Simmering Summer

The summer slate has not been kind to the writing efforts of this blogger. Too many things command my attention these days, between work, my new role as a cub scout den leader, my aspirations to become a serviceable runner (nearly 20 miles logged across 8 runs in the last 3.5 weeks), and any number of other day-to-day demands. When I do have time to sit and write, I find the cup to be empty. When I look to headlines for, ahem, inspiration, I find instead only those precursors to the spontaneous detonation of what remains inside my head. In those moments, I want no more than to grab the conch and speak sense into this idiotic world in an effort to stave off our nakedly transparent, self-destructive trajectory. Yet to speak (or write) out of anger has limited effect and even less potential for lasting fruit, and would arguably be no better than those who get a pass for lawlessness simply because an adjudication of law didn't fulfill their expectations of justice. Ephesians 4:26 tells me that "in my anger, do not sin." I am angry - and distressed - at the shameless behavior of our political class, our media, and our society for allowing the unraveling of our social compact to occur. I am deeply disturbed at the systemic distrust that infects us all, compelling us to assume the absolute worst about each other in terms of motives, behaviors and views. And I fume at those who exploit that distrust for the sake of celebrity, sensationalism and power. And because I've been unable to see clearly and to speak calmly about the acceleration of our moral dystopia and its progression into the institutional, I've by and large just tried to keep my mouth (and pen) shut, keeping my contemplations to myself.

In truth, I need to regain perspective. Or at least I think I do. I need to exercise discipline and moderate my consumption of news. Staying informed and knowledgeable is essential, but it doesn't have to be so consuming as to rob you of the perspective a little distance can bring. And if regaining that balance means writing a little less frequently, so be it. At least until I find a new muse.

Still, I can't help but to be reminded tonight of a sign-off line from the old show Midnight Caller. It seems forlorn, and I suppose perhaps it is. The America we love is still out there, somewhere. I hope we find her again soon.

Until then, "Good night, America ... wherever you are."