As I Sit In My Chair

I sit in a chair at my grandparents house, tired. I am lucky to move and to think and to work and to rest. There is someone out there who doesn’t have feet, but is grateful for their hands. And I have them both. Though I will always chase a better present, it doesn’t mean I am not happy with the one I have. I am bored easily, as is every other human. So I prefer the risk of leaving a boring present for an uncertain future.

Through the shuffle of life, I am bound to fuck up. I try not to. But I do. Yesterday, as I was writing what you’re reading/ listening to now, I was informed that a light that had been on for two days - outside my grandparent’s house - is actually an alarm light. An alarm light to signal that a walk-in freezer, holding thousands of dollars worth of meat, has not been running. Today, at work, a cow needed a C-section to be done; her calf was too big. As her intestines spilled out of her body, death was imminent. We drug her suffering body outside of the barn where my uncle shot her in the head. Though I do not take fault for these fuck ups, and maybe no one can, life has its way of putting them infront of us. Who knows what will happen tomorrow, but I know life can be a lot meaner than it has been recently. So why am I to change it? 

As I sit in this chair, I try to find something to criticize, something I believe to be worth changing. I find myself to be right more than anyone else. I speak to you like I have something to prove. I am defending my pride, not my argument. My inner dialogue, in times of success, is my biggest hype man; but in times of failure, my biggest critic. Stalking the confidence in myself, usually follows its suffocation. This is a pivotal point in one’s action. I get mad when I do not know, and you do. Because you’re not better than me… even though you never said you were. How do I act when I am wrong? How do I act when I fail? Well, usually, not too good. But it is something I am trying to improve everyday. It feels shitty to be wrong. And I believe people’s reaction to fault has led to some of humanity's biggest downfalls. We have killed time and time again in guard of our beliefs. Any threat to them is threatened in return. Resulting is a wasting cycle. 

This is my criticism. And I am including myself in this criticism as well; I’m no better than the person who sat in this chair last. We have wasted so much life, both instantly and through years of stubborness, in humanity's refusal of being wrong. It’s amazing to see our past be proven incorrect every day, yet we hold what we believe to be true with inflexibility. I mean there was a point in time where humans burned women at the stake and swore them to be witches if they walked with their chin up in confidence. I hope most of us look back now and see how hysterical that was. Yet, even today, I see disputes over religion and land turn into fights. Not fights with fists, not even with knives, but with bombs and missiles and drones. We can’t even look each other in the eyes before we kill each other. Maybe if I saw the eyes of a man I was trying to stab, I would wonder why he wants to stab me too. Obviously we both think we are right enough to die for it. But what can you do from your grave?

I acknowledge I am young and naive and there is a lot to this mess I am unaware of. But I do not understand how conversation cannot replace war. I swear it to be possible. I have avoided my own wars by this. I have seen bar fights end in drunk hugs. I have seen minds change that were deemed unchangeable. I have seen the most beautiful blue sky turn into a stomach sinking grey, yet I talk to it. 

We have complicated life to such an extent that money, power, and pride have built a throne atop the bodies of those who have disagreed. This is a habit that is much older than anyone who is able to read or listen to this. And a habit that will continue in complacency. But it is a habit, like any habit, that can be changed. 

As I sit in this chair, I look into the fire. What a beautiful thing. I would love to see the face of the person who first discovered its existence. Fire is proof of beauty; and beauty is proof of hope. Just as fire can burn, it can warm, too. This fire gives me hope that all this commotion is just a step in the walk.