The Merge: Holding Two Apparently Opposing Views As Equally Valid

A Punk and a Monk, by Roger Stonehouse

Alright. Let’s unpack this shit.

This is a subject I am passionate about. It seems to me that many people decide, as Anakin Skywalker decided, that if you are not with us, you are against us. We are in the days of the empire vs. the rebellion. Frankly, when have we not been?

Since this is a stream of consciousness blog, I usually go with the first idea that pops in my head. Let’s start here. I have no idea how this will go. Don’t freak out.

It seems diplomacy has failed or has been forgotten. Our children are losing hope for a better future, are being told their future still relies upon their ability to go to college, make money, secure a job and a home, when, “today nearly 30 million acres of U.S. farmland are held by foreign investors. That number has doubled in the past two decades, which is raising alarm bells in farming communities” (NPR.org). These alarm bells are due to the fact that turnover of land to foreigners doesn’t guarantee the land will be used for food.

Frankly I hate the way this article was written. Or I do not like the viewpoint of the person being interviewed. It makes foreign people buying American land sound like that isn’t how America has operated since it’s birth as an English-speaking nation. It sings with all the hatred of those who fear other, who fear change, and who lament their own failings by blaming others. It also makes it sound like if Americans were to keep their land we’d do something better with it.

Children who were raised on the farm lose interest and sell to foreign investors to “cash out” the land as the article puts it. American children, therefore, are being taught to value cash more than the land upon which we grow food or farm products that can be bought for cash. Less people are seeking the work of creating, and are instead seeking to buy the creations. At least in farming communities I guess. Hell hand me a piece of land and I’ll be a ranchhand. Get me out of this fucking concrete jungle.

Probably, none of those things I just wrote are true except for the facts. We should make this an exercise. Where are the facts?

Where was I going with this…

Very few of the above statements are objectively true. They are interpretations of information presented to me through a perspective I don’t like the tone or message of. The facts are simply that 30 million acres of American farmland are not owned by America and that many farmers are older so many farms will be exchanging hands in the next couple decades with an expectation for foreign ownership of American land to increase based on recent trends.

A google search says America has 915 million acres of farmland.

Those are the facts.

Okay.

The rest of the article is fraught with emotional undertones of foreign invasion. “One of the main reasons that we’re watching this … is because once a foreign entity buys up however many acres they want, Americans might never be able to secure that land again. So, once we lose it, we may lose it for good,” says Ty Higgins of the Ohio State Farm Bureau in the article. “Foreign entity,” “American” and “secure the land” are words with a connotation attributed to the radical right since Trump’s election. Anything antisemitic, racist, intolerant, fenced in, walled up, contain the nation mentalities have all been attributed to the radical right.

Okay.

The article goes on to imply that the reason for fear is a potential loss in land used for food, which is inexorably tied to the financial and physical wellbeing of people in the state of Ohio. That is reasonable.

I cannot dismiss that this is a reasonable concern and that undertones of fear around appearing racist or xenophobic or radical right because I do not favor foreign entities owning American soil are something I’ve come to expect from the radical left which is notorious for holding anyone who stands against something that has been labeled a social justice measure as equal to a Nazi.

If I identify with this man’s concerns, the radical leftist might also conclude that I identify with the reasons for his concerns, which perhaps appear to be racist or even xenophobic at worst, patriotic at best through certain interpretations of the article.

This hypothetical back and forth seems crazy; who would argue over such petty semantics? But the nature of the arguments I’ve seen in the radical left vs. radical right and perpetuated by fear-driven or click bait or “hype” headlines has me wondering who wouldn’t. You’re with us or you’re against us, has been the message, and goddamn if the last few years haven’t felt like a cloud of fear hangs over my people. When Trump got elected, I heard colleagues talk about the inevitable outbreak of civil war. People moved out of the country in droves…remember? And people flee here for refuge and we turn them away in droves to protect our failed economy over the lives of our fellows.

Again, we’ve settled on the facts (If only it were that easy).

Again, these are:

30 million of 915 million acres of American farmland is not owned by America and many farmers are older so “two thirds of American farmland is expected to exchange hands in the next two to three decades,” (thirty years…that’s how long I’ve been alive) with an expectation for foreign ownership of American land to increase. Here is another fact.

