At a thrift store for $20 I bought a one speed Schwinn bicycle. Tall wide tires gripped San Francisco paved roads fantastic. Swift, accurate, and dependable even in a gray storm. One early morning when nighttime was still dark outside, I was racing towards downtown. A steady rain drizzled from gray thunder clouds above when the bike’s front tire wedged into a steel streetcar track. What a bizarre feeling I had being trapped. One bicycle front tire stuck in a rut. Before the incident I had been silently chanting, sending prayers into the morning darkness for disaster avoidance. Yet now here I was, skidding out of control for a few seconds while steering these wide, old-fashioned handlebars.

One bike messengering superpower that grows stronger over time is listening to traffic approaching you from all angles; I heard only the heaving metal of a streetcar way in front, far further along Market Street; her destination is the Ferry Building clock tower. Otherwise, we have early morning urban quiet around 5 a.m. Even inside acutely listening I still rely on taking a quick look over each of my shoulders. I saw empty streets, so I heaved the front tire out of the cable car track and made a beeline to the sidewalk. Flipping the bike upside down, she rested now on her seat and outstretched handlebars.

Could I still ride the classic bike? Before the rutcaspade, she was riding nimble for eight hours on urban San Francisco bike messenger streets—despite her heavy metal frame, a two-wheel antiquity rusting the paint orangish red. The front wheel was clearly bent, and I twinged some panic. Money is a necessary element in life; I had to work today. When I proned the bike flat on the Market Street sidewalk, I gently muscled the wheel into a graceful circle shape once again.

That workday and many future others I continued to deliver envelopes and packages daringly fast since the bike’s simplicity gifted one focus—staying in my lane. And I remember saying often that if I don’t care about prestige, work as a bike messenger fits me well. A lifelong social observer, having access to viewing intricate social webs, all those people seeming like ants inside work locations hauling hierarchy on their backs, the day’s breadcrumbs, has fascinated and fascinates me still.

Especially that one mid-morning around 11 a.m. when my same jalopy bicycle delivered me to 850 Bryant Street, a downtown location for legal infractions, misdemeanors, and felonies inside an edifice labeled Justice Hall, purportedly a professional goal here. Hierarchical web superficially describes the social interactions since cops, lawyers, citizens, janitors, baristas, administrators, and bike messengers all clamored together in a squat business building, wide and long and short, each of us on a mission. Mine was on the third floor arriving at a detective’s desk way in a distant corner that I cursed since delivery fast earned me money, and delivery in a maze did not.

Damn if I didn’t have to sleuth out the delivery desk. I was turning over a few desktop (real one, not a screen) trinkets here and there, searching for the person’s name. Several five long minutes later, I secured success. Passively with a hangdog look and no intention to help, a guy sat a few desks away.

“You would make a good detective,” he grinned.

Delivering obstacles and strife to bike messengers is a common dynamic in SF business buildings.

“Thanks,” I bubbled and sprinted for the door.

Holding the brass door handle, I swung open the quality, heavy wood and glass while staring at highly polished wax floors. A few more steps and the elevator button will be there. Yet only halfway in the middle of these few, I paused. Down the hallway and approaching I could sense unusual momentum. Peeling my eyes off the floor, where keeping them makes sense for bike messenger efficiency, I saw a woman of color dressed impeccably and holding court. I stopped in my tracks.

Five staffers circled her while she power-walked towards the elevator. More like a hovercraft who despite all that focused fiery exuded kindness. A slight smile, a hand to pause a staffer gently, and direct steps, for sure, yet measured as in time enough to get there whenever we do. I could not help myself and simply stared.

The year was 1994 and that woman was San Francisco’s District Attorney Kamala Harris. At the keyboard 30 years later, I can still picture her effervescence. And I am also starting to cry. Life brings special humans, and she is and will continue to be a woman working for access to social justice levers impacting millions of lives.

Surprisingly, when windows and hallways and desks close shut, the chance to deliver well-being for others along your path-full way remains real. How can you and I act? For her part, Harris’ phrase “opportunity economy” always made sense to me based on creating infrastructure. Simply that adjusting social justice powers from one of the widest access seats, President of the United States, will now require staying open to the congested fight rather than hoped for collaborative progress from inside the White House.

