Blind Spots

We regained our computer just this week. Our youngest toddler had body slammed and hipitty-hopped this lap top when closed and demolished its screen. Beautifully. Incredibly. Awfully. You google it, for a fix. Great videos are posted related to this and that for smashed monitors. They appear all kinds of creative with the colors, the arbitrary patterns as bright as wet paint. He was very pleased!

This was at the beginning of our longish trek from Florida and to our home state of New Jersey, just about a full month ago now. So while remote devices assure computer-like access at all times, I realize how much I’ve missed composing typed language at a full-size screen. The sentences themselves more full-size, along with each word tucked inside each sentence, and the sounds comprised letter-beside-letter. This is not to forget the mightily productive embodiments of our computer tasks, least of all! No longer miniaturized or painstakingly complex to perform, it naturally brings more to fruition. Yes? Muscle memory which is home-row-key, and a harbinger of flawless execution that all but wallops the swipe-type of today’s remote devices. These feelings are somewhat symbolic, emblematic? Probably. I’m in a genuine place of appreciation, and within it to the title of this post, I do my part to reflect on the event of “Blind Spots” of late.

The concept of my Blind Spots is something I’ve considered other times, and not knowing as much of why or how I come upon more murky scenarios, but recognizing the state nonetheless. We must attempt in order to arrive, and we must challenge in order to achieve; we know all of our trials and full-hearted efforts grant strength and afford our subsequent days many measures of higher faith, along with trust in ourselves.

Meanwhile, social climates across our country express shifts in what seems the ground itself. Many make salves of reflection. While the exaggerated pace is just that, exaggeration, what does it speak? For me, today, it duly reminds me of Blind Spots.

I want so much to feel we create a world we all deserve, and that our ideals are beacons ensuring solace, and quality to our lives together. America’s presidential election has spawned some feelings, and while some settle in and the halls of Congress regroup as they do, while local sentiments set about to rally and concede and rally and concede in truly varied ways, I find myself determined to maintain ideals. Like many. Unlike many, I am sometimes seeing too much the better around me. I am catching myself at this, too, and catching how and when such trusts are not so warranted.

Responsiveness prompt, behaviors reflexively attuned (think driving, I am), the amount of process required among common considerations in modern society, can bludgeon both temples. At once. People try to work around the customs of consideration as much as they might. It’s a discourteous time for many still, when the roost of social encounter may reflect Politic of determinate empowerment, with an age of technology creating more circumstances of misguidance and detriment via corrupt vehicles, and when some else would rather shut out than embrace it. When discourse thickens, and common sense escapes, people respond with shrinking their worlds to match world views, and it speaks to the frustrations of relation more than anything else in the world. With nostalgia harkening, with the age reflexively ignorant, how do people keep faith beyond slogan? And how do MORE people yet represent LOCALLY?

In confronting the scope of scapegoating among our lines, flustering to handle assured troubles of private machinations (same as it ever was, we didn’t start the fire, all that jazz) I must be blatantly exhaustive in degree of clarification, and I must forge forth as is said, and be sure to distinguish perspectives often. People can accept their feelings about their stressors, and yet in the conversant manner by which relations most often connect with one another, it is more often that folks overgeneralize highly-particular challengers among their personal experiences of modern overwhelms. To understand such scope, bridge a pattern you notice outside the usual suspects (you can do this theoretically, don’t play too much with any examples. Some won’t come close to appreciating breath you give them. Understand impacts, uphold good cause, and honor ideals of freedom under which all of society is obliged and sustained.) It’s an intuitive matter for enough people: being a good person. The term striations also comes to mind; keep a good mind to harmonies as you prefer, and disharmonies also, and fully test the manner in which springs of our societies really flex and wriggle.

Getting back into the thick: as an instance of Most Obvious in the meddling-grade, trickle-down of house-felt frustration, my mom may care to target my spouse. Often enough for sins her husband commits, debatably, 5-fold. Sometimes for conundrums none would think to persecute at all, for the questions of ill-timing to the extent of nonsense such presents, or for perspectives that emerge so unfairly stacked, it becomes an absurd statement-of-stress. She may as well just say: “I’m worrying. I hate worrying.” Yet expressions arriving there present all manner of clashes in age-old boundaries, or even propose outright unacceptable issues, unacceptable due to the complete lack of actionability they may even introduce. I could give examples. It’s of limited bearing. Point being: households hurt. When this happens, what is consciously, conscientiously, advisable? And THAT is maturity, en route to successful resolution if any.