” To be fair, U.S. farmers and corporations also invest in overseas agriculture, owning billions of dollars of farmland from Australia to Brazil…”

The article is about concerns that China is doing to us through the Smithfield Buyout what we have done to the rest of the world since we became it’s strongest militant force: That is, maybe there are other countries in the world who are deciding that it’s time to take what they want because they can the way America did and does.

So instead of calling the article stupid and deciding the guy being interviewed is a radical right asshole who hates foreigners and now I should hate him, we looked at the facts and discovered that the man’s concern, while his reasons for it are not the same as mine, is also my concern. We hold a similar view for very different reasons. Why would an American child, offered a farm, not understand the value of the offer? Why would an American farmer sell a farm to a foreign entity with no interest in farming the land? If this is a concern for our nation’s food supply, how have measures not been put in place to prevent such a thing?

Yes the pattern is alarming. No it does not mean I think foreigners should stop buying American land or that that’s a bad thing. Based on this article, I think some Americans should start valuing our land more. I think what we lose and are willing to sacrifice represents what we value. I believe American values as they are currently practiced in most public sectors are stringent, do not account for the natural human instinct (is even set on castrating this instinct) and I believe that every rule created or law or punishment beyond the very basic laws of treating ourselves, each other, and our environment with respect as their respective nature demands, is a further reflection of a widening divide in our ability to communicate and indicates a major deficit in our access to language with which to understand one another.

That or we are all a bunch of assholes who don’t care to understand.

That is, I believe the illiteracy or declining verbal intelligence of our people has caused and is causing a major decline in critical thinking, logic, tolerance, and compassion.

That or we really are a bunch of assholes.

Same concern. Perhaps different solutions.

Maybe instead of focusing on how many foreigners are buying American land, the article could have instead focused on why American children are no longer interested in farming American land. Or why Americans are not buying American farmland. Or it could be about the importance of treating our farmland better. The article, however, doesn’t appear to be a solutions piece.

It just is what it is–a piece that brings to light a shift in patterns of farmland purchasing through the perspective of a reporter and a man involved in the farmland biz. I do not have to agree with the perspective. But I read the article. I took the time to do that shit. Now I can hate it and the man and walk away with hate in my heart having not grown at all or I can learn something and move the fuck on.

I feel similarly about people. They are who they are. I can love them or hate them but my perspective ultimately influences my life more than anyone else’s. The perspective that keeps me the most peaceful while also doing the best I can to be kind and respectful and value life is the one I’m aiming to stay on. (Sometimes I find myself off course quite by accident. But I make my way back and move the fuck on).

I am not responsible for what is being created in the world by others, but I am responsible for how I interpret other people’s creations and/or intentions. If I am telling myself a story about other people that causes me to dislike them, I probably have some things I need to come to terms with about who I am for fear of people stems from fear of rejection and isolation which are against our instinctual survival instincts, those instincts we are castrating by working the nine to five office jobs with the back crippling commute and the super high stress 60-80 hour/week service industry gigs or public service jobs, civil servants, CEOs, students–It baffles me. Would people do this if they felt there were other options, or do people choose this?

On censorship: It generates fear. My imagination was much worse as a kid than any of the things adults hid from me. Every time I wasn’t allowed to watch a scene in a movie, I wondered what caused my parents or grandparents so much fear they would not let me see it.

I read a lot. I read three books at a time all the time. My head was always in a story. If I wasn’t reading one, I was pretending to be in one. When my parents or grandparents didn’t let me see something in a movie, my imagination provided the details. I’d read Crime and Punishment, and Hamlet, and Antigone, and I’d been to Sunday school, so I knew that fucked up things happened to people and the contents of the scenes I wasn’t allowed to see in movies were mild compared to the terrible things my fear conjured.

Fear is an amazingly convincing conjurer.

I walk my dog, Anya, to the park down the street where she stands on a patch of grass overlooking Puget Sound and barks at all the dogs passing by. She whines and whines, terrified and I crouch next to her and notice her eyes are looking all over the place without seeing. She didn’t know where to look. Just the smell of all the dogs was enough to make her afraid. After a while she starts to calm down when she realizes nothing is going to happen. Lately we can walk near other dogs without too much fuss.

I do not go to work when I’m having a hypomanic episode and again I am worried about losing my job. The next day I go in, still feeling off but well enough to work. I apologize and say thank you for understanding and offer information about what solutions I’m working towards and chef is like, just be well, or something and the fear goes away because I’m not going to be punished or cast out.

