This is not going to be a pleasant read. But I have studied history. As a result, I hold out hope for a better world. I will strive to act, and do my best to play my part with kindness, intelligence, compassion, and humility.
However, for the moment, despite my optimism, I cannot help but weep.
Thus tonight's post.
(I struggled between three images for this post. The first was way too dark, even for what I had written about. The other two were Norman Rockwell works. I considered his illustration, The Problem We All Live With, for its historical context. However, I thought Ruby Bridges deserved a better placement than today's post. Instead, I went with Breakfast Table Political Arguments. I think it aptly reflects the state of current political discourse. I some times feel like I am the child.)
It is another Sunday evening, which means another blog post to be started and completed. Several loads of laundry have been folded (save for the two sets of sheets). The kitchen sink, emptied (though from the sounds in the kitchen, there may be a few things waiting for me). My bladder, relieved (a situation that may have changed since I first sat down and attempted to write). And this laptop, fully charged (idling has brought it down to sixty-one percent). That was over an hour ago.
What do I have to show for all this preparation?
Fifty-seven minutes of daydreaming.
Two minutes of reflection on a minor revelation.
One minute of typing all the words you have read up to this point.
Sigh.
Trust me when I say these words, "In the past hour, while staring at the screen, my mind must have touched upon at least twenty different topics worth discussing." However, I lack the the time, the confidence, and the conviction to expand on anyone of them.
If I had given myself time, I could have done a bit of research, outlined my thoughts, drafted a few written pieces, edited them, and finally produced a polished blog post. Nope. Instead, I procrastinated. And here I am, at the last minute, struggling. Not with finding something to say, but with saying anything effectively.
If I had more confidence in my knowledge and writing skills, it would be easier for me to express my analysis and opinions. Unfortunately, I have never felt educated enough to present my ideas. Whenever I have been certain about something, my curiosity and doubt would show me how I was wrong. Or someone was kind of enough to point it out for me. Each new bit of information and profound revelation reminds me of how ignorant I am.
Finally, on the rare occasion that I have faith in the validity of my conclusions, where the evidence is overwhelming, the logic sound, the reasoning coherent, I resist sharing it. There is so much uncertainty surrounding my ability to write. That, and I do not want to devolve into ranting. Pointing out problems and complaining about solutions is easy. Using dismissive retorts can be temptingly satisfying. Labeling people sheep, claiming they lack common sense, is counterproductive (and some times, hypocritical). Social media thrives on this kind of commentary. While it is a quick path to money and influence, it feeds resentment and further divides our country.
As a result of this process, 700,000 plus people, in the United States alone, have died in the past eighteen months, the vast majority, needlessly. Worse, we do not have an official count of those maimed by this virus.
That is what has been on my mind a lot lately. But I feel like I have no way of effectively expressing my thoughts about it. Not without resorting to hateful words and blistering condemnations. Not at the moment. If I would write these things out, as the thoughts come to me, then review those words as the rest of the week unfolded, research answers to my questions, then edit everything, I would feel more confident. Then, over time, my writing skills would improve, and I could finally share my solutions.
Because I do have solutions. A slew of them. I just need to develop the means to adequately explain them.
Yet, for now, at this moment, I do not know what else to write, except...
18 months. 700,000 plus dead.
The majority of whom would still be alive today if we had not succumbed to the worst of our human traits.
Thus, I weep. Not for them, but for the rest of us.
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