Silly Old Me

I wish I could change the world but I can’t

Journal: 4 January, 2024, morning.

You know, for the longest time I’ve thought that what I said and did would make a difference somehow, guide people to the truth of things, inspire change of hearts, help build a better world.

Silly old me.

I figured that if they knew me at all, they’d know I wouldn’t lie, I wouldn’t purposefully lead them astray, abandon what was right for some self interested reason. And maybe they do know this, but in the end it matters not at all. They do what they want to do and they believe what they want to believe and all my earnestness and passionate words (because I am passionate about facts and truth and justice and fairness and doing the right thing) are meaningless against that determination.

It’s like being the person who is sober at a party where everyone else is drunk: having that intimate and deep knowledge of actual history, factual circumstances, scientific laws, our economic systems, just reality in general, and daily witnessing the absolute departure from all that. You think “This can’t really be happening, can it?” It’s surreal.

We are going over a cliff and the brakes have failed and the accelerator is stuck. It feels hopeless. But that feeling is looking at it from the arc of my own lifetime, which, yes, is legitimately my view, and appropriate for me to have because in the remainder of my time here things are likely to be bleak indeed. That makes me sad. I think about what we are losing, will lose, and the suffering that will come, and it’s heartbreaking, and no matter what happens in the longer arc, that suffering cannot be undone.

Will the pendulum now swinging hit the end of its arc and swing back? History says yes, though the arc be very long indeed, and I likely won’t see it.

So what remains? To be done, I mean?

What I’ve always done: try as best I can to do the right thing. Live with honor and honesty and caring and compassion and kindness. Lighten the load for people where I can. Love them. Love this world of ours. And all of that for its own sake, because that’s what we *should* do, what I *should* do.

I wish I could change the world but I can’t.

I wish I could convince you with my words but I can’t. I don’t try to do that any more. Instead I do what is possible: live with joy, with gratitude that I had this life, this chance, and as much as is possible, in peace. What a waste of a perfectly good life it would be to not live that way, and I don’t want to do that.

I journal for myself because writing clarifies things for me, helps me understand and see things more clearly, instructs me on why I think about the things I think about. It helps me know myself better, understand myself better, and that’s important to me. I may or may not share this. I haven’t decided.

I still have hope. I never lose hope. I never will. It’s just that my hope is a real world hope. It has to have feet, and hands, and a plan.

#journalingalife