And maybe the symptoms are getting worse but I’m not drinking and my brain and body are healing and I am taking steps, actual physical action, to heal.

I might not seem very patriotic, but I do believe that America is the land of opportunity and that we have simply been taking opportunities for short term success which are leading us to a long term failure. I believe that what looks like failure is actually a restructuring of current infrastructure–grassroots movements and biodiversity farming and buying from the source and social justice movements are sprouting up like flowers from the rich ash of a volcanic civilization which has blown it’s top, spread itself thin, left it’s toxic cloud all over the globe. There appear to be two sides but we are one. The toxic cloud clears, the ash fertilizes the soil. We are beginning to see clearly. All is failing, but all is not lost. We are making room for the new.

Last night in the shower I am thinking about where I’m at with this mental illness, this witch gift. I believe that a healthy diet, exercise, and good relationships can heal this because I have seen it healed in such a way before. I have also come from the perspective that this is a gift which need not be healed and that looking at it like an illness makes me ill. Both are valid. Can adopting a perspective of seeing this as a gift change the way it manifests in my experience? Or did changing the story allow me to cope with the craziness while I just rode it out?

If this is a gift, what has it given me?

Adventure: I craved adventure as a kid and now my life is pretty much always on the move. I move every two years at least. DJ and I plan to do this–travel and cook. We’ve have a lot of adventures. We lost our car in the city once and found it in about an hour. Stranded ourselves on a beach after a six hour kayaking adventure (we were saved by some good friends). Road trips. Camping. Hiking. Drinking and drugs and parties. Many more nights at home relaxing and watching movies and cooking dinner. I cherish the plain moments as dearly as the suspenseful ones. I do not know what today will bring and part of me likes that feeling. I would like to express this sense of adventure more healthfully in my life.

Integrity: I hold to certain values though I’m not sure I could remember them all to write here. They arise in the moment and recall previous moments, but to recall them in this moment would take a long period of reflection. They are written down in journals which I’ve been writing since I was fifteen. There’s a trunk full of them in my room. Upon moving here, the opportunity to get paid much more for a job I would have like much less was offered to me, but moving here to cook without even trying to cook just because someone offered me more money to be an editor is the equivalent of selling my heart. Might as well be a common hooker if all I want to do is make more money. That’s the way I view it.

Some people tell me that this is a privileged way to view the world. I have followed this view into homelessness, poverty, addiction, and healing and it comes from watching a broke happy family become a broken, secure one. Call it what you will. I believe to follow the calling of the heart (and I don’t mean the romantic heart; I mean the part of me that knows the way to inner peace, the part of me that tells me how to live with myself) is to live my life with true purpose and meaning.

Spirituality: The stories I have collected by engaging with spirituality to guide me through life with cyclothymia are fantastic. At least, I love that there are bizarre supernatural encounters in my history. I love that some people are repulsed by the idea while other are like, “Oh yeah I totally believe in ghosts,” and I love seeing how diverse the types of people on both sides of the line are. It is wonderful to me that some people attribute these stories to my mental illness while others attribute the diagnosis of a mental illness to what was once understood as a spiritual gift in some cultures who would train people such as myself to be shamans or healers or guides. The classic chicken or the egg scenario. I fluctuate between both and sometimes hold both perspectives at once.

Mental illness or gift?

Both?

Does it matter?

If there is a problem, reach for the solution. I do not know if identifying myself with a label that is viewed as an illness has helped or injured me further, but I think it has helped if only because I am aiming for wellness where before I was engaging in wanton self-destruction fairly regularly.

My current story:

I have a mental illness that has been triggered into further volatility by the death of a friend and a big move, a new job, a new life, and a general lack of self-care in light of these events. The symptoms are worse than I have seen them in a long time and it’s probably a good idea to get professional help if things continue to get worse. I still have other options available to me.

My past story:

I am not mentally ill. This society is ill and mental illness in modern Americans is a product of our unwillingness to embrace certain human instincts which are not conducive to the capitalist model of productivity for the sake of productivity. I reject medication. I reject your notions of normalcy. Fuck the people who tell me there is something wrong with me. WE are sick. This is not a me vs you thing. I am a symptom of a much larger problem that you have the luxury of ignoring because your brain can apparently function just fine without proper nutrition ( or it never had the capacity to fully function to begin with) or you are willing to put up with a way of life that I am unwilling to tolerate. You are complacent and I am not and I will be broke the rest of my life if it means fighting what this country currently stands for.

