A tree recently fell at an angle, blocking the path Kepler and I walk with regularity. It’s a tight squeeze going under, no problem for Kepler but a bit scary for me, as the tree is only held up by the upper branches caught in another tree where it fell. There’s the option of going over the top near the base but the footing there is treacherous because of a tangle of smaller tree limbs. I carry a hiking stick, so that helps.
I decided that today I was going to go over rather than under, so I carefully stepped on a small limb at the top of the tangle and using my hiking stick for balance, I straddled the tree. So far so good. In fact, my position was so stable I thought I’d easily be able to lean completely on my hiking stick and jump clear of the tree and the tangle.
At least, that’s how I visualized it in my mind.
I learned that at fifty one I can still pull off a decent shoulder roll. Unfortunately, the only place to execute it was into a generous swatch of Urtica dioica, also called burn weed or stinging nettles. Most of my right arm and shoulder are on fire and will be for the rest of the day.
I got lucky. Those nettles easily could have obscured a jagged tree limb, or a rotting stump, and my fifty one year streak of never breaking a bone, or worse, might have come to an end.
Given what the current pack of carrion feeders in congress are likely to pass, I have to be especially careful about jumping over trees while Kepler and I are out chasing squirrels. Even though I have good healthcare and am fortunate enough to be in a position to cover my deductible without undue hardship, I know that there are millions of people who cannot say the same. With the likely passage of what can only be described as the legislative equivalent of a middle finger two inches from the face of everyone who isn’t obscenely wealthy, the vast majority of us will need to literally watch our steps.
This only addresses the selfish concerns of a middle aged white man with good health insurance who happens to be in better health than many men his age. My mother is on medicare and has a fixed income. My brother has an incurable neurological disorder that is chronic and progressive. My son has been in a wheelchair since he was 13 and requires regular medical supplies for day to day living. All of these people in my life will be fucked when the Koch conservatives and their congressional lackeys finally get their shit together and gut the Affordable Care Act.
And don’t kid yourself, they’re going to get around to it. Soon.
What’s especially enraging is that congress has voted to exclude their healthcare from any of the deleterious changes (and they all are) they want to impose on the rest of us. It’s like they want us to hate them.
I wish there were some way to involuntarily effect wisdom and empathy on those emotionally stunted and empathically challenged humans known as the American conservative, those who chanted “Let them die! Let them die!” when it comes to the uninsured. I daydream about forcing Mitch McConnell into an utterly convincing virtual reality where he is confined to a hospital bed, intubated, and forced to rely on a caregiver for everything from being fed to wiping his ass. That would be a caregiver relying on medicare to get paid, mind you. Maybe that would foster some compassion. Then again, he’s had a political lifetime of not caring about anyone but his donors, so maybe even that wouldn’t do the trick.
One of the worse things about the hateful and ignorant modern American conservative is how effective they are at spreading the mud they wallow in. I’ve always been a live and let live kind of person. I hate conflict, hate violence, hate being angry. The way they’ve conducted themselves, not just conservative congressional members, but the rank and file, invites a reciprocity that practically takes a Dalai Lama to eschew.
Yet they deserve what they wish to withhold from others just the same. I’ll keep telling myself that, no matter what. The only thing worse than having to deal with conservatives is falling into the trap of being just like them. It’s no wonder that so many of us choose to segregate ourselves politically. I try being nice to them. I try to listen to their concerns. I try to remind myself that the overwhelming majority of them are victims of lies, distortions, and misrepresentations. They lack the critical and analytical tools to see through the fog. They’re addicted to self righteous rage and the feel good brain chemistry those emotions let loose.
I know how they feel. I have to remind myself that we on the left are no less susceptible to the warm glow of being certain we’re in the right. Everyday I tell myself that I have no monopoly on the truth and all of us know something others don’t. As Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry remarked: “A man has got to know his limitations.” I wish I knew how to spread that sentiment in a way that would cause conservatives to be more self reflective and less cock sure that everything is the fault of liberals, immigrants, and everyone who isn’t a Christian.
What I wouldn’t give for Douglas Adam’s point of view gun.