Donald Trump vs. Hillary Clinton. My, oh my. How did we get here?
Until recently, I had always been the type of person who always had to have an opinion and would make it known to anyone in a 3-mile radius. Everything was black and white and you either agreed with me or you were wrong. But now? Not so much.
If you ask me who I’m voting for in the presidential election, my answer is simple: I don’t know.
You don’t WHAT?
Saying this, to some, is social suicide. It makes you look ignorant, uninterested, and uneducated. Or maybe even a combination of all three. A younger me wouldn’t dare appear to be any of those things. She’d fire an answer at you at warp speed. She’d spout out her reasonings and would probably look like she really knew what she was talking about. But she wouldn’t.
Right now I am far from ignorant, am very educated, and uninterested? Please. I don’t know anyone more interested in politics than me. I read a 600-page unbiased biography of Hillary Clinton front to back, as well as Trump’s The Art of the Deal. (Unfortunately, I later learned that the latter was ghostwritten and it was all pretty much garbage. #itried) Every single morning I read the newspaper in its entirety and every night I watch hours of political shows. I listen to Republicans and Democrats alike.
Yet, I sit here and say that I still just don’t know. And to be honest, it is the greatest thing ever.
In our society today, we so often feel the need to label ourselves and everyone around us. It’s comforting to be able to fit neatly into a box; to say with a single word who you are. I am a Republican. I am a Democrat. But by doing so, you’re missing the opportunity to be so much more. You’re confining yourself. And you’re playing it safe. Everyone wants to fit in somewhere; to belong. But what’s the point?
No one likes not knowing. Growing up, one of my worst fears ever was getting a question wrong in class. When the teacher would write a math problem on the board and scan the room to find a
victim student to solve it, my heart would instantly beat a million times a minute. I’d slouch down, avert eye contact, and pray to the heavens that I would not be called on.
And when I didn’t understand how to do something, I would never raise my hand to ask for help. That would be humiliating.
What an idiot! my classmates would surely think.
In reality, absolutely no one would care. In reality, I was supposed to mess up. I was supposed to make mistakes. I was supposed to look like an idiot. This was the time to not know. Otherwise…why was I in school? I was there to learn things that I didn’t know. If I’m getting the answers wrong on tests, that’s a problem. By then, you need to know. But before that, in the classroom, I’m supposed to learn. And not know.
Likewise, if I don’t know who to vote for come November…yeah, that’s a problem. But now? It’s what I’m supposed to be doing. Listening to both sides. Hearing both candidates. Exploring things I never thought I would ever believe in and dissecting sentences I never would’ve listened to. When you declare your allegiance to one side, you block yourself off from so much.
In the wake of Benghazi and the e-mails, I could’ve declared I’d never vote for Clinton. But, I thought, why not get to know who this woman is. Why not get to know why.
And when Trump spout out racist, sexist remarks, I could’ve immediately written him off. But what good would that do?
In order to come to a fair, accurate conclusion, you have to at some point not know. It’s as simple as that. And right now I don’t know. I feel like the only person in the world who is saying it, but it’s the truth. I just do not know. And it’s the greatest thing ever.