How to proceed is what I am wondering. The good news is having a tire bent all out of shape and still return to functioning efficiency can happen when carefully attended. I was 30 years old that gray dawn morning, more night than day’s beginning, and as I go to celebrate 60 years old this February 2, I’m creating a program called forgiveness politics. Bicycling forward into political decisions that influence our lives will be happening over the next four years. And each one of us gets a vote on how to roll.

Explanations help as one salve for my spirit. Take Malcolm Gladwell describing the IAT or Implicit Association Test in his book Blink: Thinking Without Thinking (2007?). In 1920 Americans voted Warren Harding into the oval office; he was a former Senator exhibiting familiar descriptors: financial wealth, privileged authority, and whiteness. How these three inexorably intertwine over the centuries. Easily voted in, Harding’s presidential stint recorded levels of incompetence not seen before. He was a failure in the office for two years until he had a fatal stroke. Gladwell pulls no punches: “The Warren Harding Error is the dark side of rapid cognition. It is at the root of a good deal of prejudice and discrimination. It’s why picking the right candidate for a job is so difficult and why, on more occasions than we may care to admit, utter mediocrities sometimes end up in positions of enormous responsibility.”

Gladwell’s analysis efficiently demonstrates Americans voting based on their implicit associations rather than the candidate’s policy substance. Superficial appearance was all. And is. As we witnessed in the recent presidential election, history keeps repeating because we in the ant hill continue scrambling for hierarchical breadcrumbs.

The moment that I saw how irrational fear becomes the catalyst for prejudice’s associations to fester was while watching the one presidential debate a few months ago on my computer laptop. One candidate spoke incoherently, if critical thinking standards were applied, yet his tone was confidence—a message delivered to believe the fearful irrational as the routine norm. And in a blink, I saw the IAT applied.

While I valued Kamala Harris’ poised empowerment and executive ideas, those strengths are zero against implicit associations. The speaker who claims Americans sit down to a meal of baked, boiled, or sauteed dog meat had and has all the implicit association to “win” presidential elections. No rationality. No critical thinking. No listening. No evaluating. No voter concern for what criteria will influence government policy impacting 350 million American lives today, tomorrow, and future years.

The irrational speaker during that debate was tall, white, and “handsome” (Western “standards”). Going into my creative laboratory I returned with a helpful research tool. If I wore empathy goggles and placed myself in the shoes of a voter for the dog as human food candidate, how might I perceive the debate? The lab results are in. Perception had nothing to do with nothing. Implicit associations are happening in a blink. Takes no time to experience biased rapid cognition. That’s how all prejudice works—in favor of the tall white male and in disfavor for the female woman of color.

Even so, I wore empathy goggles for nearly thirty minutes while watching the debate and soon depressingly concluded that implicit associations had already won. He continued appearing white and confident. What else is there to qualify as President of the United States? Takes no effort to continue bigotry. Still, for weeks I continued saying for sure Harris must win, right? Alas. Was too painful to accept that implicit associations had worked against a black and powerful woman. So many Americans assessed her presidential executive qualifications as far secondary to first impressions, those implicit biases. What next then?

The first strategy in forgiveness politics is to forgive. As I write these words, I am forgiving all those voters. And my tears are returning, too. To forgive is to hurt because the egregious went so awry that blanket forgiveness won’t work. In this new era, we are living on a one person at a time type of forgiving. Each day matters so greatly, so I hold anyone in my path accountable starting with myself. One critical dynamic to forgiving is a wild capacity for listening. While doing so I appreciate hearing others, their diverse points of view on life—and asking questions for better clarity, especially when I disagree. This is my type of congested “fight.” And I will be living this way the next four years and beyond.

Clearly, forgiveness politics does not mean I will be agreeing with everyone. Civic society can still be civil while holding opposite points of view. During these congested “fights,” I will be asking one question as a method to hold myself accountable: how was I of service today? Some may translate this into check yo’ privilege. On that I agree to agree. Listening then as service, not to bring further rancor, but civility—possibly even teamwork. As I am in conversation with folks who demonstrate IAT and then some, will I devote one molecule of energy to changing people’s minds? A definite no there, yet I can attempt to understand.

