He knows me. He knows my story. He has bothered to ask what I think and because of these things, he showed compassion, “If birth began at conception then I guess you would be going to Hell after all of your many miscarriages.” He said.

Thank you Dave and then he continued, “Actually, the Mormon Church holds the same view that birth begins when you are born.” Sure, sure, I know this statement could be argued and some would say life begins in the pre-mortal world before you were born. And I am not here to talk Mormon doctrine. I am not the best on the subject anyway. I am here to share what events have shaped my opinion and consequently my vote.

We were rounding the bend and I continued, “For me, I was raised in the Mormon church. I have been raised in a culture where for example women are taught to submit to their husband:

“A married woman’s place is in the home, where she sustains and supports her husband…”
~Bruce R. McConkie, Our Sisters from the Beginning, Ensign, Jan 1979

I do not know if I want a president who thinks he knows more than I do, because of the simple fact that I am a lady.”

And then there is the whole the-richer-you-are-the-closer-you-are-to-God philosophy. Living here in Park City, UT with all of these very rich, well-educated Mormons, I feel like we are culturally in the epicenter of this particular bias. Dave, you grew up in the Potomac, MD area, where this same culture persists.”

“Yes and that is why my ward boundary was so long and narrow. The LDS church tried for many years to impose socioeconomic diversity. They eventually gave up.” Dave responded.

“Remember during the 2008 campaign? Barak Obama came to Park City for a big fundraiser. Do you still have that picture?” I asked.

“I might.”

“Barak Obama stopped on the side of the road and held an impromptu rally. I thought it was so cool that you and the boys happened to be there. We all felt so hopeful. I can’t tell you how I think the Republicans would spin things now if McCain had won. I bet they would say something about how he was fixing the debt even if our world was exactly the same. I can’t stomach it.”

“I think McCain would have done a fine job, perhaps even better. He would not have had all the Republicans pushing back and making things so hard. He probably would have gotten more done.” Dave continued.

“I agree.”

“Around the same time Obama came to Park City I saw Mitt Romney at church. I was still trying to go to church and be a part of the community. He was in the back playing with one of his grandchildren. I remember all of the church dudes walking up and high-fiving him like he was one of their frat brothers. I knew I could not go up and say hello. He was two feet away and I still felt less than. What is that?” I shared and then continued, “I could see he was a good man. I could see him hanging out in the back, a place I liked to wander when I was bored. He seemed like we could have something in common, but we didn’t. I know those people. I grew up with these people. It is the Mormon Aristocracy, an extension of our US Aristocracy. Don’t fool yourself into thinking a rags-to-riches-living-the-American-dream experience exists anymore. Even Al Gore has a strong pedigree. Mitt Romney’s dad was a politician. He was born into wealth. He was not called of God. He was born into good and fortunate circumstances.” I was on one.

And then Dave said, “It’s like Marianne. She is a single mom. She married a man from Africa. How different would her children’s lives be if they had a solid foundation, upbringing and educational opportunities like Obama had? Even his being black helped.”

“Just like Mitt’s being rich?” I cheekily shot back. “What would you call white-rich-affirmative action? Obama is not aristocracy, but he had opportunity and I see him more like me than I do Mitt. Mitt Romney and this crazy upper class makes me lose faith in our world and really in the American Dream.”

I have always been able to talk politics with Dave. Even when my ideologies seem aligned with others, I still find it hard to say. People are strong, their words on politics and religion even stronger. Long ago I realized that my words will not change anyone. I have always wondered why people come on strong, mean, and never appear willing to listen.

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Shutting Doors: my own self help

Me dying of heat at Joshua Tree National Park, June, 2012

 

I have no idea where the phrase, “keep someone at arm’s length,” comes from and believe me I looked it up. I do think that whoever thought it up was on to something. Boundaries, I never had them and I still have to remind myself to keep them.