The spirit perspective:

There are all kinds of things going on in this world that humans ignore because such things do not fit with the model of our current desired reality. Such things involve energy, other worldly beings, healing with the mind and heart and intention, healing with food, interconnection with our environment (we are not separate from it. Building a wall and hiding behind it does not separate you from the ecosystem; it just makes you function in that ecosystem as one behind a wall). We are far more powerful as individuals than many of us imagine and collectively…well, look what we’ve done. When we find we are powerful, we must be brave enough to rise to the occasion and intelligent enough to see that with increasing power comes the increased need for responsibility. More power means bigger consequences. Bigger consequences means less room for error. This is not a mental illness. It is a way of seeing the world which allows me to understand that the death of shamanism in modern culture has given rise to the idea of mental illness. Shamans were often what we would consider schizophrenic or bipolar. They also served as guides through the spirit world or intermediaries between unseen entities and the humans in their village. They healed wounds of the psyche and spirit. They still exist. There are many people today who claim to be modern shamans and Western modernist thought either accepts the role of the shaman as one that plays a necessary role in our human development or dismisses the shaman as someone looking for a way to cope with mental illness. I have passed on messages from ghosts to loved ones. I have exorcised ghosts from my house. I have healed with energy healing.

There is validity in all of these perspectives and there is a lot of bullshit in all of these perspectives, but each exists within me at any given time, sometimes all at once. It’s important, I think, to consider them all. I don’t know if reconciliation is necessary.

I do have a mental illness and the symptoms have gotten worse. The illness may be a product of my environment, a malfunction in my brain, or a gift that allows me to see things others don’t. Maybe it’s both and all. What matters is that whatever it is, I must be able to function. I might view medication as a sign of complacency, a quick fix, but if I’m a quick fix away from being able to function, I must be able to function in order to establish a routine which will allow me to heal naturally. There’s nothing wrong with a quick fix if it helps to achieve sustainable solutions to the problem. The Med Free Bipolar book I’m reading, for example, aims to help people who are currently medicated learn to care for themselves in such a way that being medicated is no longer required.

The ultimate goal: Establish a sustainable existence.

One possibility does not preclude the other. Both possibilities work together, collaborate, coincide in a broader perspective of reality which contains the all perspective. I believe the all perspective is this: We all believe in different things, experience the world differently, come from different backgrounds and desire a better world. A better world is one that practices understanding, cooperation between opposites, healing, kindness, values human life and all life on earth, and seeks to preserve it through sustainable means. A better world lies within your heart and your ability to be at peace in your own skin in such a way that you are at peace in your own skin wherever you go. There is a perspective in which we can inhabit different versions of ourselves in ongoing stories with multiple personality structures to embody the inter-dimensional nature of a human unfettered by the simplicity of labels, categories, and tribes. Proceed with kindness, curiosity, and non-judgment.”

“Where I lay my head is home,” Metallica said. I believe, as all things lead into their opposites, that we are most tuned in with the all when we are the most at home in our own skin. I believe, also, that being at home in one’s own skin requires emotional and mental work but is possible without having to change one’s external environment in most cases. If you believe that being at home in your own skin means that others on the planet must change themselves or cease to exist, or that your circumstances must change first or you must have more money first or they and them and that…then there are some pretty deep seated fears that have gone unaddressed in your psyche and you are acting from fear. By you I mean me.

Supercunt rebel me says those who act from fear are cowards. Is that not the definition of a coward?

Face yourself bitch. (Sorry I just love the word bitch. It’s playful.)

Stop blaming your problems on all the things and all the people and all the world and how it works. Start living every day in alignment with your values. Maybe you’ll find your values suck and the way you thought you should live is actually just a way to escape taking responsibility for anything (I say you. I mean me).

Also, I like the word cunt.

I like the word Supercunt even more.

Seriously though, it is amazing what happens when one decides that any inner turmoil is ultimately self-generated, that self-generated inner turmoil requires self-reflection, nurturing, and care, and that self-care is perhaps the key to sustainable happiness.

That and this:

I notice that since we’ve moved I’ve had time to reflect on my past in a different light. Accepting this story of having cyclothymia has allowed me to look back and see that a lot of pain and suffering in my life could have been prevented from seeking treatment. I would not change my experiences for the world. It is what it is and this life is mine to live. I love it all. But there are times I would have been a better friend had I known, or I would have trusted more, loved more, drawn better boundaries. There are times when despair dragged me under and I wonder if hope could have cultivated a different tone, a different outcome with similar results but less turmoil.