Daily I can choose to encounter folks who I don’t “get,” just yet. Much is at stake while we go into the vital work. Politics is defined as who gets what and when and where—and of most importance—how. I’m listening. What I will listen to is real-life people. Any one. Any where. And I continue to believe writing has potential to impact lives healthily. On a simplicity model I have this strength and now is an era for each of us to go find your strength. Writing after listening to, with, and about complex people can be helpful in forgiveness politics. What I am choosing not to listen to is mainstream “news” media.

One presidential candidate’s name I have intentionally not mentioned so far. Why when he has campaign advertisers already? We call them the mainstream “news” media. My well-being requires that I create a healthy social environment that is foundational on my self-care. Toxicity occurs when analysis is absent and pontificating on the surface poses as newsworthy. I would rather listen to thoughtful people share with me how this one brief day is going.

What local projects are you involved in? Did you attempt a recipe that worked this time—the double-souffle lemon chiffon cake did not collapse? Did you advocate for a new crosswalk directing neighborhood car traffic to slow down? What’s the give in your life, in other words? I’m curious and usually fascinated, moment to moment. Recognize too, we can, that these examples are classically political because our daily in-person conversations impact successful quality in our lives. Each day counts. And each hour in the daily 24 can be dedicated to your well-being. American news media is not a conduit to your political process to create a life well-lived.

How does forgiveness politics affect neighbors at the grass roots level? The NIMBY acronym divides neighbors into perceiving that as long as conflict Not in My Back Yard then status quo safely continues. Maybe you missed the Breaking News on CNN that the status quo is over, done, and dead. In this era having backyard conversations will be vital to meet potential conflict, which inevitably we will be having. The old is gone, the new is here and we need to talk to each other as close to home as possible.

Our gardens are where real complexity ensues. That indefatigable neighbor who continually reminds you to place recycling bins exactly parallel to the curb, or any other inane suggestion on garbage design, is the precise moment to start forgiving. Her comments are not personal. She has an issue or issues wildly separate from enjoying your day. And maybe you cannot talk. That is okay, too. Yet what I really want to choose is listening.

While listening intently to viewpoints that rattle my belief system, in the here and now moment, then I’m rattled, sure, simply not decimated. One entrepreneur focusing to support local, small business through technology, Sean Blanda, gives a call-to-action in his essay “The ‘Other Side’ Is Not Dumb.” If we place ourselves in an echo chamber where like-minded spirits are constantly right, never wrong—especially online—how can we evolve to “consider alternative views.” This means I can tolerate lining up a few garbage cans—literal or symbolic—as my neighbor requests or the conversational moment requires. Compromise and meeting on the sidewalk, where the middle path is, really works. Because we have actual productivity to accomplish focusing on our healthy lives.

Forgiving means we can leave the sidewalk conversation on a genuine note of care not a fake platitude. Again, conflict is destined to occur. So, the goal is to admit when I’m in judging mode rather than listening deeply. Blanda clarifies how most of us have “a preference to see the Other Side as a cardboard cutout, and not the complicated individual human beings that they actually are” (215). Forgiveness politics means listening while rattled and allowing this human in my presence to matter for these minutes or hours or lifetimes. Still, listening as intuitive practice discerns when enough has been enough so that, for sure, a return to prioritizing self-care, first, in the here and now will be happening.

The congested political fight right now is for every American to participate in civic good for the collective future. Optimistic I am that at the local level progress can be made when allowing ourselves freedom from mainstream media. Kind of a given that for many engaging in social media circles the online connection is true. The world is modern and however social media enriches lives then all the better.

However, Bland offers you “a dare for the next time” on social media and posting a link. “Does it confirm your world view, reminding your circle of intellectual teammates that you’re not on the Other Side? I implore you to seek out your opposite.” While mainstream news and social media are absent in my life, I’m staying curious, listening to others opposite me in thinking. Right here in the real-world neighborhood.

Social circles set on achieving goals require active forgiveness politics listening most. Years ago, I collaborated with a writer building an essay on Genetically Modified Organisms—why we need the laboratory process to bring food to plates. I’m staunch against GMO Frankenfood. Are my biases showing? We had hierarchy dividers where he was an acolyte writer in an institution affording me the label of authority figure. Consciously aware of the potential for conflict, instead I brought listening. Trust followed and in a circle of 25 other writers I publicly announced my willingness to agree to disagree—the quality of the writing mattered most. The author wrote an amazing analytical essay earning the most advanced evaluation of the group. As a group we had a goal for writers to improve their writing so I was open to learning to agree to disagree through listening with care and carefully.

