Does this blog have the freedom to be whatever it wants to be? Anonymity has a kind of shackled freedom when personal experience is what gives depth and substance to the alien echo of frustration.
So, what is this blog really? It is meant as a dump of my thoughts. The name, boiled smart frog, meant to be ironic. For if the frog is boiled, then smart is moot, no? And so we move forward…
Two weeks ago, I was pretty convinced that there was a good chance I had under a year of life left. For someone as young as myself, this is not a realization that came easily. And just as quickly as I had finally come to terms with that fact, it seemed as though the opposite were true. That the cancer would finally lose and life, as normal as possible, could continue.
I couldn't be happy.
You can't just switch that quickly. I was still transitioning. I was simply incapable of believing any other scenario, because the hardest thing to believe, that I would indeed die, was finally absorbed. As difficult as that is to accept, it is even harder to shed. And as I try, there were other developments that suggest that life may still be in peril. And so it continues...
For almost a year now I have ridden this rollercoaster, but this latest swing has struck me dumb. In the wake of chemo, surgery, and civil disappointment, I lay in a room waiting my fate knowing I can do nothing. Nothing to aid or defeat my cancer. Nothing to move or shake the present political climate. Nothing to help perpetuate a cultural shift that western civilization has been waiting to make since democracy was an idea.
One thing is for sure… My anger is not owned. It is not owned by the cancer, nor the political climate, nor line cutter at the local taco bell. Oh, things infuriate me. But my anger exists because I'm angry. Period.
When someone tries to tell me what their opinion is on what proper nutrition is, I get angry. When I think about how they are repeating the things they have heard, things marketed to them, things told to them by friends to reinforce unproven truths without spending a day tracking their diets in a food diary to really see what meat and diary does to your overall daily nutrition - well - that should make me sigh… cry… laugh… but I shouldn't really be angry, they are not affecting me in anyway. Whether you are perpetuating the falsehood that a plant-based diet is a radical, unhealthy lifestyle, or pushing the exaggeration that meat eating is a body killing evil act, you are rightfully clinging to a belief, because at the end of the day we must choose. Even if its just for that day.
And when someone tells me that that damn Obama is really screwing things up… or worse, that he hasn't done enough for his supporters… I get angry. Really? Sigh...cry...laugh. But anger isn't necessary.
When I see our culture slowly sliding into a state of excess, corruption, and self-righteous mediocrity, so similarly like our fallen ancestors… I get so, so angry. But does it truly matter?
Dying this year, or in a hundred years, will not change one simple fact: I am a micro moment in a small living system floating through an infinite abyss. The game of statistics does not play into the story of the universe, because when the amount of samples is infinite, the probability is always 100%. This need to make mine count, my society, my life, my country, my family, my species, my planet, my time. I want it to be apart of me somehow and for me to be apart of it.
And I am.
But never like I want it to be.
Even personal fame is finite. Historians with crushes are usually the last of the folks to remember fame, then it dwindles out with the rest. The only thing that survives, if it survives, is an idea that is far from the real entity. Jesus the idea has survived, however the man who tried to start civil conversations with the tax collectors while promising love to the poor as a resolve to the hardened times - that man has been lost, bastardized, and taken without context. Even by those with the purest intentions. Almost a worse fate. Fortunately, even he will be simply a footnote as a God worshipped by that civilization that existed at that time, and perhaps the real Jesus will finally rest easy, if there is such a thing as RIP. God, I hope so, he certainly deserves it. At least I think so.
The wise, in my mind, always portrayed a state of calm. No outwardly over emotional moments. Anger does not exist to the wise, because the wise know the productive value of anger is zero and the justification is less.
The wise understand that even if they do not possess the ability to empathize with an aggravating situation or entity, that does not mean that there isn't the understanding that empathy could not be achieved or deserved by that situation or entity.
The wise understand that no matter how evil or sinister an action may be, they could have performed the same action under the right circumstances.
The wise realize that we are a collection of memories and learned behaviors. That a stroke can change a personality, an experience can change a person, and a person is never static nor a single character. They also understand that the world around them look upon it with flat eyes. Forgiveness and dynamic characters only exist after hard-to-gain time.
I have yet to meet the wise. I am not wise. I am angry. But I'm working on it.