The Epiphany
Well, I had an epiphany of sorts.
It's a matter of degree. And it's directional, too. I mean it can be envisioned that way: directionally. One doesn't go over to the "dark side" in one fell swoop, swervingly so, like all in one day. Rather, it happens incrementally.
And yes, we're all going over to the dark side. Gradually. And why we eventually go over to the dark side is because at the time of this change, it seems like it's all you can do. Only it's as if you've already done something worse, like you really weren't looking out for the other guy all along, you were just being a c or a jerk or whatever... and so later, you vow, "Things will be done differently from now on." Which is not a pleasant vow to be vowing.
And that's right about when you go over... to the other side.
If you'll give me a minute, I can draw a picture.
But, see, I've gone over to the dark side. So you can no longer trust me. I'm one of "them" now.
Am debating if drawing this picture will help clarify what I mean by my becoming one of "them."
One instance. One example. That's all you get. Here's what happened.
Criminy, I can't do it! I can't say what happened. Just even doing this--this post for this page--even doing this much and I can feel myself "going over" more and more.
It's not right, I tell you. I sooo was hoping to end up being one of the good guys, that my kindly nudges would only steer lost ones toward home and hearth, toward sweating glasses of iced tea, toaster cozies, mantles adorned with photos of smiling loved ones.
But no.
My nudging has been found to be lacking. Unacceptable. Not needed or wanted. And I don't like this feeling, this feeling of never wanting to nudge again.
"Yes, there's the light," is what I'm dying to say. But now, after this epiphany, I can no longer provide direction. Even if I see the light that some dear reader needs in order to continue reading, say, a Heimlich instructional manual while, nearby, someone else is choking, and it would appear that this needy reader is fumbling and can't tell where the light is... even in a desperate, dire situation like that--nope, I can't steer, I can't offer suggestions.
Because.
Because now I must mind my own business. Apparently, all along, I was just being a jerk or a nose-butt. Yep, I was just trying to make myself look good.
Sorry. I'll never flash my lights again, no matter how many times you venture onto the craggy cliff side of the fog line with your two yungins in the back seat, yungins who are not buckled up, and you're racing that last mile to the swimming pool, which isn't due to close for another seven hours, and there's no one there at the pool waiting for you, so it's not like you were late for any gosh darn swimming.
Sorry. It was wrong of me. I was telling you how to drive. My bad.
Now I can never help anyone ever again. I mean with my lights, flashingly so. And heaven forbid I reach for the horn! Oh no, there will be no honking either.
You have effectively castrated any and all of my good Samaritan tendencies. Now I must only mind my own business. Forever.
It is the end of hope. That world--the world where it's wrong to flash one's lights at someone and thereby suggest, "OK, tiger, there's the road, but you're not on it"--that world is one where onlookers only "help" fumbling parents by ringing up the children's services division. And in that world we're all screwed.
So what I did was wrong? It was wrong of me to flash my lights?
Is this the kind of world we want to live in? A world where it's wrong to help with a little flashing of the lights in a time of need? And so we instead write down the license plate numbers of these drivers who are endangering their kids? And after a few of these phone calls about your reckless driving, you get your kids taken away?
What kind of world do we want to live in?
"Minding one's own business" is one of the incremental ways where they get ya. But if you butt into someone else's crappy or illegal driving business with the gentle nudge of a flashing headlight, well, then you get your nose rubbed in it.
OMG, I've about had it! What was I supposed to do--was I supposed to just watch you crash and drive on by?
And of course the crux is that it's not that likely that that bad driver--or any bad driver--is gonna completely run off the road, followed by people actually getting hurt. It's not very likely, so I should just shut up and mind my own business. I see someone hurtling along, careening over the fog line at least three times in less than half a minute, and I should just put on my blinders and clam up about the whole enchilada.
Actually, epiphanies are supposed to be these great, wonderful, positive visions. They're supposed to be life-affirming and beautiful. Oops.
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