The Gauntlet
Writing helps me deal with the world. It is a therapy for me. Thanks for reading this personal therapy session and allowing me to share it with you.
Standing on the slope of our Birmingham backyard, the tan Emerald Zoysia crunching under my Oofos slides preparing to accelerate its metamorphosis back into the lush green landscape the squirrels, birds, cats and possums cannot wait to trod, as the sun disappeared in the western sky, I grabbed a glance of Venus as bright as a single Christmas tree light hanging above me. As I took advantage of cooking dinner on our Blackstone griddle on the high 60’s Alabama evening, part of that ‘advantage’ being the cleanup after the action of acting as close to a culinary genius as I will ever get, I paused the required cleaning and walked back to the highest point of the yard, a little darker the night, and a few more lights hanging in the sky. Jupiter had joined Venus within the cavalcade of stars. I turned eastward to see if I could get a glimpse of Mars, but it wasn’t happening; only a couple barks from the dog beyond the neighbor’s fence who was really interested in the burgers that had already been swept away from my culinary machine. A scattered clamoring of bird families winding down the night and singing their lullabies within the trees, just like Shannon and me, but in a much more musical fashion than our clanging of dishes, frolicking of cats, and spins of the Wheel of Fortune emanating from the television within the house.
A sleep difficult night segued into a beautiful pre-Spring day in the south, this time of year being what I like to refer to as the Gauntlet; it is the time when every day seems to beat one down as we walk and run through the conspicuous alley of challenge. The daylight at the end of that alley is a vacation day, a trip, rest, and the swarm of soldiers beating you with their gloves and sticks are the heavy handed days standing in the way of that coming respit. One day is beautiful and sunny, the next day cold like God’s cruel joke. The next, torrential rain and on and on and on. All of this being further complicated by the deafening silence of the minions of actual people (real, live people, not talking fools on Fox News) in the world who seem mighty fine with the state of our American affairs as we literally see an attempt at the dismantling of our government happening in front of us, and further snared by the loss of any semblance of pragmatism, dialogue, or intelligence. Yes, the dumb are getting dumber, and the ones with actual strength and wisdom to engage the issues with a sense of wisdom and decorum are being laughed at by the dumb. I’ve said a thousand Fuck You’s in my mind, a few out loud. I’ve had my temperature rise to the point of wanting to swing at someone, but that won’t help. My waiting for a reasonable conversation with any one of them about what’s going on is done in vain. So, I move on, through the Gauntlet.
This year’s Gauntlet can cause me to hold my breath, that stress, that build up looking for an escape. I did exhale that breath for a few moments when I sat down in the barber’s chair later on Wednesday for a regular visit. A.P., the one I trust with my ever becoming rarer locks, pointed out that the barber shop is one of the last bastions where a man can simply relax, without judgement, without any of the bullshit that accompanies the rest of the world. He’s right. That few minutes in the chair is heaven. Everything rights itself, and as with so many days before, I walked out of that shop with a better attitude, feeling great.
A simple haircut helped me enter back into the Gauntlet with a bit better attitude and with my eyes a little more locked on the prize. That prize is still a bit away for Shannon and I, but it is a trip to Boston, in April, to spend time with the history of that great city, meeting up with our dear old friends from Nashville, and seeing Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds in concert. Then, our annual beach trip to the Gulf of Mexico just a hop, skip and a jump after that.
There are other respits along the way, gatherings with friends, ballgames, shows, concerts, meals at good restaurants, yard work soon to be initiated, new bird houses to be hung. There’s also what I believe is the ultimate armor against these trying times: Home. The place Shannon and I get to draw the course, the plan, and choose what we put in front of our eyes and in our ears. It makes these trying days easier to handle, even if we can’t make some of the impacts of the clown show go away.
If you have read anything I’ve published during this short year, you know I have struggled to get balanced with it all. My past is not one of quiet lucidity. I am not apt to simply say, ‘Golly gee whiz, oh, it will all work out.’ And, no, I do not believe that our destiny is 100% reliant on politics, but politics does have a way to shape a culture, especially when it is successful at dumbing down that culture to the level we have in this age. Slurp the beer, when war 20,000,000 miles away and billions of dollars spent ends we cheer, celebrate the billionaires taking away from those who don’t deserve, because, WE deserve, even if our bank accounts are getting drained at the same rate at those we look down on. I’d laugh, but its not funny, listening to folks literally complain about the weather now when the idiots they put in office take away the very tools they reaped the benefits for.
Somehow, today, I have to believe that it WILL work out. I am not going to fear a future that doesn’t exist when all we have is today. While the Gauntlet may be daunting, it is faceable, it can be run, and run successfully. There is another side.
The planets will continue to shine in the sky, even if it takes binoculars to see them some times. And, if you feel suffocated, take a moment and go sit in the barber’s chair.
Much love to you, and thanks for reading. Every letter above is a huge exhale. Peace.
