It has been a while since I’ve written something that did not require meticulous citation. Hence, why I sit at my kitchen table at 4:30 a.m. reeling from citing Federal Energy Regulatory Commission opinions (you cite these beasts by the paragraph) - taking shelter in free-form prose. Being awake at this ungodly hour allows for incredible silence and reflection as well. It is certainly needed. This has been a trying week, to put it very mildly.
Unlike my usual posts, I don’t have a theme for this one. This is more of a catharsis from the onslaught of the last several days. I guess this begins with Sunday. It came to my attention then that I am not quite as honest as I thought I was. It’s not that I am being overtly or intentionally deceiving. My lies are more subconscious. I have never considered myself to be a very emotional person. In fact, I have often taken pride in the fact that very few people can say they’ve seen me cry. (I did, however, cry at Toy Story 3. I was alone, though.) Now, I am a passionate person. For instance, engage me in a discussion on Newt Gingrich’s view of the environment and just wait for the verbal onslaught and decibel-level ascent. I lack the same zeal in describing the state of my personal affairs.
I believe that the sacrifices we make for other people will most often be much more rewarding than simply abiding by the dictates of our own desires. That said, constant dedication to other people and ideals can leave your own soul and body in a state of sad neglect. I am somewhat unwilling to admit that this may be my status quo. Sunday, as I was leaving church, my tightly reined-in emotions decided to rear their too long-ignored head. My daughter took off running at the last “amen” despite being told to sit still for a moment, and I had to weave through a crowd to pull her back to my side. A woman approached me to ask about my moving plans and I tried to pull the words together as I held a defiant and surprisingly strong five year-old at bay. I was then asked by the bishop of our church “How are you doing?” My typical response to this question is broad smile, a nod, and “just fine!” But that day, before I could even release one full syllable, my voice cracked and the tears came. I answered him honestly: “You know, I’m having a pretty rough time right now.” That was the truth. Why did I feel so guilty telling it?
Do we all do that? Lie. Almost all the time. I realize none of us want the full state of affairs when we ask a simple “How are you?” to most people. That said, I think a lot of us – like me – have a hard time discerning when it might be acceptable, healthy even, to honestly answer that question. I’ve become so used to lying about it that I do it instinctively. My surroundings do not really encourage shows of emotion, and doing so would likely be viewed as a sign of weakness. (Although I did work for a plaintiff’s attorney at one time who expounded on the virtues of strategic crying. Unfortunately, I don’t have a sympathetic jury at the moment.) I certainly don’t have any definitive thoughts on this. It’s going to take some contemplation and practice on striking a balance between strength and honesty.
Then, there was Osama bin Laden. I have no hesitancy in admitting that my initial reaction was a totally exuberant “hell yeah” fist-pumping, giving the finger to a nonexistent adversary, display of jingoistic patriotism. Had I been in D.C. or New York, I would have been one of the much maligned revelers. After the festivities, came the hangover – as always. The reactions the next day were beyond discouraging. They were deflating. I think by the end of the day I had deduced only that people were idiots. Thank God we captured and killed public enemy number one so this great nation could continue on in unbridled stupidity. I was most bothered by the sudden, and questionably sincere, displays of pseudo-Ghandi-ism; and by that I mean – the comparisons of our impromptu jubilation to that of the terrorist reactions splayed across Fox News ad nauseam throughout the past decade. I won’t get into it here, but I think that comparison is utter absurdity. Moreover, I wonder where this extreme deference for human life, even a deplorable monstrosity of a human, has been all this time? It certainly was not without merit. Those arguments invoked some real internal debate for me. But some of it, in my opinion, was the typical self-righteousness of a reliably condescending segment of American politics. This is something I’ve been alluding to in a few of my posts. Take a moment of potential national unification, a collective sigh of relief, and turn it into an opportunity for a high-minded “Shame on you.” The question left from all of that was –do we still believe in anything so wholeheartedly that we’re willing to sacrifice lives in order to preserve it? Should we?
I’ve received several suggestions on what to write on, and I love that. I’m flattered to think that anyone wants my slightly neurotic opinion on anything. Please continue to do it. I’ll soon be out of the woods – hopefully - and back to posting frequently. Until then, seriously – If anyone asks, I’m doing just fine.
The backlash was inevitable, if not against those who were celebratory over Bin Laden's death, certainly against Obama. I have seen a few people posting that Obama had nothing to do with it, and then seem to not realize the irony when they turned around and thanked G.W.Bush for his role in it. Of course I have seen (and commented on) some of the exact same posts to which you refer, and I think that there is certainly a fine line between those who would choose to never celebrate the death of any person (even a monster like Bin Laden), whether for religious reasons or whatever, and those who would attack people for their reaction of relief. That is why my token response to so many people was, "I understand" or "I appreciate" your sentiment. I certainly realize that the Bible says we are never to celebrate death, even of our enemies, but the simple fact is, yes, I too was in a celebratory mood. Had I not been going to work, I probably would have popped open a cold beer for my own personal celebration. In fact, I think I will dedicate the next beer I drink to his demise, and then I will pray for forgiveness, because right or wrong, I am still happy that he is dead.
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