You Don't Need a Weatherman

I’ll post Chapter Six of About Violence tomorrow morning. Today I find myself feeling pretty good, about my life and about the nation as a whole.

Sure, sure, I can hear the voices in my head too. “Good? Did you notice what it cost to fill the tank yesterday? Have you bought groceries? Did you notice the FBI has no problem determining that angry parents are domestic terrorists but can’t seem to imagine a motive for a Muslim gunman, attacking a synagogue on Sabbat, who demands the release of a terrorist? How can you say things are good?”

To understand how any of this can be good, we need to back up a bit.

I’ve written quite a bit about the nature of narratives and the terrible double standards progressives have inflicted upon us all, and my general take of a year ago has not changed. In fact, all is going swimmingly.

When Joe Biden assumed office one year ago, promises were made. He’d be a uniter. He’d shut down the virus, not the economy. He was just fine. Not infirm, but just Joe being Joe. Democrats would heal the divides and cure a corrupt and racist justice system. None of this had a snowball’s chance of actually happening. It was just word salad cranked out by a lapdog media who genuinely believed in their heart of hearts that they could shape reality with their wishes. Science, economics, the competing interests in the world would all fall in line if they only clapped hard enough. They would save the progressive vision (and the world) just as they had saved Tinkerbell so many years ago.

I knew it was a silly delusion then, and I said so. When I came off the trail I wrote:

Some of my friends, who have read my musings in the past, expressed surprise when I hit the trail and stopped writing any manner of political commentary. Many, I think, imagined that I felt defeated after the last election and overwhelmed in a tsunami of critical theory. The exact opposite is the case. I’ve discovered that the best argument is no argument at all. One can not reason when logic has been set aside. One can not play croquet with the Queen of Hearts and hope to win. The best tool I have, and my weapon of choice, is to revel in the day and enjoy the people and the beauty that surrounds me. When people look out the window and see a dystopia, my answer is to ignore their dire warnings and listen to the birds singing and notice how the trees seem to breathe when the breeze hits them. When I’m told that racism is everywhere and everyone is at odds, my best weapon is to smile, and to make other people smile, too. I remind myself that those clamoring for “justice” are incapable of fixing tomorrow. They are incapable of fixing themselves, today.

This had to be allowed to play out, without acrimony and without violence. I’m no economist, but even I knew that printing trillions of dollars that we do not have would cause inflation. I’m no biologist, but I know that mammals have two genders. I’m no lawyer or statesman, but I know that we either have one set of laws that apply to everyone, or we are lawless. It didn’t take a genius renaissance man do see that things that can not go on, don’t.

So, I understood, early last year, that nothing that was being proposed would make our lives better—more fruitful, more fair, more equitable—and that in the end, they would make things worse for everyone; and I understood that this was a painful correction that had to happen. The progressives would have to be allowed to try their hand and fail before we all could, finally, move on.

And I knew it would be painful for everyone, but it would be most painful for those who inflicted this upon us. As they lose stature and ratings and are openly mocked, the dissonance they feel is crippling. Introspection they have long avoided is now being imposed upon them, and the talking heads, experts, apparatchiks, union leaders, and progressive politicians and pundits are howling in frustration and rage. This is not what they expected and it is not what they demanded the universe produce for them.

However, it is exactly what I expected, and right on time.

So I’m not angry or frustrated. I’m amused. Life is a little bit harder, by my standards, but I have no illusions about my frustration at finding a product out of stock or suffering sticker shock at the gas pump being anything like the existential problems faced by the majority of people on the planet. Life is good.

We allowed the clowns to break out their big shoes and rubber noses and dance around for awhile, so we could all see and finally understand that they are clowns, and now we’ll all have to sweep up after the show.

My only wish is that we remember this time.

So be of good cheer! This is a passing squall, nothing remotely permanent, and saner heads will prevail. Soon, in another ten or twelve months, we will feel the correction happening, and we will know it is happening because the goofy voices that brought us to this place will become increasingly shrill and deranged. Ignore them.

The novel will resume tomorrow.

Peace.