As far as relationships go, I was taught at home and at church to love everyone unconditionally and that if I could unconditionally love that I was a really good person. Being good was very, very important to me. I always thought the phrases like, “as I have loved you, love one another,” confirmed that I should open my arms fully, no matter what.  The more damaged the other person appeared the more I opened my arms and tried desperately to fill holes that I had no place trying to fill.  I was not only fiercely determined to love them, I was determined to get others to love them too. Hey Jesus hung out with the prostitutes and street people, not the Pharisees and Sadducees, right?

I was loving and loving hard while never really thinking about the fact that if there is a God and if he does have a son, that their words are chock full of boundaries, conditions, limits and exclusions.   It did not compute.  I always heard the love everyone part and somehow missed the whole conditional part (hence my conflict with religion in general, a discussion for another day, if you want to hear it).  May I just mention that I also realize even bringing up religion here puts me in troublesome territory. We could totally dissect the appropriateness or inappropriateness of religious boundaries and rules, but again, that is not where I am heading with this, at least not today. Let me say, I sincerely do not care what you do or do not believe in. I was also raised in a religious household and no matter how I feel today those experiences will always be a part of who I am.

Yellowstone Warning Sign

Back on track, and may I also say, my brain was not registering the fact that there are better, more constructive and healthier ways to love.   In fairness to this story and at a very young age, I must admit that I finally did keep a boundary.   After our neighbors watched, did nothing and let their giant sheepdog eat through my rubber boot, even when I was asked to play with them, I somehow always managed to say, “no.”

Except for my neighbors and their big dog, I took the suggestion to love everyone to literally mean that I had to give of myself fully no matter what, even if the other person was not doing the same.  It took me a very long time to digest that my inability to keep boundaries was actually making me a lousy friend, daughter and sister.

Oddly enough I think part of the problem is that I am a visual learner. I could not see boundaries. I just heard what I was supposed to do and then inaccurately interpreted those words.  It was not until much later in life, when I was deep in the pit of my own despair, that a dear woman offered a suggestion. Hearing my pain, she, not knowing the full extent of my crappy boundary keeping, insightfully painted a picture. She said, “Beth. Shut your eyes. Notice the red flags. When you do, see yourself on one side of a door and the red flag on the other.  I hope you see a really heavy, strong door. Now, shut that door. If the red flag is pushing through or even knocking, then lock, dead bolt and barricade that door. Do what you need to do to keep that that red flag on the other side.”  Then she continued with something that caught me completely off guard.  “Now that the door is shut. I want you to pray for that person, bad thought or thing that is bringing you down.”

“What?” I thought.

She ignored my oppositional look and continued,  “If you don’t pray, chant. I do not care if you are religious or not. Pray. Keep praying until the negative energy is gone. Pray for healing. Pray for the highest and best for all involved. Pray until the negative energy is gone. Stop giving others so much power over you.”

“What?”

Quickly, and maybe because she said it so directly, I realized that it was not the other person who was bringing me down. I was (and am) my own problem. It does not matter if the other person is crazy, terrible, mean or ugly. I get to choose. I get to choose how involved I want to be. Genius! I get to choose how sad or mad or crazy I want to be. If I do not want to answer the phone, I do not have to! Crazy, and I was getting it. I was getting that it was not about love or God or doing the right thing. It was simple. I get to choose and so do you. If you want to act crazy, I cannot fix you. If I bug you, then choose to forgive me or you don’t. It is not my problem. I am kind and I am good. I think 99.9% of us are.

I was seeing so clearly that I had been consumed with hurtful words and unkind actions. Oddly, I was not even mad at the other people. (Remember, I was taught to love?) I was just consumed with making it right.  I wanted my family right. I wanted my friendships right. I even wanted my crazy neighbor who put up crazy signs threatening us not to disturb her cats to be right. Crazy!

What seeing all of these visual boundaries helped me understand is that all of these issues were completely out of my control.  If I do not like how someone acts, I cannot change them. I can choose to get along or I can choose to leave. Likewise, if someone wants to stay mad at me, there is nothing I can do to make it right. Sure. Ok. Yes, I can apologize and yes, I can try and make amends. After that, if they won’t accept or forgive, I CANNOT FIX THEM!  When they tell me my apology does not meet their standards, well, that’s their problem. Believe me I have spent a lifetime thinking I had the power to make things right. I somehow believed if I tried hard enough, you would feel better. You would be ok.

