At the Crossroads

Where we are.

For my blog today, I am sharing a Facebook post written by a former Casa Grande High School student named Susan Carr Collins. (CGHS is where I taught.) When Susan was in high school she was an honors student, a spirit leader, and an all-around “good kid”. As an adult, she became a firefighter/medic, and now is a nurse, a mom, a wife, a thinker, and a fabulous, young woman. I asked her permission to share her words on my blog. Thankfully she said, “Yes.”

So many of my friends have been snared by myriad emotions after this election cycle and have been struggling to untangle them. Susan obviously has too, and I am pleased to see that writing helped her sort out her concerns. I believe she is correct to ask, “How will this all end?” I’m sure it’s a question many of us share. No matter what one’s political persuasion, this is worth a read.

**LONG POST - Fair Warning***

A hundred thousand years ago (or maybe it was in the early 90's) I was driving a long stretch of country road between Sonoma and Petaluma, likely enjoying "Two Princes" for the 100th time on the radio, screaming the "bada ba dip" part like a maniac. I saw several people pulled over onto the shoulder surrounding a downed motorcyclist. Being a medic, I stopped as well and walked over to investigate. He was gray, struggling with his respirations, but had asked someone to call his parents at the same time they went to call 9-1-1. I quickly did a primary and secondary assessment and realizing I had absolutely ZERO equipment with me, felt a huge sense of dread. I knew we were in trouble.

Here we were, in the country, with 9-1-1 being called from a nearby farm. I had a bystander hold c-spine, while I held this man's hand with a finger on his rapid, thready radial pulse knowing that he at least had a systolic blood pressure of somewhere greater than 70-80. I layed my head on his chest and attempted to assess his heart and lungs, anticipating an emergent needle decompression upon the medics arrival but I couldn't hear anything, the ambient road noise was so loud. He was so frightened. He was so scared. I told him help was coming right away, I told him his parents had been called, I told him we were with him, while he was still conscious. I rubbed his forehead, I talked softly to him, reassuring him, comforted him. I did what I thought a parent might want a stranger to do for their son.

The outcome was sad, as you might have guessed. He arrested as the medics were loading him up. I stood there as his parents pulled up on scene and I just cried and cried at the futility. The irrational anger that I didn't have a full jump kit in my car, or another medic, or a helicopter, or magic, or Santa. The sadness that these parents couldn't have heard their son's voice one more time. The despair, the dread, the deep wish that I could have done more. No matter what I had done, the outcome was just terrible. And it took me years to be just ok with the actions I took. Years and years and plenty of therapy between sleepless nights.

I'm telling you this because I feel this way again. I feel like I'm watching a slow-motion accident and I have no jump kit. I cannot lay this country supine, maintaining spine precautions. I cannot quickly assess A-B-Cs, look for obvious signs of bleeding and pop two large bore IVs in bilateral arms. I cannot warm us up with blankets. We don't get to stat CT scan us for clues about what might kill us.

I recognize we are all processing the state of the union differently. I had a wonderful conversation with my very logical, level-headed sister. She is dealing with it by focusing on her family, "tending her own garden," and raising her kids to be wonderful citizens of the world. Other friends of mine are tending "gardens" around the world; spreading hope and light to the less fortunate among us, fixing cleft palates, setting up medical infrastructure in Africa and Haiti, researching ways to improve health care, teaching kids in inner cities, and carrying on like the Brits of WWII asked each other to do.

            But it's so insane, we all want the truth but the truth is hiding in plain sight at the moment. I feel like I'm in Westworld with no clue about who is a "host" and who is a "guest" - and I don't want to shoot anyone to find out. Are Aleppo reports real? Is Russia truly a cyber mastermind that has irreparably damaged our democracy? How will this end? Will it end badly? Will we be ok? When will we know?

I think I just needed to "vent my spleen" (thanks Rebekah) and look at my feelings in written form. I remember them well...the PTSD we suffer as firefighters can really flare back up in these highly anxious times. I challenge myself to take a huge breath and think before I speak. I have to re-read and edit what I post. I think it's important now, more than ever, to find the good in each other. Believe that comforting a stranger can be the absolute best we can do in the moment and then be just fine with that.

Thanks, friends. Love and peace to each of you.

This might as well be Susan!

Is A Person’s Perception His Or Her Reality?

This seemed to fit.

            I promised myself I would not write anything else that is even remotely political, but after speaking with my son yesterday for over an hour, I feel the need to share. First let me say that I love my son with all my heart; that love is unwavering. He is a hard-working, responsible contributor to our society. He makes me proud. Second, we differ politically. While he considers himself an independent voter, he voted for the “other” major party, presidential candidate. (I did discover we voted the same on a few other issues though, thank goodness.)

