Off and Running… Somewhere

2022.

A number that would have sounded wildly futuristic back in, say, the early 70s. But it’s here. We’re 13 days in now, and it seems like we’re still traveling in the fast lane, either on a road to nowhere or on some sort of collision course.

We’re almost two years into a pandemic, the caseloads and hospitalizations currently the worst they’ve ever been, though maybe there’s finally a light at the end of the tunnel. The earth seems to be telegraphing some not-so-subtle hints that it is ready to be done with us, ready to flick us off its skin like so many blood-sucking mosquitos.

Donald Trump in all his sulking ugliness is still lurking, eternally sore over losing bigly to Sleepy Joe in 2020. The country seems to be lurching toward civil war again. There are still a lot of people sleeping with their loaded AR-15s and a stunted understanding of freedom, who still love Trump and prefer things provincial and simple and white.

On a brighter note, we are awaiting the full use of the James Webb Space Telescope, recently fully deployed and getting closer to its L2 position, orbiting almost a million miles from Earth. Who knows what it will reveal about the universe? $10 billion to look further backwards in time. It’d be nice if we could learn something helpful after spending all that money. Quite the achievement, though. If it works.

I know I am a cynical Eeyore, and there are few things less attractive and less interesting than a person who seems to derive pleasure from always waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I look around and see and hear things that make no sense to me. That infuriate and sadden. That serve only to confirm the existence of people who are incapable of growth, who prefer to shoot first and dispense with the questions altogether.

I see a world crying out for redemption and healing. So in the meantime, I’ll try to be more grateful for the occasional signs of intelligent life.

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