My mom took the other route with a younger brother. Another brother being outspoken when a sometimes recipient of trickle-down resentment, he’s still become a pleasant example of moderation in the face of b.s., for lack of the substance such scenarios ever really provide. Because they are not cemented constructs; they are bonavide scenarios and recurrent trends, in the flight-pattern formations demonstrated in all human (i.e. latest version of tool-wielding primate) relationship at any time. Other examples include labeling, flagrant name-calling (everyone has moments, and none are so unique), and really, any false-lead made too sticky (like: the notion I literally take on the smell of kitchen staff my mom worked with for years, because in “true-trickle” fashion, and with high-reliability, she didn’t relish the association for herself. And will not lol!)

To credit, this is also a pattern of behavior my mother’s resented among branches of her first-family, as termed in family analysis: a cousin recounts a cooking mishap many decades ago, in a boundary-hedging obnoxious manner oft related to how outsized his body is to his self (I will add.) She feels berserkly livid about it, darts back, place-checks and in this effort there is all kinds of expression much more hard-felt than seems delivered. It has finally driven the question of WHY, a true question that landed in a Blind Spot for too long.

It need be understood, adultly: this is no diatribe of my mother. She’s mine own, I’m her own, and we’ve experienced a good amount as family, among many significant family, kindred and non-kindred relationships of life. Any of our parents are among the utmost of instructive relationships we have in life, by usual human nature. Even in absentia, some of our most pronounced life lessons originate with them at the kernel, indicating significance for our course and highlighting the cross of the sword, by which we penetrate and proceed into life’s future chapters.

Back to why, though. We think WHY is a child’s question, and maybe it comes down to none feeling certifiably adult enough to offer thorough answer to such global wonder. Considering causations, and refusing to relent to anxieties of any form of any time, it remains crucial to understand those matters our people must be facing, as well as why our people do not face them.

I consider grudges a form of natural disaster, really do. But I come to understand that a grudge can form, when one reaches full-capacity about something. That capacity may also relate back to the qualities of a person. Undeniably. The degree of discord, in and of itself, should not be denied either because in denial, it is not addressed at all. So it is the feelings, played as they lay so to speak, that matter most.

The Irish humours trailing through some generations, with siblings and I reserving an otherwise “goaled-for” childhood in middle America… all that time, it was Mayhem going on (with the capitalization.)

It was “What’s eating Randy Smith?”

And I have come to comprehend, the extent of trouble that’s come with my mother being 8th in a family riddled by horrifying substance abuse decisions. That it may all very well be a key, a masterclass portrait of the poison-laced fated face of America today. Perhaps because of some Blind Spots. My mom’s maturation had been forced, and yet, articulation of so many layers would hardly be comprehended by any let alone conveyed reliably by many. And the manner of frustrations! The word Coping, does not come close to understanding. In the sum of all of it, a masterlist such that it is, performing as no more than a diagram of ballroom dances. How unamazing is that? Yet, that’s the thud most are resisting in slamming against dynasties in American governance: the slide into ineffectual models within our functioning world. And the pushing of such onto others.

There’s nothing Norman Rockwell about it.

These are some of the personal ways society experiences the psychosocial reflections in “electoral swings,” as news analysis coins the markers of political process, and the Polity. More than all else, however, they should illuminate for us the navigational charts by which such habits fail us, and setback our country’s entirety.

Well, when does the egg-timer pop so to speak, and you have to fess-up to the overwhelming desire to create households that carry on? It’s a process, that requires confronting tendencies of Idealization as ever. Make America Great Again has not been a bad notion, and I wouldn’t consider it wrong-headed or demoralizing, in ways any citing good fortunes of Being American responded. In a seeming about-face, the reformist agenda of the Democratic ticket swiftly chunked away the slithers of its reform movement, and the prides of an ever-globalizing superpower glides with a fully rural flair while admitting more urbane ambition, and less Rust Belt initiatives.

So the question of Blind Spots lends to a larger question of Engagement. In the tradition of Americanism, many remain eager to express enthusiasm. Many remain eager to raise hell, and more than ever, people appear more strangely adjusted. It remains, too, that Good beats Great most of the time, and Great may be not much more than a big disguise.



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