Thank you Donald Trump

For getting us post-boomer / pre-millennial cohort of writers and artists and assorted liberal intellectuals to go through such profound deep emotional catastrophic angst that we have no choice but try to create our way out of this feeling.

That’s what happens when a new reality comes into conflict with its predecessor. It’s like a metallic screeching shattering kind of sound. Like two giant cruise ships getting too close and then tearing into and through eachothers’ hull.

A Crisis of Competence.

When a generation of women born in the 60s and 70s prepared themselves to become great leaders of enterprise. The meritocratic boudoir, where success was simply a function of diligence, planning, execution, and advancement. All nurtured by the best schools, whose students were in turn further developed by the best graduate programs, which were adopted by the best legal and consulting firms to produce the new modern American professional Woman athlete. She didn’t have to break through the door, or even see through it. She leaned on it, and it gave way out of sheer respect for her hard work. For her competency.

But she hadn’t counted on him again. The Sly Fox. He was waiting for her on the other side of the door. He knew that she was finally ready to step through the door on her own accord. Through all the resentment and testing she never permitted herself the luxury to wonder why she was working so hard. It was because nobody had gone through that door before her, and she would not be made anybody’s exception.