It’s a tragedy of our culture now to witness it fracturing, through people unable to relate beyond their ideology. All of my friends are so different from each other, but I realize now they have one thing in common. The ability to actually accept me. And for that, I continue to believe my self-determination depends on the self-determination of all who seek it.
To feel the looming presence of a very heavy moral weight shadow my every move now, I know not where to turn next. I too was born into the middle of the story, many generations after many people made moral sacrifices and choices very different from what I would have done.
The train is speeding towards a cliff, and I’m beginning to realize how much it continues because the passengers want it to, not because they are intimidated by the driver. I wonder if I am the only passenger that even knows what is really happening. If I ask anyone, some people deny it’s true, other people say the train is supposed to go off the cliff; others say the driver is the reason we’re saved. And still, most people turn away and look out the window at the trees.
I didn’t build the train, I’ve never met the driver. None of the passengers invented the tracks or travel. Yet here we’ve been born, we live and die, our lives determined by everything built before it. And we will gift the inheritance of our actions to our children.
And then in a moment on an ordinary day, I put my hand to the window and it popped open, and I became friends with the wind. I could jump off the train and see if there was something beyond the door.
My enemies’ success is my success, my failure is my enemies’ failure. If the only reason the passengers turn and look away is because everyone is doing it, let me be one less person to do the wrong thing. To be a victim in this existence. I am liberated and embracing the visceral uncertainty in my life, and the likelihood of things falling apart. It is a worthy life to live, in complete willingness to do what is right, even if I am the only one.