Wednesday night, thinking things over.
I don't know if this is the death cold talking or just something I've been thinking very hard about finally coming forward.
You know the expression "If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention"? It's a powerful statement. It can even be true. But sometimes it is really damn tiring being outraged. Sometimes being outraged is like staring into the abyss, and after a while the abyss starts staring back and that shit is creepy. Or scary. Or far too overwhelming for you to deal with every single day. Just because I'm not blatantly outraged when I should be, it doesn't mean that I'm not paying attention. It just means I have to put down the paper (turn off the TV, log off the internet) to try to convince myself that the world is not going to buckle and implode around me because of the terrible.
And sometimes it feels like that is how some people feel I should be. By birth or by position in life, or extenuating circumstance. I'm not denying anyone the access to their rage, but implying that I should be similarly caught in the mire that can be acknowledging the various ways that life screws over everyone, especially if they're like me and female/black American (or black in general)/of a certain age/insert whatever else you can think of... well. I know, okay? I know, believe me. And--and this part is important--reminding me of all the ways in which I am/could be seen as underprivileged does nothing for me.
Yes, it's facts, but frankly, it makes me feel like shit. Knowing is not half the battle sometimes; but knowing also means having that knowledge be in the back of your mind and it means having that knowledge gnaw at your conscience and make you feel inferior. Knowledge makes you doubt yourself, second-guess your dreams, consider settling and then looking back and wondering "what if" far more often than you'd care to.
So I don't go to that place sometimes. Sometimes I take my outrage and I go and shove it in a dark closet, because acknowledging it head-on sometimes makes me want to not even bother. Instead, I try to double up on hope or some sort of ridiculous idealism, something that will give me power and make me feel like maybe things will get better. I've always been of the mind that hope and idealism are not bad things because they are what propel people to do the good that is necessary to help to sustain life and to move on. But that's what helps me to make it through my day, my month, my year, my life.
Just because I'm selective about what I outwardly express my rage about, it does not mean that I'm not paying attention (or, for that matter, that I'm not mad). I'm pretty sure that those of you who read my posts routinely know that, but I just wish I could make that clear. Yeah, I like talking/posting about puppies and hot famous guys and My Little Pony and everything else that I'm willing to talk about at any time, but sometimes the things that enrage me the most are the things that I have to either talk about with humor or not discuss at all because otherwise I am going to go into this incoherent ball of angry (and me doing that is NEVER good. Ask anyone who witnessed me having a crying jag in school, not pretty). And I feel defensive about that sometimes, because it's like, what, does that make me less of a Mature, Functional Being if I can't debate the points about why X, Y, and Z are Wrong?
But we're supposed to acknowledge that everyone deals with things in different ways, right? So who's right and who's wrong, or are we all caught in some weird-as-hell limbo of not knowing unless it's blatantly inoffensive or blatantly offensive either way?
I wish I were more eloquent and funnier. That way, I could channel my frustration into making people laugh and then making them think.
In unrelated news: I might get paid tomorrow instead of Friday because of the bank holiday. And earlier, when I was still feeling much more blargh and congested, my dad told me stories about his time in the National Guard. I've heard some of those stories a dozen times before, but they never stop being funny. I've been thinking a lot about applying for an internship with This American Life or sending a story to Snap Judgment, and some of my dad's National Guard stories would be great for either one somehow.
This entry was originally posted at http://enamoured.dreamwidth.org/26186.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
You know the expression "If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention"? It's a powerful statement. It can even be true. But sometimes it is really damn tiring being outraged. Sometimes being outraged is like staring into the abyss, and after a while the abyss starts staring back and that shit is creepy. Or scary. Or far too overwhelming for you to deal with every single day. Just because I'm not blatantly outraged when I should be, it doesn't mean that I'm not paying attention. It just means I have to put down the paper (turn off the TV, log off the internet) to try to convince myself that the world is not going to buckle and implode around me because of the terrible.
And sometimes it feels like that is how some people feel I should be. By birth or by position in life, or extenuating circumstance. I'm not denying anyone the access to their rage, but implying that I should be similarly caught in the mire that can be acknowledging the various ways that life screws over everyone, especially if they're like me and female/black American (or black in general)/of a certain age/insert whatever else you can think of... well. I know, okay? I know, believe me. And--and this part is important--reminding me of all the ways in which I am/could be seen as underprivileged does nothing for me.
Yes, it's facts, but frankly, it makes me feel like shit. Knowing is not half the battle sometimes; but knowing also means having that knowledge be in the back of your mind and it means having that knowledge gnaw at your conscience and make you feel inferior. Knowledge makes you doubt yourself, second-guess your dreams, consider settling and then looking back and wondering "what if" far more often than you'd care to.
So I don't go to that place sometimes. Sometimes I take my outrage and I go and shove it in a dark closet, because acknowledging it head-on sometimes makes me want to not even bother. Instead, I try to double up on hope or some sort of ridiculous idealism, something that will give me power and make me feel like maybe things will get better. I've always been of the mind that hope and idealism are not bad things because they are what propel people to do the good that is necessary to help to sustain life and to move on. But that's what helps me to make it through my day, my month, my year, my life.
Just because I'm selective about what I outwardly express my rage about, it does not mean that I'm not paying attention (or, for that matter, that I'm not mad). I'm pretty sure that those of you who read my posts routinely know that, but I just wish I could make that clear. Yeah, I like talking/posting about puppies and hot famous guys and My Little Pony and everything else that I'm willing to talk about at any time, but sometimes the things that enrage me the most are the things that I have to either talk about with humor or not discuss at all because otherwise I am going to go into this incoherent ball of angry (and me doing that is NEVER good. Ask anyone who witnessed me having a crying jag in school, not pretty). And I feel defensive about that sometimes, because it's like, what, does that make me less of a Mature, Functional Being if I can't debate the points about why X, Y, and Z are Wrong?
But we're supposed to acknowledge that everyone deals with things in different ways, right? So who's right and who's wrong, or are we all caught in some weird-as-hell limbo of not knowing unless it's blatantly inoffensive or blatantly offensive either way?
I wish I were more eloquent and funnier. That way, I could channel my frustration into making people laugh and then making them think.
In unrelated news: I might get paid tomorrow instead of Friday because of the bank holiday. And earlier, when I was still feeling much more blargh and congested, my dad told me stories about his time in the National Guard. I've heard some of those stories a dozen times before, but they never stop being funny. I've been thinking a lot about applying for an internship with This American Life or sending a story to Snap Judgment, and some of my dad's National Guard stories would be great for either one somehow.
This entry was originally posted at http://enamoured.dreamwidth.org/26186.html. Please comment there using OpenID.