“The road less traveled is a toll road.”Me
Whenever I finish a story and post it, my mind takes a break. It is kind of untethered, gliding around. The last few pieces were a bit more personal than usual and incredibly cathartic. So, I was thinking it was time to get back to the shit show that is our country. While I was in this cerebrally relaxed mode, I typed out a title for my next endeavor: “THE UPSIDE DOWN WORLD OF AMERICA”. We are now living in a police state. The Right has bought the right to do whatever the fuck they want, aided and abetted by corporate media.
It’s funny how life has a way of changing plans, including my own stories. Before that aforementioned life intrusion I just alluded to, I was going to take off from Stranger Things and the insane unpredictability of its storyline. Whenever I read news about the latest developments in our country, it always seems like the opposite of “doing the right thing”. It would be comical if it didn’t hurt so many people, so badly. It seemed timely with July 4th creeping up on the calendar. However, I really wasn’t sure how to make it into a story you’d want to read. Fortunately, I was saved by the bell of intrusion.
I like to think I come up with new words or phrases. Then, I go online and check and there it is! The first thing I did was to see if my brilliant quote above was already there. I think I am good on this one, in spite of Robert Frost’s poem. which really deals with life’s uncertainty. One of the great things about the beauty of poetry is you can interpret it any way you like. You simply can’t be wrong, whatever that means. I am talking about the “cost” of choosing a road uniquely your own. I backed into this idea, because of conversations with a young friend, who has truly been livIng a life defying predictability. He spends far too much time suffering for his life choices, not valuing them.
Of course, it took about a mili-second to own that brilliantly, original quote, instantly preempting my first, Trumpian story idea. Whenever I think about the hurt I caused my sons, because of my choices, I pay the toll for leaving them to begin the ride on my own road. I used to assuage my pain by thinking they were old enough and in a very steady home environment. I have learned over time there is no age restriction for being deeply hurt. I immediately thought of the line, Time is a Teacher. This one is not original, even if my thought was my own. Yeah, I just checked.
Aside from all the baggage associated with aging, it does have some wonderful benefits. One is you get to see a much better view of your life’s landscape. The years bring a perspective that comes with time and the inevitable mistakes made. Of course, we can’t leave out the fact that being an aging, neurotic Jew doesn’t really help the vision. Getting back on track, people tend to romanticize those who go their own way, which doesn’t help folks on the one-person path either. Satisfying the expectations of others is a very foolish choice.
Two words popped into my head and I want to spend a little time with them. I am talking about regret and judgment of self or other, both totally useless, not to mention antithetical to our human singularity. It is impossible to undo what you have done, so you own it and move on. In writing my worst, selling memoir to my grandson, I owned my life and made no apologies for my choices. You can be sorry for the hurt you have caused another and that is a different scenario entirely. As far as judgment is concerned, no one has the right to judge another, unless you’re in court. Sure, you can do it to yourself, but what’s the point?
OK, I’ve got to stop here for just a second. In the spirit of being an honest writer, unconcerned about being a good one, here we go:
Truthfully, I felt like if I continued with the above story, I would have to end with something frightfully profound (Really?). I simply was not in the mood and I kind of made my point(s) anyway. At the same time, there were a couple of disparate things that were not worth a whole story, but were weighing on my conscience very heavily.
The first thing I want to do here is publicly thank my Hawaiian healer, who would never want his name mentioned in this regard. When I was in the midst of struggling with being nailed to my emotional cross, it was obvious to him and not me that I was leaning on him to do the work I needed to do on my own. Yes, that is a bit melodramatic, but it really, really sucked. He fucken ghosted me and man did it piss me off. In a way, my anger with him became a very, very strong motivator for me to drag my ass up and out of the dark hole I felt buried in. I only recently realized it and my gratitude is eternal.
Secondly, I could easily bitch about Trump, but independent, progressive journalism is covering it. Following the crowd is not the road I am on, if you get my drift. It is the goddamn, Israeli genocide in Gaza that simply defies description. Their unspeakable cruelty is like justifying Auschwitz! I have several news sources I follow very regularly and the news from there is always part of their daily diatribe against global insanity. I would say I don’t understand how this could be happening, but it would be a lie. Too many people and corporations are making fortunes off the blatant murder of innocent Palestinians……………………
I just had to stop, because another, heaving crying spell came over me. I only want to share one thing with you. In the first 1,000 days of this genocide, 1,022 babies are among the 21,500 children killed by Israel. Uncharacteristically, I have nothing else to say about it. I know for sure it is one of the spikes hammered through my palms, as I struggled to come to terms with my awful anxiety. I simply can’t allow things going on everywhere I look to keep me from living a life where love survives and thrives.
Alright kids, that about covers it for now. For those of you who have had the patience to sort through this Jackson Pollock word painting, thank you very much.
Blessings.
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https://www.buzzsprout.com/admin/1292459/episodes/19443007-the-road