I am okay.
Now. Add “NOT” to that statement, and you know the truth of my current existence.
Are you in the same space? Or have you managed to rise above the insanity? Do you, like me, remember having doubts about our government and where we were heading even in the distant past?
This article was first published on August 27, 2009 — 17 years ago. Today, we are witnessing the full-blown fallout. And I am sickened beyond… not hope. I’m still holding on to hope. But dear God (or France or anybody, really), please help us (again). We need you.
Lastly, I am sorry. I wish I had known. I wish I had more power. I wish I had done more. Is it too late?
The American Dream
“I wonder what it’s like to grow up in rural Georgia today” I pondered after an ice cream truck, volume full-blast, parked near where I lay on Zuma Beach, and briefly interrupted the magic of the waves and the sun and the warmth of the sand.
It must surely be different now. Even in the south. Can any of you tell me?
There were no ice cream trucks in my neighborhood. My street was dirt and it was called a road. The bus picked me up in front of my house, and the bus drivers, Mr. Spence, then later, Miz Frances, were kind-hearted and didn’t take any guff.
I hardly recognize my America anymore.
And, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s my own fault. I left her to others to run, trusted others to look after my land-of-the-free and home of the Braves. I mean...brave.
I do vote. In the beginning, for Carter because I’m a Rebel from Georgia. Then, almost for Reagan, because my boss, a finance professor at West Georgia College convinced me I should. The a-hole traded me an afternoon off for a vote. (The joke was on him. The line was too long and my heart was not in it. I went home instead. OH, and, by the way, that same a-hole, whom I idolized at the time, was one of the U.S. advisors to the elder Khomeini and barely made it out of Iran back then.)
When I was young, Georgia was considered a Democratic state. There was no such thing as Red or Blue, only the red, white and blue. We were all one, and we all agreed on that, even the folks still “fighting” the civil war.
What has happened to my country?
She’s terribly broken and the people I’ve elected to fix her seem to be running around in the muck. Alaska is melting and has replaced California as the land of fruits and nuts. Texas and Hawaii want to leave the union. And Arizona, sensible about medicine, is not so sensible with AK47’s.
In an 8-mile stretch of Senator McCain’s Arizona, between the Utah and Nevada border, we saw one automatic weapon billboard after another. I was shocked, appalled, and deeply offended, and not just a little frightened.
And our President has taken up golf. Golf!
So now I’m forced to take up government. I can’t be any worse at it than they have been. I’m good at problem-solving. And goodness knows I can see the problems, looming as they do in front of my face.
So, I must pull my head out of the proverbial sand, wake up and come to know.
I haven’t wanted to know. It was easier to let someone else worry about things like health (sick) care, bailouts, and fiscal responsibility. What does that mean anyway?
Plus, if I paid attention to what was going on, if I really knew what was happening right beneath my nose, I might have to do something about it. Much like having to get sober once I knew I was an alcoholic, or close my business after the ink bled red.
I do have a theory.
I didn’t want to know, because I was just too darned busy.
Doing what, you ask?
Dancing.
You know. The Dance. You do it, too. It’s called “The American Dream.” But it’s really “The Dance.” The MORE, MORE, MORE dance going nowhere.
This dance is exhausting. It’s draining. It kills.
We dance longer and harder and faster, performing more intricate, and more dangerous, leaps, hops, whirling, whirling until all is a blur, and nothing is distinguishable. Nothing at all.
We follow the dream, and the dream is the blur, while the corporations infiltrate and the tail wags the dog. We’re addicted to prescription drugs, sugar, fast food, Hollywood, and sports, don’t get enough sleep, consume petroleum in our cars, in our plastic water bottles, our polyester clothes, and even our Chapstick. We work like dogs (although no dog ever worked as hard as I’ve had to!) and have the fewest paid vacation days per capita than most any other country in the world.
We’re sick and we wonder why.
Is the healthcare system broken? Heck, yeah! But what we are missing is...it is much more fundamental than that. We eat crap, feed our kids crap, and call it food. All the goodness has been stripped away, and it’s full of addictive sweeteners, fillers, and fat. Let’s get back to the basics, fruits and vegetables. Let’s grow our own. Stop trucking stuff across the world and the country, picking it green, so we get none of nature’s nutrients. Stop filling ourselves full of “medicine.” Get out of the house and exercise, feel the wind and the sun on our skin. Do some manual labor. THESE are the answers — prevention, not sick care.
But, back to the dance.
So, we’re all whirling and dipping in our own frantic dance, bouncing off the other, each spinning our own web, striving, working, spending, more, more, more, more, more, more, more.
There’s an old saying about making sure your ladder is propped against the right wall. Well, for 52 years, every ladder I’ve climbed has led to another ladder. Now, I see that there are no right walls, only ladders, disappointment, falling down, bruised knees, and getting back up to trudge once more. More striving, more ladders, more dancing, more blur.
To fix our problems, we must stop the dance. We must come to know. And we must help America get better again. But how?
I’ll finish with another old saying, one we used a lot as kids, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” I don’t know where it originated, but it occurs to me, today, as I open once-veiled eyes and survey the broken-ness and divisive-ness going on in our beautiful US of A, that angry, hate-filled words do hurt. They are hurting us. Their words create the dance, and the dance creates the blur.
But I also know that words can heal.
I have words. I am a healer. And I’m a rebel to the core. It’s time to remember that I have a voice. You have a voice.
WE HAVE A VOICE. It’s time we use them to heal our world.
Ever heard my rebel yell? “YEEEEHAAAAAA!”
Let’s hear yours!
No, really. This is important. We’re out of time. How can we each use our voice to help our country(ies) heal?
If you enjoyed reading about ‘The Dance,’ if you’ve learned anything new, or if you’ve made a resolve to help uplift our country and the world, please drop a like and a comment to tell us what you’re doing, and share this post with your friends.
Thank you for being here and for all you do to help keep our world sane. It matters. And makes a difference. For all of us.
From my heart to yours, Olivia/O.J.❤️
If you can spare a few bucks to support my writing, help is always welcome AND greatly appreciated. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.