I look back at the people I have hurt and realize that while I may have hurt them on accident or because of this or that or the other, I still did that. I still must take responsibility for the fact that I could have done better, can become better.

I wonder if I have done this idea justice at all. The merge. Definitely not. There are so many examples unused, so many encounters with this idea in the past that the vague nature of this post is frustrating me.

We walk to a place to get lunch, DJ and I, each listening to music. I like these walks with our headphones in. There is a white splash of dried paint on the sidewalk where someone stepped with a boot. The concrete shows the boot print, a wet, grey stamp against the white paint.

Lately, my flaws stand out stark against my virtues as this boot print against the paint. I see the way I think I know more than I do and find this girl is kind of funny because she is convincing but full of shit at least half the time. Once I would have seen her and been disgusted by the truth of her against the person she thought she was.

But lately I know I am loved and this allows me to feel safe enough to see all of my flaws, to let them exist, to let me be in my natural habitat, to try to better myself, to forgive if I fail, to try again. It is not black or white. It is not you are good or you are bad.

You are human. By you I mean me.

I am human and it feels good. It feels good not to fear that people will discover I’m not perfect. Every one I’ve ever known has known that since the day they met me. How I had this weird idea that anyone could possibly think that I could be perfect or that I should live up to some expectation of perfection is related to the expectations of women raised in my generation and previously.

I remember the pressure to be perfect hanging over me like a sword dangling by a thread above my head–the more female I became, the larger the sword until it was just this internalized weight holding me back from doing anything I wasn’t supposed to. It disgusts me and is a little bit funny.

Perfectionism is a problem of the privileged but it is a problem I would wish on no one.

The freedom I have been seeking is the freedom to be myself. And the more I just am, the less fear I have, and the less fear I have the less I am like a dog whining about something she thinks is going to happen that never actually does. And the less I whine, the more the moment just is and instead of trying to figure it out or worrying about what will be I just start being.

Like that I feel normal.

The switch clicks.

Currently, interpersonal rhythms are not something that I regulate well or which come naturally to me. I still forget to eat despite knowing what I do about the influence of nutrition on one’s body and mind, despite having first hand seen food heal, I do not always eat in a way that promotes optimal functioning. I feel like half my memory is gone. We move and I forget what it is to take care of myself. This isn’t an alien planet. This is just a new city. Just a new house. But I feel forgotten. Like I have been plucked up out of a story and thrown into a cage in a different universe.

When I got in trouble as a kid, I didn’t give a fuck. Stories have always been my escape. I would tell myself some story about being Daniel in the lion’s den or being a ninja training to be invisible and I was a million miles away even though I was in the same corner with my nose against the wall. Adulthood brought me down to reality a bit more and I wonder if this feeling of being thrown into a cage mimics this shift from childhood to adulthood. I do not wonder at all that I like the occult.

Anyways, when the normal switch clicks on, it’s like I lean against the door of the cage only to discover it’s been open this whole time. This might be the most frustrating part of cyclothymia. It’s like the solution seems so simple, the depression just melts away in an instant, and I wonder what I’ve been fighting against for the last four months, if it was even real, even valid.

Yes. I must remember that yes it was real. Yes it’s happened before many times and will happen again and no it is not just going to go away even though it will leave me alone for a couple months.

It’s been two days and I feel pretty sane. Pretty happy. On the second day I have a cider at a bar and feel fine. Don’t backslide just because you feel good now. The lack of alcohol is part of your good mood. Clarity feels good.

I’m normal. A slight leaning towards wistfulness and depression that makes me very hipster sometimes colors my worldview. We walk with our headphones in, as I was saying, and the playlist is Nina Simone’s Feelin Good and I’m fuckin right as rain.

This could last half an hour, two weeks, two months at most. I will take it. I am grateful. But just because I feel good now doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to just go back to doing whatever I feel like. This last episode was a wake up call. The potential for deep sadness and terrible illness lives within me and prevention is part of the cure. That being said, living in fear is not the same as prevention.

If I’m blessed enough to feel “normal” today, I’m blessed enough to work towards a brighter future in any way I can. That still means caring for myself and others.