Buffalo Warning Sign Yellowstone

This has not been an easy pattern to break. In the past six years, I have visually shut so many damn doors and have sent millions of healing prayers out into the universes. And what I finally get is that I was healing myself. I have no power over you. My love was this belief that I could make you right. I was wrong and I am very sorry. It was never about you, (and if you think I am talking about you, I probably am. Get in line. There are a lot of YOUs.)  And ironically it was always about love. I have spent this time shutting doors, learning to say, “no,” accepting that you are you and I can like it or not like it. Through it all I totally and completely like you all more than I did before.  I like you without “my loving” strings.  I have learned that I am ok being who I am. It has been tough to stand on these two feet and own it,

Yet totally and completely worth it!

Probably the greatest gift I can pass on to Kyle and Eli is that I have learned to like me and mostly, I have learned to start loving myself, the person I should have been loving all along.

 

Owning who we are & speaking up (with a little victory)!

 

Reflection: Upper deck at the Utah Natural History Museum

Can we make a difference? Does it matter if we speak up? Will people reject me for owning who I am; even when who I am doesn’t fit into one particular space? Will people reject me because I think differently than they do? Probably. No. Some definitely will. Some already have. I have spent a good percentage of my life trying to figure out where I fit in. I know how I feel. I have strong opinions. To make it easier for everyone, I try to understand and define my beliefs even though my beliefs sometimes change. However, what I realized long ago is that I do not think that I fit into labels and I actually get annoyed when I am only defined by another person’s label. I struggle to know what to do about my “on-the-fringe”-ness.

Most times I keep my mouth shut. Even with family I try to remain quiet. Trying to shove my differences down my mother’s throat just doesn’t work. Talking religion and politics can alienate and often hurts. More specifically it seems like habit to judge others based on the labels our world assigns us. I am not even sure if this is a bad thing or not. We put people into boxes and then bias them based on those boxes. We read the bullet points on a topic and are often too busy to learn the “whole” truth. Currently in our busy, super busy and overstimulated world it seems like it is too much effort to see past those labels, boxes and quickly-digested bullet points, doesn’t it?
Continue reading “Owning who we are & speaking up (with a little victory)!”

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Pioneer Day 2004

Salt Lake City, Utah: Easy E's Muddy Feet
Salt Lake City, Utah: Easy E’s Muddy Feet Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah

My sister called me as Eli found the only mud puddle (might I add, thick mud) in the very dry super large park just after we finished watching the Pioneer Day Parade and while Dave went to get more salt.

“Don’t you all dress up for Pioneer Day?” she asked me.

Kyle ran to see more ducks that were scattered among the 50,000 or so people as Eli sobbed,

“I am big muddy, Mommy.”

Me and Easy E, at the Pioneer Day Parade, Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah
Me and Easy E, at the Pioneer Day Parade, Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah

Back to the phone call, I intently responded to my sister:

 “Well, I put matching shirts on the boys so I can keep track of them —  if that counts. I guess the clowns dressed up and the people on the floats, but no, we don’t dress up for Pioneer Day.”

Ok. I am exaggerating my response a bit. I probably just said:

“No we don’t dress up for Pioneer Day.”Exaggerated response or not, as Dave was still retrieving salt, I thought to myself, “The outside world must have the same view I did/do.”

A Few (typical) Utah Stereotypes — as seen from the Outside of the state:
1. Everybody in Utah is required to dress up for Pioneer Day, Bonnets and All.
2. Everyone in Utah is a Republican.
3. There are No homosexuals in Utah.
4. Women in Utah are especially good at crafts. (You know with all the quilts we are making and bread we are baking.)
5. Everyone in Utah is an extreme, non-swearing, non-caffeine-drinking and a Mormon.
6. All the stores in Utah are closed on Sunday.
7. Additionally, there are no Liquor Sales on Sunday.
(Actually I don’t think you can buy alcohol in Utah County on Sunday or in Montgomery County, but Montgomery County is in Maryland.)

