Epic Banality

Even the people who like me think I’m an asshole. Perhaps not all the time and perhaps not irredeemably, but the people close to me tend to think I’m too negative and vicious from time to time, leaving the impression that I either like being miserable or enjoy viewing everything in life through a needlessly dark lens. This couldn’t be further from the truth though. In fact, I always state that I’m not a pessimist, I’m just a realist. I’d like the world to be happier and more charitable. I’d like to really believe in someone else and think, “Yeah, this guy we just elected is going to bring change and he’s going to be different than all the other polished turds in government.” I really would like all of us to “just get along.”

Make no mistake though, I’m still a realist. We don’t get along. There are serious irreconcilable differences in the world that no amount of kumbaya is going to solve. The people in power didn’t get there by being kind, understanding or good. They got there by immersing themselves in the dirtiest of games and came out on top. Some wear that distinction proudly and others—like our current president elect—have an image so potent it actually distorts the reality around them.

Optimism is fine, just so long as it doesn’t get in the way seeing things as they are. And no Pollyanna, reality is not matter of perspective and looking on the bright side does not make the abyss that is life any brighter. It may change how we deal with things, but it doesn’t change things. Looking too hard for the best in something often blinds us to the worst and that’s dangerous. There’s a reason it’s generally the kindest and the most optimistic that make the easiest targets for people who like to take advantage of others.

I digress though. I could have summed up the point I wanted to get across in the last three paragraphs by saying, “Contrary to popular belief, just because the world is a bitter place, doesn’t mean I delight in that.”* With that said, let’s move on to my current grievances.

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Tonight I was talking about a certain college quarterback whose current misfortune amuses me greatly. Once I’d completed my usual snide and sarcastic ridicule of his broken foot, my dad made a strange comment; he said, “Well, some people don’t fear God. I do.” I pressed him for the relevance and we talked, but I couldn’t help but feel the comment was directed at me. Mind you, it may not have been and it could be my own paranoia talking, but regardless, it got me thinking about today.

Had today happened a year ago, I would have started madly analyzing my life trying to figure out what was wrong with me or I would have simply singled out things that I felt were less than stellar about my religious life and presumed they were the reason God was punishing me. It’s strange, but while I’ve always felt God was an extremely distant figure in terms of things like listening to my prayers, I’ve always felt as if He was very close in terms of exacting punishment on me. Don’t ask me why because I don’t understand why I’ve felt that way. While I was raised religious, the concept of the vengeful and/or jealous god was anything but ingrained in my teachings. It probably has something to do with my own vicious and judgmental nature as well as how brutally critical I’ve always been of myself.

Thanks to the current recession—especially in the real estate market in Nevada—work has dried up which is the cause of considerable stress. I’m certainly not alone in this regard and I’m sure I’ll pull through. I always have. Today added insult to injury though. My car failed to start. (Actually, it starts fine, it just dies right after that.) It’s extra stress at a time when I don’t need nor want the pressure, but you know what? Shit happens. It happens to every one. Once it happens, you either have to deal with it or run from it or whatever. I’m annoyed and it sucks. Case closed.

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Today marked the last symbolic step in finalizing what I am calling my “trial separation” from religion. It’s been a long and complicated road the last few years, where I’ve struggled much more with the concept than I had as a child or teenager. However, this year finally did it for me. There wasn’t any particular event, but most people out there have a threshold for the amount of guilt and disappointment that they’re willing to tolerate. Furthermore, people who value things like reason and logic tend to have a similar threshold for the amount of arbitrary ceremony that they can stand. My thresholds have all be crossed I guess.

So what was my symbolic step? I went underwear shopping today and for the first time in about six years I’m wearing something other than white underwear; it’s red right now, for those of you who are curious. I purchased an array of colors: greens, blues, the red pair and some gray and black. No white though, not a one.

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