The Fight

I once thought of life as a screen.

Shakespeare had his stage. Silverstein, some blue skin.

Entirely hidden.   A teardrop in a lake.

We all have our moments.  The daunting school hallway at ten. The basement party at twenty.  The busy conference room at thirty.

But I don’t want to hide.

I don’t have anything to hide.

Somewhere down the line of evolution, we established that our lives are meant to be competitive. We are meant to thrash and wrangle and bite. We are meant to be afraid of each other. I’d like to think we know better now. There are greater things that motivate us.

Then why don’t we act like it?

Life can be pretty scary. When all you hear on the news are gunshots and all you read about is a blonde Republican’s hair, why wouldn’t there be some fear?

I’d like to think we know better.

Competition separates us. We have isolated each other.  Our money. Our land. Our relationships. Our minds. Our hearts.

We all come from the same thing– we should know that now. We still don’t agree upon it.  Isolation still pulls through. When religion is supposed to bring love and it instead hides fear– it continues to isolate us. When education is supposed to open minds and it instead hammers the same ideas into us over and over, we remain locked in the past.

I’d like to think we know better. I’d like to think we can think better, act better.

I’d like to think that we are all just humans– not the money we decided to print, documents we decided to write, governments we decided to form.

We are all just people.

Yet I still feel the need to remind myself of that sometimes.

A friend of mine recently told me that being vulnerable, not wearing the mask, laying it all out on the table– it’s more than the fear we perceive. It means you don’t need to wear any armor. It means there is no one left to fight.

I’m ready to stop fighting.