so many starts but not enough finishes
Man, I write a hell of a lot more than you see posted–drafts filed up like abandoned dreams, sometimes never to be repeated or finished again, but the same thoughts are often swirling in themes. This morning’s half start was on empathy, the lack of in our current society, and then I realize you came here, and if you have returned more than once it might be due to some kind of empathetic curiosity, a tangible pang felt because of something I have said. Or maybe you are morbidly curious as I sometimes find myself in observance of my own life, ready to steady yourself with thoughts of, well, at least I am not as fucked up as she is, at least I have a support system around me, or, my favorite, at the very least you are not me.
But I dig me, I mean, shit, I have lived a life and though I have somehow found myself stuck in the quicksand of middle age and its endeavors without children—I can do whatever I want almost any time I want, provided I have the resources to get me there. Oh, the caveat of the how, but the issue is I can establish the how with the desire. Our decisions affect so little of our current circle beyond the puppo, who is the best ever. I have survived a shit ton of some unfortunate health affects and I have been enjoying bizarre diagnoses for so many years—first was meningitis, followed by some aortic dissections, kidney failure, beauty enhancing conditions like Reynauds, total vocal chord paralysis and some super basic things like pancreatic infections and the list goes on for fun party time hospital stuff. But I have lived ALL OVER the country–spent a decade plus in NYC and then came west to Denver to get to know, of all ironic twists, my maternal birth side, which I clearly have no contact with anymore.
Despite all of this, I am pretty damn well rounded despite my emotional strife and striving. And on the notion of empathy, since that was mentioned….wanna know what happened, world? The fucking internet happened and brought us a very instant gratification method of story telling and comprehension where we are not encouraged to examine the deeper layers. How deep do we go into the motivations and hearts of others, really? I mean, shit, you legitimately have a part of the population right now screaming criminal at a group of people trying to escape violence, but if said person was in their same shoes, would they wait for the legal letter of law to go to Mexico or Canada because it was unsafe here. NOPE, never ever would ever happen.
People forgot how to put themselves in the shoes of others. Probably because everyone stopped reading books to try and understand anything outside of their own echo chambers of social media, friends and family. I read a lot lot lot as I have mentioned before, lots of new sources but memoirs I EAT UP, and creative non-fiction, fiction, whatever. I have a subscription right now to the book of the month club and I hope to write something which might be on there one day but I read and I read a lot. I read about things I am interested in, I ask google questions like I would a teacher. I try to understand people, which is probably why I am as open-minded as I am and can do that–and I give a shit, which is something which has been in my core forever and a day now. But if we all tried to read more books, think about what kind of world we could build? Not one full of walls, no, but full of understand. So fucking cheesy, I know, but our current President proudly doesn’t read and it’s been clear for many moons he doesn’t feel empathy ever.
How’s that for my work lunch posting of the day, done in under 20. Yup. I am pretty alright sometimes.
