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I have been very quiet lately. If I couldn’t be upbeat, I thought, just be quiet until I can. This is a variation of the “if you can’t say something nice. . .” theme. On several fronts, I have faced uncertainty. Okay, facing may be too strong a word. Hiding from, or running from, or maybe waiting for the worst to befall.
If I can’t kill them with kindness, what’s the point of even engaging? All right, with sarcasm, then. Once entering an argument, I lose the ability to see the opposing view. And that serves no one, I suppose. Why try to see the opposing view when their proponents don’t try to see mine? So I retired to my corner to sulk, or soothe my wounds. Silence is itself an answer, isn’t it?
Still, the “why can’t we all get along?” refrain hummed in my ear. I find it very hard to understand the motivation for meanness. Retaliation feels like bitterness, feels bad. I can’t respond in kind without also feeling guilty for doing so. Getting even puts me in the same place, and I am not like them. I don’t want to be even.
So I made a pledge to post more often, even though there is no real resolution on the several fronts. No recent improvements in the situations. Refusing to play means I lose, I think. It means I forfeited the one thing I love doing. That hurts only myself.
I am writing riddles, so let me be clear. Please, I pray, let me be clear. I have been struggling with the dissolution of my family now for two years. Struggling with the loss of my mother, trying to understand why she left us so at odds with each other. Trying to find some common ground between us.
I have been struggling with a situation at work, with eerie similarities.
I have been struggling with doubt about my next book. That is not a good feeling. Despite reassurances from my publisher and editor that it will get published, I have doubts.
My singular response to all these situations has been to keep still, to stop writing.
That is what I have the power to change. And so, I will. I will it to change, and I write.