In our conversation, although I had not intended to “talk politics”, I expressed my feelings about my fear for the direction our country may be heading given the cabinet selections that our current president-elect is making. I stated facts, I made my point, and I sobbed. While I explained, I cried real tears of sadness and frustration because individuals who likely will be in positions of power are light years in opposition to my thinking. I told my son that I don’t want to see the progression that has been made in our country, especially in terms of the environment and human rights, stymied or worse, taken back into the “dark ages”.

            That being said, my son made an interesting statement as we continued to talk. He said, “I believe that every person’s perception is their own reality.” I had to agree. I had never used that phrase before, but I definitely believe the concept makes sense. It is also the reason why I continue to mourn.

            Because of the insanity of this presidential election cycle, our country has never appeared to be so divided, at least in my lifetime. Perhaps it always has been and the divisiveness simply has been hidden beneath the guise of political correctness. Well, right now, folks are not being so politically correct, are they? And that takes me back to my son’s statement: people’s perceptions are their own realities.

I’ve been considering what that notion suggests. If one believes individuals who do not share the same religion, cultural background, sexual orientation, or gender for that matter, are lesser human beings, then that is that person’s reality. If one believes the minimum wage or equal pay for women are issues that are not important, than that is that person’s reality. If one does not believe that unions and the public schools are viable organizations and institutions, then that is that person’s reality. If one does not believe in global warming, then that is that person’s reality. Do you see where I’m going?

Given our upbringing, education, and life experiences we each see our world from unique perspectives. That’s a fact. With myriad predisposed perceptions among millions, can there ever be unity? It is sad to think not. Surely in the United States of America, with its diverse population, the concept of a shared reality is ludicrous. So, I grieve.

            I read a piece the other day written by Dan Rather, journalist and former CBS News anchor. It is fair to say he appears saddened, as well, by current events and he warns the populace to stay aware, be informed, speak up, and don’t sit quietly by doing nothing. I agree. We cannot passively say, “Let’s wait and see what will happen,” or “This too shall pass.” Too much is at stake.

Dan Rather, in his passage, reminded the reader of the written words of our founding fathers: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”

In the shadow of the recent DAPL/Standing Stone confrontation, however, if I were a member of the indigenous, Native American community, I likely would take vehement objection to the words above given the history behind them, but as the granddaughter of Italian immigrants, I want to believe that the intention of the document was reasonable in the minds of the writers.

But here we are. The sun will rise tomorrow and the well of sadness that I feel will continue to burden me for a while, but I will move forward knowing full well that, yes, my perceptions are my reality, that my son’s are his, and that whoever has read this far, has his or her own. I sadly don’t see the chance of unity, at least not now with money and greed at the base of power mongering on steroids. And with hate, intolerance, lying, and injustice raising their ugly heads, we’re caught in a very real conundrum that we likely will not solve for years to come. I want so badly to feel differently, but I don’t. Feeling hopeful or optimistic again, at least for me, will take time.

Here I am with my son.

Writing The Words In The Direction They’re Going

         Writing takes time. It requires concentration, at least for me, and it is rewarding. I am in my happy place when I am writing, especially when words are flowing. Sometimes they don’t, however, and writing becomes a struggle, albeit a confounding, pleasant struggle. For me, putting that first word on the page usually is all I need to break through.

            Not everything I write pleases me, of course. The habit of writing everyday is important though, and I like to believe in the old axiom, “Practice make perfect”. I have written three novels and a memoir in the past six years. I guess that’s an accomplishment. None have hit the bestseller list, but I am proud to say, “I did it.”

            Recently I have been working hard on my newest novel and am about halfway finished. Because I have been putting effort toward that project, I have neglected my blog. In all honesty, that’s not the only reason I have neglected blogging though. I’ve been afraid my blog would become a venting site, that I would offend folks, and that my blog’s intent would be diminished. In the last couple of months, when I have told myself, “Write a blog today,” I have, instead, gone straight to the novel.

            The fact is that the real reason I have ignored my blog, of late, is because I have been upset by what has happened in our country recently and am anxious about our future. I have feared spouting my outrage. It’s one thing that the candidate I supported did not win enough Electoral College votes, but moreover, I have become skeptical of the goodness that I once thought was basic to humanity, at least in the United States. (I am not naïve. I know, miserably horrible individuals exist throughout the world, but aren’t most decent?)