The normal periods are the ones in which I have historically denied having a mental illness, and then something happens or the depression or anxiety hits and something happens as a result of those and I blame the circumstance instead of the episode. To be honest, it is still not clear to me how much of life has been a result of circumstance or results that were from my circumstances. All I know is I can do my best to aim for better results by bettering my circumstances.

For all the world I do not know what that means except taking care of my health and being kind as well as I can manage.

It feels good, all the sudden, to justhooman. It feels good to watch other people walk through the world. It seems I have been walking around staring at my own feet, afraid of what is happening and what will happen without noticing that so many other people are doing exactly the same thing. So many more are just living their lives. Some are doing that well. Even they fuck up sometimes. The stupid things people do are hilarious. Or sad. Or both. No amount of telling myself this stuff while I’m depressed really changes the depression. If anything it just pisses me off because depression is chemical. Mine is anyways. That’s becoming pretty clear.

Reading was something I did to escape into an adventure as much to escape from life. It taught me so much about empathy and compassion and understanding but also distanced me from people in such a way that I was not understood and did not understand. It was good and bad for me.

Where do we draw the lines? When does this become that?

When does self-improvement because self-mutilation?

When do social justice movements become fascist regimes?

When does conservatism become totalitarian?

When I feel normal, does that mean I was just going through a rough time? Or was the rough time because I am not normal?

This is not the first time I’ve felt the air clear. It is not the first time I’ve made it through a depression, looked back on the hard times and said, this was the path I was meant to walk. If none of it had happened, I would not be here and I would not change here for the world. If I wouldn’t change it, am I ill?

It is perhaps the first time, however, I have decided that spiritual gift or mental illness, I still need to change the way I live my life. I am still going to pursue healing despite the fact the cloud is lifted. I’m still going to value the clarity of mind from not drinking. I’m still going to entertain myself with the things in my life that I once loved and stopped doing because I stopped valuing being for the sake of being. I don’t remember the last time I read a book all the way through.

I am going to get somewhere by being here in my own skin. I am a million miles from where I was two days ago even though I’m still sitting in the same spot, typing on the same keyboard.

Do we fear what we don’t understand because we fear our own stupidity?

Does admitting we might only know a part of the story make us wrong?

Does stupidity really have to sound mean?

Is being wrong all that bad?

For all the world I hope I’m wrong about a lot of things.

Can it not just be something accepted, something endearing, something we make room for: human error?

Perhaps moving here to cook and heal alongside the man I love and my dog has allowed me to cast off for good any expectations I may have had for something else and I am so relieved by this. We have a good life here. All the turmoil is gone when I remember that I am not expected to do anything more than be.

It feels good to embrace this life for what it is. It feels good to remember I chose a humble life.

And yet a part of me understands that I told myself the same story during the depression and there was a very alive part of me that would scream back, yell out, say no it’s not enough, no you’re not good enough, no something is wrong. It is chemical and it is visceral. A part of me understands that perhaps there is a way to prevent this voice from returning quite so fiercely as it did this time around. There’s a part of me determined to conquer that bitch just knowing there are people in the world who go through life never meeting her. There is a part of me that loves her too, for there are things I value that I wouldn’t if she had never dragged me down.

It is the normal episodes which stand out against the paint like a boot print, and I realize that the normal episodes are less common than the ups and downs. I realize, also, that the story I am telling myself about this life is my responsibility to craft. There are facts and then there are perspectives, lenses, through which to interpret these facts. I can read to gain perspective. I can watch people. I can be present. Every time I reach for perspective and understanding instead of walling myself off because of fear, the possibilities become more endless. And the more endless the possibilities, the more opportunities arise. Improving one’s ability to imagine possibilities other than the possibilities ones instincts and circumstances have been trained to conjure (hello fear the conjurer) allows one to see opportunities to other modalities of existence. But it’s important to start with the facts. So I will start there: I have a mental illness.

And I will grow my perspective by learning other people’s perspectives on this, I will allow others’ perspectives to influence my own, to influence how I work with the facts, to influence how I heal. I think that confronting the unknown and that which I fear can create positive results beyond anything I can currently imagine.

I mean, I’ve seen that happen from all perspectives. Humans do stupid things, but we’re really smart too. We can get ourselves out of this pickle I think.

Anyways I’m just rambling at this point. It felt like there was something more…I feel like I did not hit on exactly what I wanted to hit on but circled around it with vague weird examples.

It is what it is.

Moving the fuck on.

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