A friend asked me to listen to a New York Times interview with Donald Trump that aired today. Honestly, that kind of request feels strangely intimate. Like being handed someone else’s earbuds for a minute. Like being trusted to stay human.
And before anyone clutches their pearls or throws their phone into the ocean, yes, I listened.
Not because I suddenly woke up with a red hat and a new personality. I listened because friendship matters to me, and I can care about someone without needing to co-sign every idea that floats through their living room.
Also because my friend was not asking me to fight. They were asking me to witness. There is a difference.
I put in my earbuds and pressed play.
I tried to do it in good faith. The kind of good faith where you tell yourself, “Okay, Christy. Breathe. Be curious.”
Also the kind of good faith where you are still side-eyeing the situation like a raccoon guarding a pizza slice.
What my friend was actually asking for
It would have been easy to assume this was about “different views.” It was not. My friend wanted my read on the tone, the claims, the feel of it. They wanted to know what I heard between the sentences, not just the sentences.
That matters, because it shifts the whole vibe.
Instead of me bracing for impact, I could show up like myself. Open hands. Spine intact. Eyebrows engaged.
Here is the thing. I want to understand, and I also need specifics. Both are true.
What I heard in the New York Times Trump interview
Partway through, when the conversation moved into reflection and framing, my internal world did what it does when I’m trying to stay open and honest at the same time.
It got quiet. And then it got loud.
I was working on projects for work at one point, which is basically my version of emotional support. Tabs open, deadlines humming, something steady to hold while my brain does laps.
And what I noticed, over and over, was a pattern that felt familiar in my body before my brain could label it.
My nervous system clocked it first.
The confidence that wants applause like oxygen
There is a kind of confidence that is calm and steady. It does not need to dominate the room. It can tolerate a question without turning it into a personal insult. It has receipts and restraint.
Then there is the kind of confidence that needs constant affirmation to stay upright.
What I heard sounded closer to the second kind.
To be clear, I am not diagnosing anyone. I’m talking about the vibe, and how it landed for me as a listener.
There were big, sweeping claims. Some of them sounded like “I did X” or “Only I can do Y” energy. The kind of certainty that leaves little room for humility, complexity, or shared reality.
And when someone reaches for “uniquely virtuous and uniquely capable” as their baseline posture, my trust does not grow. It shrinks.
I kept wanting specifics, not slogans
When I hear broad declarations about outcomes, I start looking for the part where we slow down and get concrete.
Which conflicts, specifically? What changed, specifically? What was the actual U.S. role? What metrics are we using? Who benefited? Who got hurt? What tradeoffs were made?
That is not nitpicking. That is adulthood.
If the answer is mostly vibes and self-congratulations, I am out. I cannot build trust on slogans.
And yes, politicians spin. I know. But there is a difference between spin and a reality distortion field.
One of them still has a tether to consequences.
The moment AI came up, I felt the shrug
When the topic moved into AI, I noticed how quickly it slid into easy optimism. Like, “technology will create jobs” and we can all go home now.
Maybe that is true in a long historical arc. Technology does reshape work.
But “eventually it works out” is not a plan. It is a shrug with better lighting.
I kept thinking about the people who get displaced in the meantime. The folks whose jobs do not come back. The people who are already one medical bill away from disaster, who do not have time to wait for the market to magically grow a safety net.
If you want my respect, show me you’ve considered the human cost. Show me you can talk about the people who will get hurt, not just the people who will get rich.
I am allergic to shrugs when people’s rent is involved.
Where my trust breaks, and why that matters
This is the part where I say the quiet thing out loud.
I still do not trust him.
I am saying that plainly because I am tired of tiptoeing around the obvious just to keep things “nice.” Niceness is not the same as kindness. Niceness can be a muzzle. Kindness tells the truth gently.
A big part of why I do not trust him is how he talks about people and institutions. It often lands as contempt. Overly black-and-white. Winners and losers. Loyal and disloyal. Good people and bad people.
And I keep waiting for the moment of genuine reflection. Something like, “I got this wrong,” or “I learned something,” or even, “I understand why people are afraid.”
If it happened in that conversation, it did not land for me as real. (That is my subjective experience as a listener, not a transcript claim.)
Power, consequences, and the people who take the hit
Here is where my values get very specific.
There are policy ideas and positions that can seriously harm real people, especially immigrants and marginalized communities. That is not abstract to me. That is somebody’s family. Somebody’s work permit. Somebody’s kid going to school with a stomach full of worry.
So when I hear dismissiveness toward vulnerable people paired with a lot of emphasis on luxury, status, and winning, my stomach turns.
It is one thing to enjoy wealth. Fine. People like nice things. I like nice things. I would also like a kitchen that does not feel like a haunted rental.
But when the “style” is contempt and the “substance” is power, I cannot separate them. Style becomes substance when it shapes who gets treated like a person.
That is where my trust breaks.
The gold star problem, and the leadership problem
Here is the part where I am going to be fully me.
At points, it felt like this man needs someone to walk around behind him handing him gold star stickers. Praise. Affirmation. Being the hero in every story. Being admired like it is oxygen.
Yes, lots of public figures have big egos. But what I heard felt less like a personality quirk and more like a governing principle.
And I do not hate people for being needy. I understand neediness. We all want to matter.
But I do not want someone leading a country who needs applause more than they need truth.
Because truth will not always clap for you.
What I would say to my friend, and what I am practicing
Because my friend was not asking me to argue, this is what I offered instead.
I offered my perspective with care. Not softened into nothing. Not sharpened into cruelty. Just clear.
Friendship matters to me, and so do boundaries.
Here is what I am practicing:
- I can listen without trusting.
- I can be curious without being convinced.
- I can value a friendship without handing over the steering wheel of my values.
- I can ask for specifics without turning it into a cage match.
- I can name harm without making my friend the enemy.
And if I want connection, I need questions that are actually useful.
Not “How can you believe that?”
But “What part of that felt compelling or reassuring to you?”
Because that question makes room for their humanity, even when I am scared of their conclusions.
Two things can be true. I can try to understand how someone got where they are, and I can refuse to tolerate cruelty.
A small invitation, if you are willing
Maybe the point is not to agree.
Maybe the point is to stay in a relationship without losing yourself.
Maybe the point is to refuse the lie that we have to hate each other to be loyal to our beliefs.
So here is my invitation, to you and to me:
Listen in good faith when you can.
Name what you cannot trust.
Ask for specifics.
Protect your empathy like it is sacred.
Keep your boundaries.
Keep your humanity.
And if you need to, take your earbuds out, drink some water, and stare at a wall for a minute like the emotionally advanced creature you are.
You are not a bad person for having a limit.
You are not a bad person for being shaken.
You are not a bad person for wanting friendship and still saying, “No.”
That, honestly, might be the bravest thing we do.
