Whenever one reaches a point where the present or near future offers little solace, and the pulls of doing are outweighed by the tugs of remembrance, there, at that moment, lay the pang of longing for what was. One knows this feeling (and thinking) a great deal more than is healthy, or helpful, as of late. The source of this wasn’t nearly as prevalent only ten or fifteen years ago. Even as one’s life was not particularly on the right track, there was still a bit of gumption and grit that said, “Yes, but the United States will always find a way.” All of this is a demoralization trek – due in great part to the way adults, in positions to know and do better, have chosen to become the antithesis of this country’s highest values (not always met, but never as avowedly discarded as these people do so today). When one sees their deeds – destructive of children, spiteful towards the foundations of inalienable rights, and ignoring or co-conspiring in blatant corruption – there in lay great disgust and shame at what others around the world will (and do) see. Such willful disdain drives one back to a time when one could think of pleasantness, and quite naturally, a short-lived escapism from the worst days that this country is set to reap.
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One has divorced themselves from many folks over the years. I never felt quite worthy of their company; and I, for many a year, didn’t feel worthy of my own. I did change the latter – able to come to a truce in my mind and heart about what one is; what one can do; and what one is here to reflect upon and impart to others when such time is available, and their ears or eyes might be available as well.
Of course, messaging is never easy – there is a special talent needed to get across complexities of being, from the individual to world systems; or clarifying the vague into clear and actionable information. It takes many hours of reflection on the data one can collect and congeal to create a coherent offering – and then, most times, that which is offered is ignored, shunned, or ridiculed mercilessly by those one will typically cut out of their lives – if only, not be drained from the ongoing experience of arguing with them.
And there are times when one has gotten it wrong – admittedly.
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When one departs back to a simpler time, it includes those years when my mom and her parents were alive and well. There was a period, after my mom and I left Tennessee for Indiana, that had hope and the future was much brighter. From July 1983 to July 4, 1986, before my grandfather departed this Earth, we had our extended family. Though our group was not without struggles – financially, coming out of the doldrums of late 1970s through the 1982 recession – but we had each other. We shared our thoughts around the television at night while watching favorite shows. My mom and I watched Remington Steele, The A-Team, Stingray, Airwolf, and The Greatest American Hero. My grandfather and I watched horseracing with Ed Connaughton at 4:40pm on Channel 26 out of Chicago. I delivered my paper route quickly to get back to watch the racing recap at Hawthorne or Sportsman’s Park. Grandma and I often argued over NCAA football on Saturday, or the Cubs.
The Police were on heavy rotation on the local radio stations even as they were about to call it quits. Duran Duran were big as MTV impacted the lives of Generation X – who were, and likely will be, the last generation to have known substantial pride in growing up as an American.
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Though some Gen Xers – generally those very well off and devoid of any struggles – thoroughly disdain the United States. One finds it disheartening these privileged folks – who had the breaks of birth and access to technology (90s computers & internet) to make their coin, easily – thoroughly lost the plot, and their role, in such an American production.
Instead, their disgusts and critiques fail miserably when they had the ability to make a difference, over and over again. Others with far less, not always due to some characteristic the current Bolshevik banshees obsess over (race, gender), made it in America and succeed beyond their appearances, their stations, or their origins. Sadly, a few of that cohort resent the path as well.
One says that all without reservation. If not for my mom, I would not have gone to a first-rate engineering school at Purdue. I made good grades, but not great ones. I did well on standardized tests, but that hardly guaranteed anything. I was impacted by reflecting too much on my father’s absence and his grotesque sins.
But she didn’t allow me to fall down completely – try as I did to do so during the early 1990s. And most of all, she cared about her country – she served it as a Marine – as her father did – in the Navy – and the family did, going back to the American Revolution. She made sure I understood that as well.
Today, we have too many that have self-absorbed themselves into a pit of pathos and pathetic, parasitic profiteering. They do nothing of substance, just crafty con artists that bleed the country dry, thankless, as always. There is a special place in Hell for the likes that make their way by such means.
What is more disheartening are the people that think things are going well, truly deluded by whatever propaganda and welfare gets throw into the minds, wallets and purses. That these folks then blame the few that see the intentional destruction – often to their very own cities! – and tell them: Wake the Hell Up! Get rid of the grifter politicians, the grifting lawyers and corrupt judges that approve of this demolition.
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One believes we could turn around this country. We still have people that can do it – if they are not enslaved or forever beholden to the technocrat-bureaucrat-plutocrat spoiling the remaining resources and stealing people blind.
If ever we needed a Second American Revolution – of the mind, the spirit and the being – this time is fast approaching, if not knocking so very insistently at the front door of the United States.
“....watched horseracing with Ed Connaughton at 4:40pm on Channel 26 out of Chicago”
WOW, that’s a blast from the past. A buddy and I used to watch that growing up. The off beat UHF channels. We would keep “score” in our spiral notebook ledger with our accounts. All imaginary winnings and losses. We soon realized we were not going to be making easy money playing the ponies. But I did try my hand in person later at Sportsman’s and Hawthorn and being struck by the cast of characters at the track. Everything now seems to be so sanitized and fake. A sort of artificial reality seems to permeate everything everywhere. Kind of disappointing how it has all turned out. I won’t even fly my American flag from my house nowadays. I used to be proud to be an American, I’m even a vet, but not today. I truly do feel disoriented being out and about amongst the inhabitants of this strange land called America today. I guess a government doesn’t make a country, that a people do. But damn if we are not some sort of screwed up motley collection of misfits ruining the joint.
The hardest thing for the psyche to confront is the admission that it has been fooled. Far more comfort is derived from surrendering to falsehoods than in dealing with the discord that comes with chaotic epiphany. But those that can break through become committed warriors (think Leo 2.0).
Thankfully (and ironically) we have an increasingly reckless ruling class that is helping more and more ostriches see the light. Now it is a race against time to turn the tide before it's too late.