I want to not be afraid. I want the knot in my stomach and the clenched fist in my heart and the nagging in my head to be held at bay. But how?
Thoughts. Fears. Prayers. It’s all a lot of no good.
I wonder, on this final weekend where October and November meet, what exactly is the
to how I may accomplish that.
Notice, I do not place a question mark at the end of it because I know I, as a Canadian, that I can’t do much to help relieve myself of all I’ve been feeling. I know that some questions aren’t meant to be questions because I’m not going to get answers that suffice.
Not this weekend at least.
I try to focus on the light hearted fun of Halloween today, but I want to scream from world and North American events specifically, not some silly haunted house.
I Am horrified and I wish it were only horrified that my darling nephew loves his awful Jason, zombies, and vampires
Instead of the real and lasting decisions from world leaders and politicians and so many that stay silent, even with mouth hanging open wide in horror.
What is the answer to my dread at this point?
Halloween will come and go, tomorrow we’ll wake up having lost an hour, and I will wait to see what November brings.
All I can do is be here and watch what happens, all while I’m left viewing things out of my own ability to influence. It feels like slowly sliding down into a dangerously bottomless casm and I’m powerless to hold on.
If November brings worse news than I’m daring to really believe such a thing could happen, I don’t know what I’ll feel or do.
I’m listening to protest songs this weekend because I know art has power for good and for change.
Who are the gatekeepers who let the dangerous humans through?
Honestly. Seriously. I say to myself, and I sigh.
I hate to speak dramatically because I know it sounds alarmist and radical. Ooh, what a scary word is radical, but I feel fear pushing me into a future I don’t want to live to see and I can’t bare to keep it in.
So those who think I’m being dramatic, both those who know me and love me, along with anyone else who might come across these words, I throw my hands up and I sigh because I want to wake up and feel something else, anything else but what I’ve been feeling since #45 went from some ridiculous reality TV star to commander in chief.
I wrote about my fears last time, in those weeks before November the last time.
I wrote about the misogyny coming at #45’s running mate, last time.
I wrote about what giving him power, real power would say to him, would give him a green light for, last time.
I wrote about my, it turns out, justified fear, last time.
I wrote about all this, the last time, while Lenard Cohen passed away, while his words gave me comfort, even when I’d always felt unable to connect with his voice, no matter how iconic and how poetic.
I practiced my violin and went out to dinner, the night #45 was to be elected, still being free to openly eat dinner out. I saw the writing on the wall, last time.
I drank and I waited.
I had a successful time of it, these last four years, for me anyway and that all was a big deal to me. I did well and I am safe in Canada, but Canada is, four years later, far too close geographically for my liking.
I wish we could put a bit more distance between our two countries now, but our border is used by many, even still.
Any thoughts that a pandemic would show up, now, I did not think it would be now. I did think that, if given four years with such outrageous power, that would swell his head so intensely that we’d have to work even harder to dislodge him from a place he has no business (businessman though he is) in being.
I’ve never been a reality TV fan. In fact, I think the rise in reality TV culture got the worst person, unfit to be a president, where he is today. I could have gone on, rarely being made to think of him and I can’t tell you how disgusted I am at a country who would put him in such a position of power, and put me in this position of having him shoved in my face, in control of so much right across that border.
I have other things going on. In this country, I can go on and not let the elections of another country distract me all that much if I so choose.
But now you tell me how.
I want no trick-or-treat, but only to know the trick to not being afraid.
And now Sir Sean Connery, Bond, has died.
It’s odd to think of those who’ve recently died, RBG and now Bond for example. It’s strange to think of anyone who was here of late and now will not be here to see what’s to come, whatever it may be.
Today the organization I am a part of (the Canadian Federation of the Blind) is having an Eat The Fear Halloween event.
Of course it’s virtual, as covid is 2020, but it works because blindness and fear often go hand in hand.
This day is all about fear, fearing scary movies and gory costume choices.
This will go on until October ends, until those clocks jump back an hour, giving me one extra hour of fear while I wait everything out, but all the fears I have I would like not to have. I am not in a movie or in some dream.
I recently got into a travel writer by the name of Dervla Murphy, an Irish writer and chance taker and she and I are nothing alike.
She went places I won’t go. She did things I wouldn’t do. She biked from Ireland to India, took her young daughter overseas with her.
It’s fear that she speaks about that has had me reeling since I read her words. She does not fear any bridge until she comes to it. Oh, how to not fear the bridges I’ve not yet come to?
I have family members much better at this, better like Murphy, but not me.