Words are hard to come by. In times like this it seems they hold too much weight to bare or not nearly enough to matter. I caught myself entranced by words standing in a grocery store check out line, only not in a good way. Headlines in all sorts of striking fonts and colors told of the latest scandals, mishaps and terrible disasters. One or two books in the corner hidden behind a rack of gum actually disclosed something good, something noteworthy.
I’ve read sex sells. Turns out drama does too. And our world is chok-full of it. Drama, that is. It’s far too easy to turn on the television and wind up in a spiraling state of impossibility. How could we possibly find a way out of it? Unfortunately, I watch more superhero movies than I do news, so I assume Captain America or the Green Arrow is coming to the rescue any minute. To my naive and childish dismay, that is sadly not the case. We’re all human, even the good guys. There’s no need to take a religious or political stance to realize the traumatic state of the world.
There is, however, a need to realize it’s always been this way. Before ISIS there was White Supremacy, before that there was Ecoterrorists (???!!??), and yep, before that there was Hitler. There will always be a successor to evil. This world will always be in a state of turmoil, it seems. For many, all we can do is stock our cupboards with cans of beans, invest in a good lockdown system and hope for the best. But that’s what happens when you let evil outweigh hope.
Words have a tendency to lean toward the frightening, the drunken, the disastrous. What would happen if we pushed them toward hope? Could hope ever outweigh evil? I’m positive I don’t know the answer to that. Oh, but I’m sure I need to try. I’ve decided that words are my route to whatever it means to finding my place in the world. I’ve never quite finished a sentence though. Whenever my pen makes contact with a page I panic, convinced I have nothing to say that will matter, or sound poetic, or compare to the talent around me. Yet after paying for my groceries, I now know how to finish my sentence.
There’s goodness to tell of, I know it. It only takes one California sunset to see that there is beauty beyond the rubble. Words, I’ve found, have power to pick up broken pieces and recreate majesty. There couldn’t be worse if we didn’t long for something better. I suppose that is what I want my words to tell. I want to share what is left of the lovely, and that there is, in fact, a good deal more of it than people seem to think.
It’s the simple things. Like a wandering outside during that magical moment right after sunlight and right before sunset. Like choosing love even when you’ve fallen out if it for a time. Like encountering creation and responding with nothing but awe. Like looking into the eyes of someone close and treasuring them for nothing other than who they simply are.
I’m not naive to the bad stuff. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it, I just don’t want to write about it. I think the pressure to write knowledgeably on it has kept me from writing. But I know I can write passionately about the good stuff. And I think we all could use a bit of good stuff. So, consider this a revamp. I need to write more and the world needs to hope more. Here lies my feeble attempt to connect the dots.