Hi, folks. Not sure who will be interested in this, but since I've had a few messages since I've been on hiatus, I wanted to at least say hi, and let you know I'm still this side of the grass.
The fact is, I've been going through a bit of a hard time since just before Christmas. My closest uncle was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. We just got word today that he has been moved to hospice care, and is in his final days, perhaps hours. He's a great guy, with absolutely no interest in politics, preferring to spend his time with his Harley and his kids, who are a little bit grown up, but still too young to lose their dad. Left or right, you'd all have had a great time sharing a beer with him in his garage. Like so many others, it's hitting him way too young. Holy ****, but I'll miss him. It seems like yesterday we were having a great time, telling stories and sipping mushroom tea on a warm September night, or smoking a joint while he showed me the latest restoration work done on his old chopper. My uncle is an awesome guy to party with.
With all this going on, I have found myself utterly disinterested with politics, and the associated ugliness and fighting. Perhaps it would have been better to have stayed...the manufactured outrage and the affirmation realized by being propped up by one's own tribe does provide a certain comfort...a break from reality, given the theatre that politics ultimately boils down to, despite it's very real consequences. But as I wrestled with the inevitability of my uncle's death, I couldn't also contribute to the futility that political discourse has become. I couldn't muster the passion, nor the desire to either educate or obliterate. So many of our conversations are designed to hurt those we disagree with, over something we have virtually no control. I know, because I liked to think I was good at it...and in an anonymous arena, it was easy to find that fun. But when faced with real tragedy, the false urgency and purpose of political debate fizzles a bit. This is why I took a break.
My uncle's response to his impending death is much like his response to most things he isn't happy about, but can't change. "It is what it is." That is all he will say, before moving the conversation around to attempting to comfort those he will leave behind. I don't know what to call that. Courage? Stoicism? Love? I suppose these things all become easier in the face of inevitability, but I can't help but judge my own behavior and treatment of others against that standard. It's easy to be a dick. It's harder to get your point across with compassion and an attempt to understand what drives the disagreement you're battling through, from both sides.
I'll likely be back when all this is over. I enjoy you guys too much to stay away for long, and you need a mouthy Canadian to tell you what's what... And, frankly, this is about the only venue I have to express myself fully and completely - this is the first I've really put my thoughts about my uncle into any kind of coherent expression, and the ability to do that here means a lot to me. Thanks to those of you who checked in, I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you, and hopefully I'll be back soon.
All the best,
Nate.
The fact is, I've been going through a bit of a hard time since just before Christmas. My closest uncle was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. We just got word today that he has been moved to hospice care, and is in his final days, perhaps hours. He's a great guy, with absolutely no interest in politics, preferring to spend his time with his Harley and his kids, who are a little bit grown up, but still too young to lose their dad. Left or right, you'd all have had a great time sharing a beer with him in his garage. Like so many others, it's hitting him way too young. Holy ****, but I'll miss him. It seems like yesterday we were having a great time, telling stories and sipping mushroom tea on a warm September night, or smoking a joint while he showed me the latest restoration work done on his old chopper. My uncle is an awesome guy to party with.
With all this going on, I have found myself utterly disinterested with politics, and the associated ugliness and fighting. Perhaps it would have been better to have stayed...the manufactured outrage and the affirmation realized by being propped up by one's own tribe does provide a certain comfort...a break from reality, given the theatre that politics ultimately boils down to, despite it's very real consequences. But as I wrestled with the inevitability of my uncle's death, I couldn't also contribute to the futility that political discourse has become. I couldn't muster the passion, nor the desire to either educate or obliterate. So many of our conversations are designed to hurt those we disagree with, over something we have virtually no control. I know, because I liked to think I was good at it...and in an anonymous arena, it was easy to find that fun. But when faced with real tragedy, the false urgency and purpose of political debate fizzles a bit. This is why I took a break.
My uncle's response to his impending death is much like his response to most things he isn't happy about, but can't change. "It is what it is." That is all he will say, before moving the conversation around to attempting to comfort those he will leave behind. I don't know what to call that. Courage? Stoicism? Love? I suppose these things all become easier in the face of inevitability, but I can't help but judge my own behavior and treatment of others against that standard. It's easy to be a dick. It's harder to get your point across with compassion and an attempt to understand what drives the disagreement you're battling through, from both sides.
I'll likely be back when all this is over. I enjoy you guys too much to stay away for long, and you need a mouthy Canadian to tell you what's what...
And, frankly, this is about the only venue I have to express myself fully and completely - this is the first I've really put my thoughts about my uncle into any kind of coherent expression, and the ability to do that here means a lot to me. Thanks to those of you who checked in, I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you, and hopefully I'll be back soon. All the best,
Nate.
