Rollercoasters & Democracy

Everyone sucks and nothing is worth doing. This is my brain’s message to me at this very moment. It’s as if my shoulder angel is French and has gone on its third strike this month leaving shoulder devil to do all the heavy lifting of messing with my psyche.

The sun is shining brilliantly, the crisp smell of autumn hangs in the air, I have a coffee in hand, work is fine, social calendar is healthy, and yet this is me:

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I’m begrudgingly stomping my way around the aisles of my to-do list like a child who didn’t get his favourite candy at the store, threatening a tempestuous tantrum to virtually anyone in my path. Even from the confines of my desk, every time an email comes in…


At this rate, I could really give Donald Trump a “temperament” worth talking about.

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The ridiculousness of that debate makes me panic-giggle too President Clinton.

Remember when people called communism a failed experiment? Is it democracy’s turn to explode magnificently into a plume of private emails and non-ironic trucker hats, leaving behind a deluge of Bern victims?

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Sexist, racist, would-be dictators aside… I shouldn’t be grumpy. And yet here I am, with ice daggers for eyes, waiting for my next victim (which as a rule, is usually myself). I’ve occupied this space before. Generally, I mask it under a perfume of forced smiles and small talk, but now I’m wondering… is there value in stewing in fleeting emotions? Like a bruise or a headache, aren’t emotional shifts also indicators that your body or your mind need a little extra attention? Perhaps you’re dealing with an event, a person, a situation that goes against the grain of your value system. Isn’t it better to listen to the angry indication that something isn’t quite right and identify the rotting source before it uproots everything else? Maybe, just maybe, if all of us were a little more inclined to productively listen to our anger or frustration, we could have a more engaged populace that demands to be heard and contributes to building more equitable systems rather than trudging about miserably complaining. As is, the anger festers and suddenly Britain and the EU go through a nasty divorce, America’s toxic racist mold poisons an already-divided nation, and choker necklaces make a comeback.

Even as I write this, I’ve taken some time to identify where my irritation lies, and I can feel the dark cloud lift. I now know which arrow to pull from my quiver and where to aim in order to realign my reality and expectations. Shoulder angel has come back from the picket lines, satisfied that I’ve done my best to make her job easier. Until next time…

Who wants cake?

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