Reminders

OldBearLilCub

This morning I started another post. One of those moments where I was just damn frustrated. The way some of you behave drives me bonkers. So I read, I wrote, and packed, then wrote some more. About 1,000 words into this rant I had to put it down. I was reminded that my opinions just don’t matter.

Game the Hugo’s, make stupid comparisons in public, write dumb laws; if tomorrow I died all of you would just carry on. Nothing would change. Absolutely nothing. I should feel lucky if, for that one brief hypothetical moment, a tiny few of you paused what you were doing to lament my passing.

And there it is, don’t you agree? That’s about all any of us can aspire to achieve, that tang of remorse left in our wake.

While I was fuming about indignity and injustice so many removes away from myself A-bear put down his Lego just long enough to come over and plant three kisses. “Dad, you know I love you,” he said setting down my moistened elbow.

“Why did you kiss my elbow Aral?” I asked feeling the fight and anger drain away.

“You look like a bad monkey and I want my Old Bear,” here he hugged me turning my chair toward where he was playing. “Do you want to play Legos with me?” I sat with him and we loaded up recycling trucks with blocks for a while.

Look I know there’s no winning the debate, any debate. This post is a reminder, more to myself than anyone else; despite the inescapable foreknowledge that I’m never going to change anyone else’s mind I still routinely feel compelled to try. This blog is testament to that fact of my life. For every frustrated, angry post I’ve published there are at least ten more behind the curtain that I write and never post. I look back at these and feel a need to invent a word which describes “shame at a colossal waste of time.”

Ugh, the Germans have likely taken care of this.

So this afternoon, with my little cub slumbering, I’m taking a moment to write a reminder to myself. Don’t waste any more time getting worked up about Libertarian science fiction authors gaming the Hugo’s with collectivist labor tactics, ignorant Senators from Oklahoma, or ice sheets slipping off the ends of the Earth. None of these things are under your control, none of these people will feel even the least sorrow when you go. When you write provoke the feelings you want to feel, when you live do it mindfully with the people who will miss you when you’re gone.

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