As I write this, the world seems eerily quiet. The torrents of emails, texts, postings on social media, fliers, and even encouraging and funny notes from friends and family have not just slowed, they have dried up completely. At this moment, what remains in the aftermath of Nov. 3 makes me feel all out of whack. It is still too early to tell the final outcome, but right now, the uncertainty and the realization of how poorly I read the situation is turning me inside out.

The day of the election I saw an early-morning post from a friend on Facebook. It was that sweet, pajama-clad bunny from the children’s classic, Goodnight Moon, getting into his familiar bed, cocooned by the objects in his familiar cozy world. The text read, “Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Zoom, Goodnight impending Sense of Doom.” I laughed a little, pretty sure the anxiety was misplaced, and made sure to stay very busy until after 7 p.m., when I figured our little bunny would probably just be starting his bedtime ritual, and all would be right with the world.

Again, at the time of this writing, there are still pundits and pollsters talking about “paths to 270,” but it is increasingly easy to see that my view of the electorate was way off base.

For the past four years I have been naively thinking that it’s simple. We Americans simply need to look around us. We are smart enough and enlightened enough to identify what is good and embrace it, and call out what is wrong so we can collectively repudiate it. But at this particular moment in time I’m feeling like I’ve been rudely awakened from what had promised to be a refreshing sleep. The pictures on the wall are askew, the cozy quilt is on the floor, and the cow still hasn’t made it over the moon. What was I thinking, anyway?

Since Nov. 3 I have been looking at county-by-county voting statistics and maps in states across the country, trying to avoid the verbiage of pundits of both persuasions, almost as a meditation, as part of my effort to be patient while awaiting results.

I am neither a statistician nor a sociologist, but I am particularly struck while looking at these maps in the abstract by the urban/rural disconnect in this red-blue patchwork country of ours. Yes, there’s the general impression of a central swath of red mostly trimmed on the sides and top with blue borders, but within each state, most particularly those battleground states in our “land of counterpane” (as writer Robert Louis Stevenson would have said), the blues are urban while the reds are more sparsely populated rural regions.

As I muse about this, I wonder how that can make such a difference in the pollsters’, and hence my own, miscalculations about the true mood of voters. I wonder whether the crowding, commotion, and ever-present reminders of the racial divide and other inequities in urban areas make it so Joe Biden’s message that this election is about the soul of our country resonates with so many. I wonder if the obligatory self-reliance and the relative freedom from the barrage of news make it easier for more rural voters to pick a few messages they like from the current and would-be future occupant of the White House, and ignore the rest of the outright lies that spew out of his mouth.

Again, I am only speculating, and I freely admit I am oversimplifying. I’m doing it to try to calm myself, as I would calm myself with a bedtime story. My son reminded me that worry doesn’t get me anywhere, that this, too, shall pass. Those are things I would frequently comfort my kids with growing up. That’s a very tall order right now. If I get into bed, look around at my favorite things, and pull the quilt over snugly, will all be right with the world?

(Millie LaFontaine of Concord is a retired neurologist.)