Leaving
“Ninety eight percent of the adults in this country are decent, hardworking, honest Americans. It’s the other lousy two percent that get all the publicity. But then, we elected them.” —Lily Tomlin
“I find that Americans completely lack sensibility and good taste. They are boring, and they all have faces like unbaked rolls.” —Frida Kahlo
photo by Bradley Pisney
We just returned from a vacation, crossing the Atlantic on the RMS Queen Mary 2, a British ocean liner, and a week in Norway, mainly Oslo, where my husband’s family on his mother’s side comes from. The boat was predictably luxurious, fun, and relaxing. Norway was beautiful and impressive in its lack of tension, unlike the United States in general and the city where I live, Chicago. On May 24th, before we left to cross the ocean, nineteen children and two teachers were killed in a massacre at an elementary school in Uvalde, Texas. During the first five months of 2022, there were 971 shootings in Chicago. On our return, the Supreme Court overturned Roe vs. Wade.
I’ve had two abortions, both alone, during a period when my life was in tatters; suicide was something I thought about daily. The suppliers were very kind, and I went on with my life and never changed my mind about someday having a baby. That happened when I was nine years sober, financially and emotionally stable, with a partner who was a willing to co-parent. Motherhood is the single best thing that ever happened to me, yet I never regretted those earlier decisions.
This ruling by the Supreme Court feels like a betrayal of the progress made in the past almost fifty years. Many of my friends express rage and the desire to leave this country. I fully understand this feeling after being in Norway with its environmental consciousness, the kindness of the people, the beauty, and the overall safety, it felt like paradise compared to the United States. After three or four days, however, I recognized I was, sadly, in some ways, an American. While Norway is a beautiful place, I still remember one of my three Norwegian roommates during the year I spent abroad attending Trinity College Dublin, saying, ‘We need you here because otherwise, we are all the same.” At first, I didn’t see how that could be a negative. These three medical students were master carpenters, building their beds when we moved in while I threw a futon down. They knitted sweaters with elaborate reindeer designs and baked bread, cakes, and buns daily. They were beautiful, healthy, and sweet, except for one. The grumpy one was a control freak who lacked a sense of humor which was not a strong point with the other two, but their niceness made up for a dearth of irony.
photo of Irland by Andrew Ridley
Even Ireland, with its magical music, literacy, and beauty, friends with a killing sense of humor, did not tempt me to leave America. Mind you, I was a child during the sixties, a decade filled with assassinations, riots, war, and turmoil. I did not have a white picket fence childhood as my parents were brilliant, neglectful, judgmental, and indifferent. They were also incredibly funny and original and unafraid of most things. They opposed the war, supported civil rights, despised corruption, and stood tall for what was, without exception, the right things. They didn’t care what other people thought of them, yet they were exceptionally kind. Oddly, they were also very patriotic. You could attack the government, condemn racists and misogynists, and point out the country’s terrible history but leaving was not an option. Despite everything, they remained loyal. When Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in 1968, we were living in London, and this time, my mother broke down and said we would never go home. I remember my father telling her she was wrong. We had to go home to try and help make life better for everyone.
I have an Irish passport through my grandmother but will never leave permanently. There are so many things wrong with this terrible, beautiful country, but I was born here, meaning I must remain hopeful, educated, and active.
—Molly Moynahan, author and writing coach