Sorry, I skipped last Sunday's blog post. This past week was spent in Atlantic City, NJ, at a dance competition. Most of my readers (six out of ten), will understand what that means in terms of time and commitment. Some day I will explain to the rest of my weekly audience (the other four), all it means to be a dance parent. Just not today.
Instead, I am going to try and reflect on this most sacred of days in the US calendar. Because of procrastination, I will not be able to present anything involving in-depth analysis. And my lack of confidence in my intellectual prowess and writing ability prevents me from declaring any bold political or cultural proclamations. In the end, dear reader, you will have to be satisfied with a short reflection on July 4th nostalgia.
Scratch that second paragraph. This is nostalgia, with a hint of philosophical revelation, and political cynicism.
Many apologies.
Sigh. Sometimes I act like a coward. Other times, I am simply inept. Today I am a bit of both.
I just spent the last fifty minutes typing up a very raw, risky piece about a life-changing revelation my former employer (and mentor) shared with me one night over dinner at his favorite restaurant. A truth I found difficult to digest for years, but have come to accept as the past two US Presidential elections unfolded. Then I arrived at a point in the story that involved a twist, and realized it would require a proficiency in writing and an intellectual understanding that I feel I just don't possess.
Worse, my original goal was to write an analysis of my reflections, thoughts, and questions evoked by this particular July 4th ( a celebration being held at a pivotal transition in my country's history). About a country steeped in so many myths about liberty and its founding. People who talk about history without understanding historiography. Identities and ideologies born from fear and ignorance, being wielded as clubs against opponents. Kindness, compassion, and critique dragged down by resentment, indifference, and ridicule.
And about my struggle with discovering a solution that does not require me to devolve into a ranting pundit spewing hate and insults.
It's frustrating.
It's debilitating.
It's depressing.
(No. I haven't reached depression, yet. Maybe sobering is a better word.)
(Wait, wait, wait. I got it.)
It's fucking maddening.
I know I should start small, maybe talk about a specific moment, or a single thread. Work out from there. Build up a sizeable draft. Review it. Revise it. God forbid, rewrite it. Then publish it on my blog. Allow positive, constructive feedback to reshape it. Perhaps retract parts of it, or mount a viable defense. Finally, take that first step, and build up series of pieces, connecting them together.
However, that would require replacing my habit of procrastinating with something else.
(Ugh, Now I realize I have spoken aloud that conversation that should have been kept in my head; and silenced the dialogue that has been unfolding in my mind all this time.)
Sorry, time has run out. I have to go make dinner, followed by a July 4th gathering. I don't think I'm going to bother with an image for this post.
It's a shame, because once again I find myself being haunted by the ghosts of Medgar Evers and the Mississippi Burning Trio.
(Sigh, I don't think I've ever discussed the spirits that taunt me from time to time. My own "Spirits of Christmas Past". That would have been a worthy subject to share.)
(At least I came up with an image.)
[This is all our history. These are the brave souls who gave up their lives in order that all of us may enjoy our freedoms. And they did so at the hands of their fellow citizens.]
No comments:
Post a Comment