Tuesday, November 22, 2016

I Cannot

If I'm being honest, I was born this way.

I tell myself it's the election, and it is. Of course it is. This week, anyway. What with young, "dapper" Neo-Nazis in Washington, D.C. And the people right here in my very own zip code. 


The people who inarguably (yes, sorry/not sorry, inarguably) were just "meh" about white supremacy. Walking among me and my children daily with their blonde hair and blue eyes; my own daughter passing behind the safety of these same traits, despite her 100% fictitious, constructed Semitic "bloodline" going back on both sides, unbroken, for centuries.

Of course that gives me that old familiar feeling of "I cannot."

But it was always there, stupid and unforgiving. All the more so for lack of an objectively legitimate target in my easy, comfortable, thus far relatively trauma-free existence.

I cannot handle the old man at the bank who yells at me for touching a Christmas tree when I'm four years old. I cannot absorb one more social snub from the cool kids at school. I can't deal with one more algebra or chemistry problem. I can't do a single morning subway commute again. I cannot stomach another nasty email or phone call from a lawyer. I can't have another allergic reaction to a cat or dog. I can't have one more fight with my kids over their unbrushed teeth and filthy rooms. I can't be happy for my friends when I should be, because I'm jealous and spiteful. I cannot "cherish" the present, because no matter how hard I try, I can't let go of the past. 


I cannot find "resilience," even when there is little need for it in the first place. So what will I do when there is? Huh? What then, genius? And now I'm more scared about the future than I've ever been. 

I try to be grateful, and meditative. I try to be positive and thankful. I read this and that and change my diet and take pills. But the harder I try, the more the way I am finds new and creative ways of asserting itself.

That old familiar feeling of "I cannot" lurks around every corner, but oddly, that feeling of "I cannot" is the one thing I reliably can do all the time.

Hey. It's something.


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