The uni­verse likes to send me self help mes­sages once in awhile. Sometimes they come in the form of a beau­ti­ful sun­rise and some­times they are past­ed on the rear bumper of the truck parked in front of me.

If I am being total­ly account­able, I must acknowl­edge that any shock and out­rage that I expe­ri­ence with oth­er peo­ple or by lis­ten­ing to the news is root­ed in an unques­tioned belief that the world is dif­fer­ent than it real­ly is. This bliss­ful igno­rance has become increas­ing­ly unsus­tain­able in the face of per­va­sive news blasts and social media posts. The truth is that the world is no less beau­ti­ful and no ugli­er than it has ever been.

Our coun­try was built on vio­lence, prej­u­dice, and eco­nom­ic exploita­tion by adven­tur­ous preda­tors, dis­placed crim­i­nals, slaves, inden­tured ser­vants, and refugees from all man­ner of oppres­sion. While many pur­sued high ideals, just as many were mere­ly eager to be on the oth­er end of the stick. We have had arro­gant, racist, cor­rupt, incom­pe­tent, hyp­o­crit­i­cal, and manip­u­la­tive lead­ers at the high­est lev­els since the begin­ning of this nation. Why are we sud­den­ly sur­prised that we have some now and that they have many fol­low­ers?

With the increas­ing­ly bright light of pub­lic­i­ty reveal­ing that there are cock­roach­es every­where, am I will­ing to own my part in all of this? Can I ques­tion my prej­u­dices, right­eous­ness, and even hate­ful­ness? Can I exam­ine where I look for oth­ers to change either them­selves or the con­di­tions which I find unpalat­able? When do I give up my pow­er? When do I plead or demand that some­one else should make things bet­ter?

When I choose to take action instead of com­plain­ing, when I embrace the fear under­neath courage rather than the numb­ness of com­pla­cen­cy, when I acknowl­edge that liv­ing a good life is a chal­lenge accept­ed rather than a priv­i­lege endowed, then I may be more inspired and less offend­ed by the actions of oth­ers.

If I can accept that I can hap­pi­ly rake the leaves from my lawn even as the wind blows more of them on it from my neigh­bor’s tree, then I might expe­ri­ence more of the pow­er of vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty and com­pas­sion and less of the feel­ing of futil­i­ty and despair dri­ven by my moral out­rage.

Shit hap­pens, so car­ry a turd bag!