Here I am in a new place. The travel itinerary for the last year, 12 months – not calendar, has been one of exploring roadside attractions I had visited previously or those in which I certainly had no interest.
Severe, suicidal depression was the first stop. I am so familiar with depression, I was sure it would be a short walk through. Instead, I went deep into the caves, experiencing things I’d not seen previously.
About the time I noticed the spelunking had really increased my chronic illness, fibromyalgia, we all got on the coronavirus ride. Then outrage exploded when another BLACK MAN WAS KILLED by Chauvin’ knee on GEORGE FLOYD’S neck for minutes, as Mr. Floyd and onlookersbegged for his life, pleading with Chauvin to let George breathe.
Well, we’re still on the COVID ride, still no meaningful reckoning with the racial injustices suffered by our fellow Americans, met instead with chemical spray and a president’s plan to dominate protestors. We have no idea when this wicked rollercoaster will slow, much less stop.
Now, as the end of this election approaches, just one week from tomorrow, the rollercoaster cars are trudging slowly to the peak of tension and anticipation. It feels as though time is suspended and we’ve caught air…… I’m afraid of what happens when we land.