Let me ask you a question. You don’t have to answer.
If the knotted rope of family ties becomes unraveled by a person, religion or philosophy, were the knots all that tight to begin with?
I’ve been thinking a lot about a statement a friend said once when I got angry after some political discussion. His complaint was that I was making an attack on his politics. But my complaint was about the behavior of a president as being immoral.
This guy’s allegiance to the previous president was stupefying to me. And any criticism of him was as if I were attacking my dad personally. As if his politics were on the table and not a fair shake at shitty behavior.
Joe Biden doesn’t define me. You could criticize him all day. He’s an old politician who falls up stairs and stutters. What do I care about him.
For the most part, my politics don’t interfere in the books I read or the company I keep. The faithful aren’t standing in the way of my happiness. If anything, I want to encourage people of faith to keep that faith. It’s just not for me. I hope to receive the same respect. Telling me I’m wrong basically gives me the green light to laundry list why faith isn’t right for me. If your feelings get hurt because I don’t care for Jesus, go fly a kite. He’s not for me.
If the stranger sitting at a desk in a white house gets more attention than the face at which a person is looking into, there’s clearly a mismanagement of allocated resources.
Or if the stranger sitting at a desk in a white house is the object of one’s investment of time and adoration over the people that surround him, where then should we place our affections?
I think a lot about how I’m not tied to religion, science, a philosophy or politics as definitions of myself. If the vacuum of a black hole sucked up every last crump of those things, I would remain me. I do not require them as topics in conversation. I do not require them of my friends or family.
But for some people, their dictionary definition of self requires those attachments or their identity is lost to a black hole.
In the middle of one night this week, I reached for my phone, opened it, typed “notes” and wrote in a new page: “Escape Goat Artist.”
I’m starting to believe that a culture that is steeped in scapegoats, like Judaism and Christianity, begets a driving force in the mind to search out those goats everywhere. Weather ruined my parade, Satan did it. Hackers ransomed a pipeline, the president’s fault. I found my car keys, thank you Jesus. The sun set was beautiful, Allah Akbar.
It’s not a new thought. It’s just one I chimed into and it occupied some brain real estate.
Have a lovely Saturday and thanks for being you.