‘Buckets of Feelings’: Post-Election Vigil Held in Wake of Trump Win

Waking up on Wednesday morning, we all found that the world was still turning. The sun was still rising. Birds were still chirping. 

But for more than 64 percent of Santa Barbara County residents, who voted against — to borrow from our metaphor czar, Nick Welsh, in our endorsement — “another four-year, egotistical temper tantrum blasting from the White House,” the air was heavy. 

An invisible fog hung over our heads — feelings of uncertainty, anger, and fear for the future and about a leader who is so blatantly hateful and who so flippantly disregards and discredits science, facts, and the law. Not to mention his administration, whose “Project 2025” threatens to dismember civil rights, civil liberties, democratic institutions, and constitutional freedoms.

For some of us in mourning over the next four years, a vigil was held at the Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara on Wednesday night. It was a small crowd that sat among the pews of the sanctuary, but it was composed of all ages and walks of life, some still donning work uniforms. 

They hung their heads, held each other, whispered in comforting and hushed tones, and, at times, cried.  

Minister Julia Hamilton shared words of solace that echoed off the sanctuary’s high ceilings and stained-glass windows, which she followed each time with gentle strikes of a brass singing bowl. 

“I’m feeling sad, I’m feeling angry, I’m feeling resolute, I’m feeling tired, and then I am feeling like there’s a lot of love that is coming out to meet the moment,” Hamilton told me after the ceremony. 

“I had found it really hard to make plans for after the election, I felt like I wouldn’t know what we needed until we were there,” she said in response to a question of whether she planned the vigil in advance. “I just kind of cleared my calendar, I held space, and then regrouped in the morning with colleagues and friends to try to make it be what we needed it to be.”

The vigil was organized in “buckets of feeling,” such as the “fear I felt in my body and community over the past day,” Hamilton said. She referenced the text messages sent between family and friends expressing sadness, disbelief, and worry, and read from Alison Luterman’s poem, “Holding Vigil,” quoting, 

“…every single
blessed being on the face of this earth
is holding its breath in this moment,
and if you’re asking, can I describe that, Cousin,
then I’ve gotta say no, no one could describe it
we all just have to live through it,
holding each other’s hands.”

Candles flickered on the center shrine as people lined up and took turns moving stones from one bowl to another filled with water, in what I can only guess was the symbolic gesture of emotions flowing through these “buckets of feeling,” which also included anger and determination. 

It was an interesting thing — a procession not unlike those of traditional wine-and-cracker-consuming Catholic masses, punctuated by readings of poems and excerpts from different books, and songs of love and comfort led by the congregation’s Charla Bregante. However, it was not religious. 

No one mentioned the election outright, but it was like the unspoken elephant (no pun intended) in the room. People felt that fog, that weight. 

“This community has really been beating like a strong heart,” Hamilton said. “Our hearts are strong. And they are still in pain. And so we will continue to do this work, pumping justice and compassion and love out into the world, relentlessly.” 

To close, Hamilton invited attendees to come up and light a candle, while thinking about what they love. 

“Right now, I love bravery over hopelessness,” one woman said. Others shared poignant quotes, one from Martin Luther King Jr., another from The Lord of the Rings. 

“I love the gift and solace of this meaningful vigil,” another said.  

Lastly, Hamilton lit a candle for “people who may be feeling alone, may not be feeling loved,” and for people outside our community, a kind of bubble within a bubble when it comes to fending off right-wing politics. 

Afterward, while drinking tea in the adjoining room, people chatted among themselves. One older gentleman came up to me as I was pouring hot water into my paper cup, introducing himself as a veteran and pointing to his cap featuring some kind of military logo. 

“Other people are so sad,” he said, shaking his head. “Not me. I’m angry.” 

Bregante, the woman who led the crowd in song, said she was feeling anger and frustration. “I’ve never felt like this after an election, and I was just turning old enough to vote during the Reagan administration.”

Congregation member Alice Fulmer — a UC Santa Barbara grad student who, while lighting her candle, said, “I love transgender people and so does God” — described herself as “cynically optimistic,” a somewhat refreshing twist, I thought, after hearing so much “cautious” optimism on Tuesday night. She called the vigil “cathartic” and “meditative.” 

“I think there’s a lot to be said about like, folks, of course, always want to catastrophize, no matter what side they’re on, and I think that’s easy, and I do understand,” she said. “But you know, for me, if I give up hope, I’m not the only one. I can’t just, like, flop and give up. There’s more people in my life who rely on me, and I rely on them. Yeah, cynically optimistic.”