Even so, forgiveness politics does not mean accepting the unacceptable. Blanda concludes that “to be sure, there are hateful, racist people not worthy of the small amount of electricity it takes [for] just one of your synapses to fire.” Wholeheartedly truthful these words are. Indirect and direct insult are never tolerable. Sadly, when the Other is a jerk, or worse, the responsibility is still on you not to be—for demonizing those we disagree with will exasperate toxicity.

For these honesties, glad I was to read in Carol Leifer’s book How to Succeed in Business Without Really Crying (2014) that Donald Trump wrote a $10,000 check from his personal account to Leifer’s nonprofit the North Shore Animal League. In spontaneous generosity, he supported Leifer after she had been fired on Celebrity Apprentice. In other words, we look for common ground and potentially random acts of kindness encouraged through civil civic conversation. Blanda keeps reminding me to see “complicated individual human beings” throughout the day. Forgiving myself that I can be judgmental helps me forgive others.

Another complicated truth is that the idealized version of America as a democracy has died. Brene Brown in Rising Strong, How the Ability to Reset Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead (2015) concludes that “forgiveness is so difficult because it involves death and grief.” The days forward require accepting this new political reality. And summoning courage for inquiry: how might I participate, locally or otherwise, even so? Brown encourages us to go there. “Forgiveness is not forgetting or walking away from accountability or condoning a hurtful act; it’s the process of taking back and healing our lives so we can truly live…So often we want easy and quick answers to complex struggles. We question our own bravery, and in the face of fear, we back down too early” (152).

Early is now as the first days begin in the next four years. Yesterday January 20, 2025 was Martin Luther King honoring day and he lived his credo “the time is always right to do what is right.” So true for you and me as well. And dropping the fear to pick up the courage and go find your strength is a solo sojourn at first before joining community.

Yesterday in our house we experienced a teenager imploding into yells and shouts, one method of announcing his rights. When my teenage son was in his moment, my Mama empathy kicked in quickly: how well I recognized a felt-sense where the world is entirely nonsensical and how very rageful is that acceptance. And as my son’s mother, I bring careful boundaries swiftly during unacceptable behaviors. Volatile as he became, the process was brief because I held him accountable. My goal was to mitigate the disruptive behavior while bonding with him over any potential shame dynamics. Temper tantrums happen. They simply do—at any age. And I get that.

So, once he calmed down, we needed to address the remaining perception of the difficulty. He fell apart. Who doesn’t? I asked. No shame in having a moment. How we react after is the only way forward. My heartfelt guess is that every American living in this country—whatever ideology she or he carries—is experiencing a winceful shame watching the executive office temper tantrum.

How did we allow such dire combative politics to assault our lives? Painful and hurtful for our souls to watch. So, don’t. Turn to your one good abundantly, spiritually rich life, luxurious on kind behaviors and listening to each other. No government official can codify how we treat each other. That’s entirely in our hands.

Am I comparing my amazing teenager’s emotional moment to our country’s failure? Yes. Yes, I am. How else can we relate and hold accountable any other individual unless we begin right in our living rooms? How I behave there is how I behave everywhere. Change begins with us, for the personal is political—always has and always will be. Brown empathizes. “Struggle happens. We give our children a gift when we teach them that falls are inevitable and allow them to participate in a loving, supported rising strong process” (154). At breakfast, he could not look me in the eye the next morning and declared he wasn’t going to school.

Forgiveness is where I went. My son had a moment. Quite an unpleasant one and he was still the wonderful youth I know him to be. Melody Beattie in The Language of Letting Go (1990) gives helpful words that I read to my son at the breakfast table. “Sometimes in life, things happen too fast. We barely solve one problem when two new problems surface. We’re feeling great in the morning, but we’re submerged in misery by nightfall…gratitude is the alchemy that turns problems into blessings, and the unexpected into gifts” (18). We have long, challenging days before us. An attitude of gratitude will help us listen better to each other. At the table, I suggested that the teenager go into his room, go find your strength I challenged him. He walked away light on his feet and appeared to leave the house willing to face the day. Blessed blessings can often be found from one moment to the next living a forgiveness politics.