You know, I keep trying to remind myself not to get too caught up with things. That my opinions tend to come from a place not many people understand, and could never understand. I try to remember that if I were living in a world of complete survival of the fittest; If I were living in a world of tribalism, decentralized government, of Libertarianism, a world with little law of any kind, I would most likely be dead.
No, it's true.
So maybe I should just be happy that I’m not, let the world grind out its ways, without another peep or protest, and see how much longer I last in it. Maybe my eventual death, whether it is sooner or later, will mean more to people in the end, than all the words I take the time to weave together and put out there to try and change this world. Until that time, I should just focus on the things that make me happy, and make my contribution to the next generation the best it can be. So maybe their flame burns a little stronger.
But I'm saying this because I was thinking about writing a post about Hilary Clinton and about Donald Trump and the 2016 election and how it is tearing apart friendships and, by and large, the nation.
First, I’ve wanted to explain the math behind the reason a third party vote really is just, at best, a waste of a vote, and at worst, a vote for Trump. But then again, what's the point? I feel like my soul is lost on it.
Next, I wanted to explain how this entire year has torn me apart. Between what I learned six years ago when I turned my back on the cult I was raised in and my family then turned its back on me for leaving—about how that made me feel and, in turn, about not giving up on people simply for what they believe—But, being torn between that and what I’ve learned recently about putting the force of action behind the things you feel, putting myself out there, making myself entirely vulnerable yet totally invincible by being truly authentic—not authentic as is sometimes defined solely by gender—but authentic in friendship, loyalty; not being afraid to make a stand against injustice and hate, and stand up for your own sense of empathy, even if you are the only one doing it, even if it means letting the fake people go, because by not taking a stand, they are simply adding to the problem.
O.K. I did say it. But that’s all. Like I said—the dead typically will have a lot more to say than the living.
And the reason I won’t go into more detail--the reason I am not putting any more force behind my words--is because this is killing me. So maybe it's moot.
The people. The more I try and help people see that there is a difference between talking dirty and talking rapey, between being attracted to women and objectifying them, between having a set of selfless values and having a set of hateful and violent ideas that you don’t reject, or maybe even see as such, simply because they make the rest of your personal life easier, the more I lose faith in humanity.
And the more I have to choose between not voting, or voting for a party that finds value in destroying social programs and protections and institutions for children, the elderly, and minorities of every background--because the truly progressive party has fought monsters so long that they have become one—the more I see my own convictions as some sort of billboard people are just driving past on some sort of thousand-mile-an-hour digital train.
I am exhausted from riding the train. Exhausted from the trip. And now, seriously, I am done explaining.
I want to write. I want to write about things that are important to me. I like to do it. But right now, left and right, nothing feels important any more.
The beginning of this year was several knives in the back for me. Then the political conventions and debates came, and everyone on earth spilled out their true colors all at once. I felt like I was in a storm, and I just had to keep breathing and turn on my flashlight and wade through the flooding, hoping to rejoin others like myself. Now I just feel like I was wrong, there is no storm, there are no other flashlights, I am in deep space. I am in a vacuum of nothingness that is trying to pull the air out of me. Either that, or my wounds, they are still a-bleedin.
Or maybe its both. Maybe I’m bleeding in a vacuum.
So no. In this vacuum, I’m going to head back to my starship. I’ll pilot it away from the dark places of this universe, at least for now, or perhaps until I’m finished teaching my kids to drive, and then I’ll hand over the keys.
Until then, here's some good music for the drive, and my feelings.