If I truly believed that we were all so much happenstance, gobs of protoplasm undirected, directionless, the product of mere chance in a universe that is nothing but chance. If that were true, I’d be a nihilist, I’d be planning anarchy because we were a life-form simply gone astray.
Depressed? Why you say that Willis? No not me.
Actually, I’m not. I’m just written out today. Everywhere I look, there is disaster to report. I swear you could throw darts at a world map and there is not square inch that is free of something gone awry.
It is a world of lies, greed, cheating, hatred, fear, jealousy, and every other negative word you can come up with. The litany of grievances is longer than I could recite in a filibustering extravaganza of erudition and a week of time.
We are prone to self-centeredness in the first place, and those who suffer the most from this malady have found a way to turn it to their advantage and make filthy lucre by poking it alive in the breast of most everyone else.
Maybe I’m just a sixty-year-old accumulation of memories. Perhaps. But this seems to be worse than I ever recall. Perhaps it’s just that I pay more attention.
Never have I witnessed more wrong-headedness in my life. People who can’t make a coherent sentence seize the microphone and people actually cheer. People who have no soul convince poor snooks that red is really green and 2 is really 7. We are witnessing sneaks who don’t any more bother to sneak.
In a world of instantaneous and near unlimited information, we know less than we used to. We can look truth in the eye and spit at it, because we can buy a better truth that suits us better. And somehow we are convinced that that this okay. People tell us it is.
And yet, I’m not depressed.
Because I can find, with little effort stories and people and lives and experiences that tell me that people are good in the main, trustworthy, compassionate, empathetic, giving, sharing, and all the good adjectives you can think of.
They don’t talk about themselves, they don’t seek the limelight. They simply are too busy being human. They don’t think they are extraordinary, nay they think they are anything but. But they are, and I know it, and so do all those who know them. We look up to them, and we look to them for our own sense of goodness.
Billie, and Jan and Tim, and Fran, and Jimmy, and Terry and Terri, and Lisa and Mimi, and Alexa, and Jennifer, and John and Chris, and Dolly, Tom, and that is just some. Some of you, I don’t know your real names. But you lift me upward. And then there are all those I know in real life–a quaint phrase “real life” as if the others aren’t.
You make my day. You make me smile, laugh, grin, chuckle, and thank God. And some of you are dirty heathens! J/K! I love you all, and you keep me going because you never give up.
Today is gorgeous. It’s a climate-change throwback–summer! We are having hot dogs and tater salad and the dogs are sunning, and the cats are laid out everywhere sound asleep, and there is college football, and a new book arrived, and my husband is calling me darling and “my love” in some goofy recommitment moment.
Life is good, and it has meaning and people are growing in maturity and community. That I believe. I’m not interesting in blowing up a thing. Somehow we will muddle/fix/alter/change/improve things someday.
I have fresh herbs growing in the window. That is enough.
** And there is a new post at Walking in the Shadows and damn John Lennon would have been 70 today! Sigh. . .