Here, in my state of California, I always have felt that caring, progressive-thinking, NICE people surround me. Instead, in the aftermath of the presidential election I have observed more lying, more misogyny, more xenophobia, more fear-mongering, religious prejudice and intense intolerance for the LBGTQ community or others who do not fit into the perfect mold that some folks obviously hold dear to their hearts. It disgust me, really, and it saddens me to know that people I have loved and respected, people who I believed held high ideas, were compassionate, and were open-minded, are anything but!

I have been feeling distraught because of the “lashing out” that has become commonplace on social media, in texts, in simple conversations. I realize that not everyone has to agree. Of course not! What has happened to simple respect, however? What has happened to “think before speaking (or writing)” in certain circles? Someone, and I won’t name names, has made ugly behavior all right. More than a few individuals feel they have free reign now to abuse others openly, and that is, bluntly put, mean. What I have heard, read, and observed in the last month has made me sad, a bit depressed, and pessimistic about the future. The good thing is that my house is really clean! When I am stressed out, I clean shit up! I clean up shit and write - one word at a time.

So, here I am, at the end. I’ve written a blog. This one is loaded with the pronoun, “I” and for that I apologize. When I began writing this piece, I was not sure where it was going, but I guess it went in the direction I was avoiding – venting a few thoughts that have been wearing me down. And while I’d like to say I’m over the hump, that’s not true. I’m afraid, that the stage has been set, the reality show is in full swing, and the obnoxiousness will continue. I suppose the only thing I can do is be the person I’d like to see in others. I’ll start there.

So, this is the word . . . until next time.

A Letter To America

            To be honest, I have neglected my blog for a few weeks. I have been stymied by politics and have been writing other things, but today, I decided to get back at it. Here is my letter to America.

Dear America,

            What the hell has gone wrong? Are we splitting up? Seriously, I need to know.

            When we met, I was very young, well really young, a tiny babe in the woods, so to speak. And clearly . . . I know it . . . for many years I was too naïve to understand what I had with you. I didn’t fully grasp the concept that you were right by my side, supporting me, nurturing me, giving me what some might called a charmed life. I guess I didn’t appreciate the freedoms you had provided me and, yes, I didn’t tell you enough that I love you. But, really, something is going on that you haven’t been sharing, and that’s not fair.

 Look, I’ve let you down sometimes. I’ve made my mistakes, but so have you. Face it. It’s true. Not every decision you’ve made has been stellar. Yet, after all these years we’ve stuck together. In fact, hasn’t our life been changing recently for the better? I was under the impression that we had more respect for each other and haven’t we’ve been trying to clean up the space where we live? You know, folks do say that if life isn’t going so well, clean out your glove compartment and things will turn around. Well, we’ve been cleaning up shit. So, come on, be honest with me, America, what’s going on with you? Why have you suddenly turned inside out?

In the past you’ve been so good to me. I’ve been allowed to speak my mind, to choose my own friends, to live where I want, and to get an education. Hell, I have a damned Master’s Degree. It wasn’t easy, but I did it, because with you, America, I had the opportunity and you taught me that with perseverance, with hard work, I could do anything and be whoever I wanted to be.

I had a great career as an educator, thank you very much! Twenty-seven years. And when I retired I became a writer. Well, I always was a writer. I became an author. I’ve written four books. Yay, me!

Better than that, though, with your help America, I was able to raise two, wonderful sons. Sadly, you took one of them, the firefighter. Because of service to you, America, he died in our arms from job-related, brain cancer. The other continues to fight the good fight, doing his best, just as you taught him. As a law enforcement officer, he makes us proud.

Sorry for the digression . . . you know I get sidetracked sometimes . . . but right now, today, you need to understand my confusion about us. After so many years, with the good and the bad behind us, what, the hell, is going on? Can you explain? How did we get to this place?

I’m worried, America. I’m worried because I’m not sure you are who I thought you were. I thought you were caring and understanding; I thought you always would provide me with the opportunity for a good life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I thought you always would let me speak my mind. I thought respect for our fellow citizens, no matter what their former nationality or religion was, was at our core; I thought human rights always would be honored. I never thought women’s rights or the rights of the LGBT community would be threatened. I thought you would welcome hard-working immigrants who wanted nothing but a better life with us. I thought this is who we were.

Lately, though, America, I’ve been seeing a side of you that bothers me very much. What I’m seeing is a propensity for hate, fear mongering, rudeness, and lying, any one of which could undermine everything on which you have stood. I trust you, America, and I love you. We’ve been together for such a long, long time. Let’s not give up on us now. As an amazing woman named Hillary has said over and over, “We’re better together.” Don’t forget that America. Let’s reach for a new day and remember who we were way back at the start.