Wawa, harv and the boys at the Pioneer Day Parade, Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah
Wawa, harv and the boys at the Pioneer Day Parade, Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah

[Back to the parade or the parade story:]

So are Utah parade’s and customs any different? After my recollection, you decide. So last night about midnight I found myself on the phone with the Delta Customer Service Agent, Umberto. Umberto had the most soothing voice I have ever heard spoken by a Customer Service person. As he made our reservations, even going as far to sense our next request, and then change the dates, because he heard Dave speaking in the background, I realized that I would have to end my therapeutic and darn right relaxing conversation.  I needed some sleep. We needed to be at the parade early to help Mom save seats.

Float at the Pioneer Day Parade, Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah
Float at the Pioneer Day Parade, Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah

It did not matter that my Mom called at the crack of dawn. We were still late. When she came to pick up our chair, thank goodness she told me to stay home and that she would get seats for us. I had a whole forty-five minutes to relax and get everyone ready. I chose breakfast and five more minutes of sleep over washing my hair. Who cares if it has been like six days since I last washed my hair?

Because the road was blocked off, we could not make it to where my Mom and Harvey were seated. We we walked those long city blocks in the opposite direction of the parade route. In spite of their screams and urgings to get out and WALK NOW, I thanked myself for insisting on putting the boys in the double stroller.  A girl threw a firecracker at the boys (true story.) And as we walked by her, I felt a sense of pride as we rushed by and I threw her a big Angry Mommy look.

Wawa and Easy E, Pioneer Day Parade, Salt Lake City, Utah
Wawa and Easy E, Pioneer Day Parade, Salt Lake City, Utah

We arrived and got situated about seventeen times. Then the parade began. The cool cop motorcycle riders stopped right in front of us and did their cool cop motorcycle tricks. As the floats and marching bands passed, Dave and I kept reminiscing about the drill team championships on the Eastern Shore during our honeymoon. These sloppy Utah marching bands didn’t compare.

“And remember someone was shot at the drill team championships? And someone getting shot totally trumps Dick Nourse and the Channel Two News Team.” I proclaimed.

As I took pictures of the floats and my kids, I saw that my kids were much more interesting to look at. The anticipation of seeing such dignitaries as Bob the councilman from Murray, UT and the Copper Field Marching Band (members totaling thirty-one) couldn’t ease the onset of my A.D.D. and as Orrin Hatch passed by and waved, I could only muster a half-hearted comment,

“Down the hatch!”

Even our “Mystery Science Theatre 3000” back seat commentary couldn’t save us, and by float eighty-eight Kyle said,

“I am done watching people go by.”

Wawa & Kyle, Pioneer Day Parade, Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah
Wawa & Kyle, Pioneer Day Parade, Liberty Park, Salt Lake City, Utah

Somehow both boys settled back onto my Mom’s lap. Thank goodness for Grandmas! With my very full bladder, we made it to the end, float number one-hundred and twelve.

Pioneer Day Parade, Salt Lake City, Utah
Pioneer Day Parade, Salt Lake City, Utah

With mine and Kyle’s bladder relieved upon Kyle’s urging to,

“do something fun now,” we made our way into the crowds of people and all the vendors cooking their hot food in the 95 degree heat where my story began.

Big Daddy at the Pioneer Day Parade, Salt Lake City, Utah
Big Daddy at the Pioneer Day Parade, Salt Lake City, Utah

After soaking themselves in water streams, we, I mean the kids, tearfully left the park. We were actually quite happy. Sure, we are in Utah. And yes, we were celebrity Mormon Pioneers. But like the fourth of July that we celebrated on the third of July (July 4th fell on a Sunday this year), today’s parade was like any other mid-size town parade: crying kids, stepping mud and gum and corn on the cob with lots of salt.

And after such a big day and a stop to get me and the kids some lunch, we went home and all took long naps.

Us at the Pioneer Day Parade, Salt Lake City, Utah
Us at the Pioneer Day Parade, Salt Lake City, Utah