|I'm addicted to screens|
Like we did during the debates, election night here in Levyland was a family affair. The kids watched the coverage on the big TV, and of course were glued to their smartphones as they live-Snapchatted, Instagrammed and WhatsApped the proceedings with each other and their friends. This is what engagement looks like in 2016, and it was a joy to watch.
The dog figured prominently, as he always does, with the kids routinely stopping what they were doing to pick him up, cuddle him, speak to him, and otherwise breathe in his dogness. At one point, I tweeted a moment that he triggered by simply walking over to me.
Eventually, my wife and kids headed up to bed, while the dog curled himself into a ball on the couch, where he remains. Every once in a while, I find myself staring over at him as he not-so-quietly snores through another dog-dream.
As jarring as tonight's results have been to so many people on so many levels - and let's be clear, the world just became a less predictable, more frightening place - I keep looking over to him.
I'm not entirely sure why, but it brings me comfort. Because, just as I noted earlier this evening, he has no idea what's going on in the big bad world.
When I walked him through the wet, leafy neighbourhood earlier this eve, I could almost feel the electricity in the air. History-making days have a tendency to do that: Things slow down, feel quieter, more resonant. Small details present themselves, almost asking to be mentally recorded in psychological high-def.
Yet to the happy schnauzer bouncing himself through the piles of wet leaves, none of that mattered. As he followed his nose from one tree trunk to another, it must have seemed like any other night. He was simply happy to be outside, happy to be exploring his neighbourhood, happy to simply be.
Tomorrow morning, some people will wake up feeling it's the dawn of a new political era, while others will feel it's the dawn of a new dark age. Frasier will wake up and as he always does after he shakes off the cobwebs of another good night's sleep, look for his humans and squish himself into wherever we happen to be. He'll bark beside the pantry door until we feed him, then paw the patio door until we let him out to explore the yard. In short, just another day for him.
Maybe I should look through the world through his eyes. Maybe it's overly simplistic of me to even think along these lines. But when the world zigs instead of zags, I can't imagine navigating whatever comes next without this little guy firmly ensconced in the very centre of our family.
Your turn: Where do you seek comfort?
* Here's where to find the social media accounts where all this ended up: