Carpet_pissr wrote: Thu Mar 24, 2022 9:37 pm
malchior wrote: Thu Mar 24, 2022 9:29 pmi feel that many people are choosing not to face the wretched state of our affairs.
Amen, and I think I've mentioned it in another thread.
Collectively, we, as a country have been so jingoistic and confident about how great we (as a country) are, seeing the actual bolts coming off the train wheels is at first unbelievable, and then our mind shuts down. "TOO MUCH!" "Can't be!" "Not here!!" "If that is happening, then that means....NOOOOoooooooooo"
Please note I am not dissing patriotism here, rather pointing out that a state of hyper confidence about anything tends to end badly when that extreme confidence (or whatever word you want to use here) proves to be unfounded, to the degreethat was believed.
Guilty... ish?
I grew up with the usual 'America - hell yeah!' attitude that filled the 70s and 80s. Kid me was sure that, as everyone else who had grown up with the Spirit of '76 followed by the education and films of the 80s did that America wasn't just the best, but that the rest of the world genuinely wanted to be us. Now, childhood innocence (when coupled with exposure only to that single message) was a valid excuse.
As a teenager and young adult, I simply didn't have any interest in politics or civics. I'm a literal, straightforward thinker, and they simply made no sense to me (they still don't.) Politics is like making a board game, writing a detailed set of rules that play well, then everyone sitting down and rewriting their own personal copy of the rulebook and trying to play together, following whichever rulebook is most convenient for each move. It's... absurd. For me, trying to follow politics is essentially a perpetual state of cognitive dissonance, where I can see how something is supposed to work, but it simply doesn't.
As an older adult - the kind with kids who suddenly found that he had a stake in the world, I started following politics anyway. The risks and costs of being uninformed were too high. And as I did so, the beliefs I had about my homeland were quickly seen to be so distorted and broken that it left me pretty jaded and disillusioned about humanity and the US. And it wasn't a passive background thing. Much of it was aggressive and malicious. It was people sinking the ship they were floating in, then standing and cheering as others looked panicked, acting only out of seemingly sadistic pleasure. Do I have the urge, from all of that, to shove my head back in the sand? Of course I do. It was comfy in there. But I don't. My eyes are open, and I don't enjoy being unaware.
In the past ten years, all of my positive illusions shattered, I've sat and watched what was left fall apart. I can see what's supposed to happen to prevent it, but it doesn't, and it just breaks worse. The people who try to preserve it are playing with the published rules, while the cheaters are switching rulebooks (or making up new rules) on every turn.
So what really makes me deeply want to shut down and not face what's happening isn't that what's happening is terrible. It's that what's happening is out of control. Our car has driven off of a cliff. It doesn't matter how much I twist the wheel or step on the brakes, we're going to hit the bottom. That sense of futility and helplessness is what makes me want, almost overwhelmingly to turn on the radio, pretend everything is normal, and wait for the car to hit the bottom.
I haven't given up yet. I still want to see the danger coming. But I also don't blame others who don't.
As I said when I was diagnosed with high-mortality, stage-4 cancer, if you fall off of a cliff, you have two choices: You can spend the rest of your life terrified, or you can spend the rest of your life with your arms out, imagining you're flying.
What doesn't kill me makes me stranger.