To support safety and public health during the Covid-19 pandemic, all on-campus events are canceled until further notice.

5:30pm. The sun is completely gone, leaving our campus pitch dark. The rain has been constant throughout the day: an appropriate reminder of how many are feeling after the election.

My newsfeed has been bombarded by displays of despair, disappointment and utter shock. This has been reflected on the faces of my peers as I walk across campus and on the tone of my professors as they power through classes for those that were able to muster up the strength to show up. None of this is unlike what college students are experiencing all across the country today.

I have no idea how you keep going, how you power through the fear, the disgust, the alienation from everything you hold true about your country. And yet, people have begun trying.

I have at least three places tonight where I could go to talk, decompress and find like-minded people looking for ways to stay hopeful. My dean of students has reached out to say: it’s reasonable for you to feel this way and here’s where you could go for help. I’m confident in my trust that at least in the few blocks that define my school, I am safe. Because I see how I feel in the faces of the people around me. Because my school does not shy away from what is different or unknown. Because where there is an educated, diverse and compassionate group of people, there is, almost always, love.

And so I stay hopeful in the promise that not everything I hold to be true is a lie, in that I am not alone in how I feel and that it might be midnight today, but it will be dawn tomorrow.