Dear Mr. Trump

Dear Mr. Trump,

I think you’re a human being. I felt I should tell you that because, as I’m sure you know, there are many people who think you’re a monster. But even though some of the things you’re doing seem monstrous to me, I still believe you’re a human being. And so I believe there are human reasons for the way you behave.

Are you afraid? I think you are. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid. Your present position must seem overwhelming and unfamiliar compared to what you thought it would be. There must be moments when you don’t recognize your life, when you don’t know how to do what’s expected of you, when you realize that once again you are failing in a horribly public manner.

I know you keep these feelings secret. To admit them would leave you exposed, wounded, weak in the presence of other predators. Or worse, weak in your own eyes. The pressure must be enormous.

Where does that pressure come from? I mean, who told you not to be weak? We’re all weak sometimes. We all need people and places that make us feel secure. Friends that really understand us. A home that belongs to us, where we can relax into our true selves.

Do you have a place like that? I know you own a lot of property, but I think it must all feel very cold and impersonal to you. It’s all tied to the mask of power you believe you have to wear. I know a lot of people think you’re relaxing when you go to your golf courses, but I don’t. I think you’re trying desperately to forget what the rest of the day holds for you.

Do you experience that little jolt of anxiety after your focus has been diverted all too briefly and you suddenly remember that you’re President? I’ll bet it happens a lot. You may not even notice it anymore because you bury it so quickly. Because you’re numb to pain. Your own and everyone else’s. It makes me sad to think of how alone that makes you.

My cat is sitting in his box on the bed, dozing on and off while I write. My husband is listening to Mozart and playing Risk in the next room. The Christmas lights are on (we keep them up all year because they’re pretty) and our apartment is warm and peaceful. This is where my strength comes from. My home, my husband, my cat. This moment of quiet security. This is why I can afford to be generous and assume that you hurt people with your words and your money because you lack these basic comforts, not because of some basic evil in your heart. And you do have a heart. Everyone does.

Hate changes people. I can’t hate you because it will change me as it has changed you. The good news is, love changes people, too. I know you think you love yourself. And a lot of people think you love yourself too much. But you don’t. You hate yourself and every person you threaten, every insult you tweet, every lie you tell is an effort to distract yourself from this hate.

Let go of these distractions. Go home. If you don’t have one, find one. Make one. You will never learn what you need to learn in front of all these people. You will never learn to love yourself. And you can’t love anyone else unless you love yourself.

The Presidency was never what you really wanted. You must know that by now. And you’ll never know what you really want until you sit somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, and listen.

Get yourself a cat and some Christmas lights. That’s where the real power is.

Truly,
Zen

 

Posted by

I am a gentle spirit in a brutal world. Here, I drop my scythe, a smile in the grass. https://zengreenway.com/

4 thoughts on “Dear Mr. Trump

    1. It can’t feel good to be on the offensive all the time, though. I believe he is driven on some level that he keeps hidden even from himself. Unfortunately, his suffering overflows to engulf so many others. I feel all I can do is try to show him how wounded he is.

      Liked by 1 person

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