Where do we go from here? One of the struggles we all face is that we don’t always get to determine what happens next. We are more frequently pushed across thresholds than we are carried across joyfully. Even when an invitation seems like a good idea at the time, once we’re involved we discover that we’re trapped, unable to go back. Neither do we all share identical experiences through the same time portal. One shuts down an office while another prepares for new life. We may look through the same window yet see different pictures. Is what happens to us next a good thing or will another 350,831 of us die?
I look across the bed at the dogs sprawled out, sleeping; they are warm and well-fed. They are not aware of changes until they happen. A differently flavored treat is still a treat. Water outside apparently tastes the same as water inside. They are not bothered by incongruities or worried by idle threats. They do not care what I might cook next week nor how many presents I give next month. Neither do they look at my dwindling account balance and worry whether they’ll be fed. Their food has already been purchased. The dogs sleep blissfully unaware of my angst.
We have transitioned into being a country that champions criminals more than heroes. Perhaps that explains the election outcome. Our desire to see an underdog win outstrips our need for justice. We care less for the number of bodies left in their wake when we have already convinced ourselves that, on one level or another, they deserved to die. Knowing that the wizard has no real power does not keep him from being revered in Oz.
Stubbornly, I dig in my heels. There are thresholds I do not want to cross. Yet, how can I hold your hand if we do not step together? I cannot help those in danger if I’m left standing behind a closed door. I walk into the future not because I care for my own but because I care for those around me. The adventures we face are different than those behind us, but together, we both survive.
I have met my minimum word count. There’s coffee on the other side of the door. This threshold I walk through without hesitation.
Where do we go from here? One of the struggles we all face is that we don’t always get to determine what happens next. We are more frequently pushed across thresholds than we are carried across joyfully. Even when an invitation seems like a good idea at the time, once we’re involved we discover that we’re trapped, unable to go back. Neither do we all share identical experiences through the same time portal. One shuts down an office while another prepares for new life. We may look through the same window yet see different pictures. Is what happens to us next a good thing or will another 350,831 of us die?
Who am I to judge the guilt or innocence of another? Someone must, for there can be no justice without judgment. Am I impartial enough to hold another’s fate in my hands? We may never know, for once again, my service has been declined. What I do know is that justice, no matter how measured, is a highly opinionated beast. Are courts best suited to determine when one begins thinking and acting like an adult? Are schools best suited for religious indoctrination? A country run by criminals has little care for justice.
I look across the bed at the dogs sprawled out, sleeping; they are warm and well-fed. They are not aware of changes until they happen. A differently flavored treat is still a treat. Water outside apparently tastes the same as water inside. They are not bothered by incongruities or worried by idle threats. They do not care what I might cook next week nor how many presents I give next month. Neither do they look at my dwindling account balance and worry whether they’ll be fed. Their food has already been purchased. The dogs sleep blissfully unaware of my angst.
We have transitioned into being a country that champions criminals more than heroes. Perhaps that explains the election outcome. Our desire to see an underdog win outstrips our need for justice. We care less for the number of bodies left in their wake when we have already convinced ourselves that, on one level or another, they deserved to die. Knowing that the wizard has no real power does not keep him from being revered in Oz.
Stubbornly, I dig in my heels. There are thresholds I do not want to cross. Yet, how can I hold your hand if we do not step together? I cannot help those in danger if I’m left standing behind a closed door. I walk into the future not because I care for my own but because I care for those around me. The adventures we face are different than those behind us, but together, we both survive.
I have met my minimum word count. There’s coffee on the other side of the door. This threshold I walk through without hesitation.
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