Resolute
I suppose a renewed focus on writing this week comes from an external pressure, an entity that has, over the years, caused no end of trials and tribulations. The nuances of human experience in love and loss form the crux of the experiences here, mostly related to reclaiming love in the midst of loss, of petty little things like money, and the concepts around “losing the battle but winning the war.” If you read enough into that, you’ll understand what I’m talking about, as I’ve done little to hide it.
These experiences cause the same kind of drift you inevitably find when the lines of a highway run together. It’s the “I’ve been doing this so long the adrenaline just doesn’t kick like it used to” phenomenon, which, on further inspection, probably has to do with the ever-grinding nature of human relationships. We’re constantly on the millstone, being ground to dust over and over again, formed into a paste vaguely resembling our current estate, only to be tossed on it again the next day, rinsed and repeated.
As yet another exasperating set of circumstances starts to close their grimy hands on my life, I have small comfort in the foundation that is family. Emma has been a rock, an island of escape from the frightful milieu of Christofascist torment. My children, each in their own way, have developed deeper roots in our relationship, and while not perfect, there’s been a lot of growth and maturity there that I’ve not seen in a long time. These were the kids that laughed, mind you, when my youngest punched me in the nethers over a decade ago. With that as a baseline, any movement up, sideways, or even crooked-wise would be seen as progress, but I’m assured, by text, smile, and hugs, that the past is overcome by the present state of affairs.
Challenges in all of this remain. I’ve watched as more frequent emotional abuse is heaped on them, the gaslighting has emerged strongly, the manipulation of their hearts more brazen than ever. And calling attention to this, especially where their protection is my chief end, requires an added edge of vigilance. No different than the lone light stands seen above along the railroad tracks. In these moments, I have to impart wisdom and understanding, which, while not impartial, is based enough on the paths I’ve walked along and the experiences of being both victim and perpetrator (which galls me to no end) of the same. I hope that, when the sun sets each day, I’ve called out enough, mentioned, been enough that something still resonates in their hearts.
It’s hard to love when everything seems to affront it. It’s hard to keep stepping in the gap of confrontation when all you want is peace. It’s hard to keep playing the game of chicken, knowing full well that the receipts you hold are devastating, but that narcissism never handles the truth well enough to matter. All that can be said for these moments is that facts fight fear, that the truth will prevail, and that justice, regardless of how blind or unbalanced it may be, will have its moment.
My situation isn’t unique. Many parents find themselves in the trenches of inequity, brought low for no reason other than the fact that their ideal life has little to no conflict. There’s a point where capitulation feels better, that fighting seems too violent for them to want to do anything more than put the white flag on a stick and wave it furiously from the trenches. I don’t begrudge that idea one bit. But there also comes a time when the allegory of warfare fits too closely, too snugly to be easily tossed away. And so it is that the next steps become a fight, bitter as it may be, for the ideals that you hold sacrosanct, knowing that all your resources could be expended in the process.
So, once more into the breach, my friends, I must travel. Once more, I am venturing into the widening maw of discontent and irascible humanity to fight, again, for the hearts of those who matter the most. I pray that you have the resolve to see it through for each of you who find themselves in similar situations, no matter the cost. Reputations can be built back, friends can be made anew, money can be earned again. We’re people of privilege, you and I, to love and be loved regardless of the outcome. So, live it proudly.
May it ever be so.
