The Buts That Break Us
Why We Stay Too Long, Vote the Wrong Way, and Justify the Unjustifiable
Just like it would be impossible as a writer to talk about Mendocino without acknowledging the abusive relationship I was in at the time, it feels disingenuous to be a writer without a nod to the abject horror I feel regarding the state of politics in America.
The recent meeting between Zelensky and Trump surprised even me at how low my despair could go. And yet, this is not a political blog—you, my reader, don’t come here for that. So, what shall I do?
Perhaps I’ll start with a disclosure: Several members of my family of origin voted for Trump.
That reality is deeply painful for me to acknowledge. People I care about—people who care about me—made choices I find reprehensible. But what stood out this week wasn’t just that reality; it was their reaction when I expressed my disgust over Trump’s recent meeting with Zelensky.
“There are things I don’t like about Trump, but…”
Ah. The but.
I believe my family, like many others, voted for Trump based on one or maybe a few single issues. I don’t like him, but… I don’t like abortion. I don’t like Biden’s Gaza policy. I believe we have an illegal immigration problem. And so, they cast their vote, tolerating everything else.
Coincidentally, I also ended a relationship this week. And in some strange way, there’s a commonality. I could say, I really liked him… but.
We all wish we lived in a world without buts, where we didn’t have to choose between things that are in conflict. But that’s not the world we live in. Life forces us to make hard choices, ones that will have long-term consequences.
So how do we keep from making decisions that create pain in our lives?
How do we know that the choice we make on some random day in November won’t end in regret and heartbreak?
The answer? We vote for character.
The Scorpion and the Frog
The events in the Oval Office, just like the events that ended my relationship, were both predictable and yet somehow still surprising.
When we vote for a leader, when we enter into a relationship, we can’t predict every challenge that will arise over the years to come. Policies shift. Life throws unexpected tests our way. No one—no leader, no partner—is going to make perfect decisions 100% of the time.
So how do we make good choices?
By looking at character.
If a person’s fundamental character aligns with things you value and hold sacred, you can trust that, in moments of uncertainty, their instincts will move in a direction you can live with.
If their character is flawed in ways that deeply contradict your values—well, you may find yourself shocked, disappointed, or betrayed when life inevitably puts them in a position of power over something that matters to you.
There’s a fable about a scorpion and a frog.
The scorpion asks the frog to carry him across a river. The frog hesitates. “But you’re a scorpion,” he says. “You’ll sting me.”
“Why would I do that?” the scorpion replies. “If I sting you, we’ll both drown.”
The frog considers this logic and agrees.
Halfway across, the scorpion stings the frog.
As they both begin to sink, the frog gasps, “Why did you do that? Now we’ll both die.”
The scorpion shrugs. “Because it’s my nature.”
No one should be surprised that a man who incited a violent riot in the Capitol to thwart the peaceful transition of power, who is a convicted felon and a sex abuser, who lies and cheats and manipulates people and systems for his personal gain, would align with an aggressive and oppressive regime over a country fighting for its sovereignty.
It’s reprehensible.
And it’s also predictable.
He is a scorpion.
Ending the Cycle of Flim-Flam
The real question isn’t why Trump did what he did. The question is why so many people accept this as “part of the package”.
The answer, I think, is flim-flam.
Often, when we’re asked to embrace the complexity of a person, circumstance, or situation, we flim-flam. We swing back and forth like a pendulum between good moments and bad ones, letting the highs make us stay and the lows make us question everything. We do this in jobs, in relationships, and in politics.
Let’s say you’re on the fence about your job. You have a good day—your boss praises your work, a project goes well, and suddenly, it feels manageable. It’s not so bad. Every job has its challenges. But then, you get passed over for a promotion, or your workload becomes overwhelming, and the pendulum swings hard the other way. This is unsustainable. I need to get out.
Back and forth we go, sometimes daily, for months or even years. The cycle keeps us stuck because life is like that—good days and bad days, reasons to stay and reasons to leave. If we wait for a perfect, unequivocal moment to make a decision, we’ll never move.
If we wait for a perfect, unequivocal moment to make a decision, we’ll never move.
When we make decisions anchored in something deeper than day-to-day fluctuations, we stop reacting and start choosing. Instead of letting circumstances push us around, we ask:
What remains true for me, regardless of today’s highs or lows?
If you realize, I am no longer growing in this job, and growth is important to me, then whether your boss is kind today or a nightmare tomorrow, that truth doesn’t change.
You don’t flim-flam anymore because you’ve found the still point at the top of the pendulum—the place that doesn’t swing.
This is why character matters more than a single policy or a single moment. It’s why we should vote for people whose core values align with what we hold sacred—not just for leaders who promise something we want in the moment.
Because the truth is, when a crisis comes, when the pressure is on, when the stakes are high, a person’s fundamental character is what dictates their choices.
If we don’t want to be betrayed, if we don’t want to be trapped in cycles of flim-flam, we have to stop ignoring what is obvious in favor of what is convenient.
We have to stop being shocked when scorpions sting.
What We Carry Forward
The hardest thing about making decisions based on character is that sometimes, it forces us to let go—of people, of relationships, of illusions we wanted to believe in.
It is painful to admit that someone you trusted was never who you hoped they were. That someone you loved will always choose their nature over your expectations. That the price of getting something you wanted means tolerating things no one should.
But there is peace in it too.
There is peace in seeing things as they are. In stepping away from the flim-flam, the self-doubt, the constant questioning.
There is peace in choosing what is steady, what is true, what remains constant when everything else shifts.
And there is power in knowing that, next time, we will see more clearly.
Next time, we will choose better.
Because next time, we will remember:
A scorpion will always be a scorpion.
An excellent thoughtful post. It is hard to make a decision about people we love and family. Personally I can no longer talk small talk about inconsequential things when the looming demise of the US is a possibility. So I really don't care if someone likes their new hairdresser (when we have never discussed politics--probably my fault b/c I know her political leanings) or if they have not found the perfect pattern for a quilt they're making for their grandson. I just can't talk about nothing in a time when everything is on the line. So I'm basically through with pretending I don't detect b.s.
So well said Maureen! Kind of explains why so many voters chose not to hear Harris' repeated statements about Trump's character. Or lack of. Seems they were more concerned about the price of eggs. Which reached an all-time high this week.