American culture, American People., Culture, faith, family, Life, Logic, motivation, philosphy, pop culture, psychology, Society & Culture, Sports, Uncategorized

We Hope for Baseball

Image result for baseball

The collective emotional roller coaster our homes, communities, states, nations and world have experience over the past week cannot be quantified with words.

But damn if it’s not like me to try. Leave it to a pandemic for me to sit down and type my first entry in so long I cannot recall.

The world around us moved so fast last Wednesday that it seemed unreal. The NBA was suspending its season?

Huh.

Thursday saw universities shuttered, college basketball conference tournaments cancelled, high schools move to eLearning.

Um, what?

Friday felt like the bottom fell out, the cancellation of the NCAA Tournament, a new kind of March Madness. Spring sports cancelled – including the College World Series in June – throwing eligibility questions and team rosters for the 2020-21 season into a quagmire that didn’t feel so giggity giggity.

And we thought the news was all filled with doom and gloom before?

I told my wife Friday afternoon that my brain hurt. I couldn’t comprehend much more that day, think of any more angles to cover or next steps after the next steps. I needed wine tequila and a hoodie.

2020 will be forever remembered as when “Social Distancing” became apart of the American lexicon, when everyone from the age of two to 92 could recite proper hand washing protocols.

It will be remembered when we learned everything in our economy is connected, that an essential freeze halted us in our tracks. We quarantined, we worked from home. We overreacted, we under-reacted.

We hoarded toilet paper.

Everything has effectively been put on hold. Youth sports, book clubs. Going out to dinner, a family cookout with grandparents. Spring break. Every Disney Park closed for weeks, every zoo and museum closed. No choir concerts, no parades, no church in person, no events really of any kind.

Everything. Has. Stopped.

But have we learned?

Nothing we didn’t already know.

That faith, hope and love are some good things He gave us, and while the greatest is love, the most important might be hope.

We need to hope we can get back to normal before July. Before June.

We’re holding out hope for high school baseball in our home state. My son, a senior, is a part of a team that won a state championship last season. His friends from his travel teams, scattered across the state, all want the chance to play before college. Most won’t get a chance to play in college, but it is not about that specifically.

It’s about Senior Night. It’s about Prom. It’s about hearing your name called for the final time. Crossing the stage with a diploma at graduation and graduation parties of definitely more than 10 people.

It’s about all we’ve taken for granted. The commute to work filled with podcasts that have fresh content about sports, movies, politics, whatever. Seeing our co-workers, sitting face-to-face in meetings, teaching in a classroom filled with people.

It’s been merely a week, and even the introverts like me don’t think we really understood how significant social distancing could be to the fabric of what it is to be American.

Maybe this is a chance to re-learn, to re-think the daily life and throw our routines out of whack. Are we adaptable? Are we unbeatable? Can we turn a negative, a 100 negatives, into a positive? Are we just catch phrases, or can we rise to the challenge and endure?

We’re always taking about how busy we are (I’m looking at, well, all of us).

Well, how about now? Time to read. Time to listen. Time to think. To take a walk. To get to know our spouses and kids again. To find a way to serve a purpose greater than ourselves.

Maybe this is our wake-up call.

What is truly important, and what is not.

Sure, we’ve clung tight to family. Personally, we haven’t turned into The Shining family around here…yet. And we appreciate our home, our jobs, our friends and our freedoms.

But hope, man.

Hope might be the most fascinatingly human emotion there has ever been. And we need it more than ever.

No matter your beliefs, your political allegiances, whether you call this a hoax or are digging your doomsday bunker as I type, this is history happening for better of worse in real time.

It is a stark reminder we are not in control, not even a little bit, not even at all. But like any good book or movie (that we’ve all probably re-watched or re-read three times by now), hope is a good thing.

It could be the hope we’ll stop losing our ever-loving minds. Hope that those who aren’t taking it serious will wake up to the fact that COVID-19 is a bit more threatening than we thought a week ago, or even a day ago.

Hope is why Hallmark is running Christmas movies in March. It’s why Disney+ put Frozen II up months before they were supposed to. It is why classic sports re-runs are a welcome distraction. Why Tom Brady going to Tampa Bay and leaving New England was something else to talk about for a few hours.

Because we do not know where this going. We do not know the impact on the economy, on our jobs, on our daily lives yet. And we won’t fully for some time.

But we hope.

We hope for the sick, we hope for the cure, for strong leadership, for our friends, for our industries, for our kids.

We hope for an appreciation of the life we lived two weeks ago and for a future that might be close to it.

So, yes, we hope for baseball in this house. And we hold out that hope, because without it, well, it just makes the brain hurt.

Stay safe. Stay informed. Stay good to each other.

Stay hopeful.

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American culture, family, Parenting

Bowl Season

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As I’ve mentioned in this space before, my wife and I have five children. People occasionally (read: all the time) give us the fake “wow, that’s incredible” (read: what are you, insane?) expression when told this.

Sometimes, for kicks, I want to look them dead in the eyes, and as emotionless as possible want to say, “Yes, we are insane.”

And then just turn and walk away, smiling in a way they can’t see, leaving them wondering if I’m kidding our not.

The truth is, we all make our own normal. And there are days when I’m not sure if we’re insane or not, too.

We’re not perfect, and we do not always resemble our Christmas card collage of happy, smiling faces in a warm autumn sunshine. Some days I feel like Michael Keaton’s Bruce Wayne talking to Jack Nicholson’s Joker when dealing with our children:

You wanna get nuts? [Smashes vase] C’mon! Let’s get nuts!”

But the Mrs. and I wanted this, even when a simple cold or flu bug can ravage our house like a plague out of the 1300s.

Take for instance just last week, when my wife had to work one evening and was not home, leaving dear old Dad (me) to put a quarantine order in effect that would have made JFKs during the Cuban Missile Crisis look like a polite suggestion.

You see, I disaffectionately (thesaurus says that’s not a word, I disagree) refer to this time of year as “Bowl Season” – and it isn’t because of the college football postseason games. No, it is bowl season because children must carry a bowl with them in case there is a rumbly in the tummy.

Here is a scene from our latest episode of Bowl Season:

Me: “No one is allowed in the family room! Prisoners — I mean, those sick — are to stay in their designated, already infected areas of habitation until the ban has been lifted.

6-year-old (we’ll call him Brooks, since that’s his name): Daddy, I don’t know what any of that means!

Me: Not you buddy, you’re fine.

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2-year-old attached to my hip (we’ll call her The Dominator, a not-so-gentle play on words for her given birth name of Dominique): [inaudible, yet stern sounds, mimicking me, pointing at her infected brethren].

(In this scene, she plays my ferocious No. 2 in command.)

9-year-old (Dryden) from the top of the stairs: Dad, I feel better, my stomach doesn’t hurt, can I come down?

Me: No! You must rest and keep this to yourself!

11-year-old from her room down the hall (Brielle): I feel better too, can I come out?

The Dominator: [inaudible, stern sounds and more pointing, this time towards Brielle.]

Me: Brielle, listen to your sister, she said to stay in there!

We transition to roughly 30 minutes later, as Dad, Brooks, Dominator and Cole – 15-year-old high school sophomore – are cleaning up dinner. Brielle has snuck into the living room, sunk down into the couch and covered herself with blankets as to not be detected.

Dryden (again for the top of the stairs): Dad, can I please come down, I feel fine!

Me, softening after a glass of wine: Ok, but please get a bowl in case your stomach hurts and you can’t make it to the bathroom.

(WARNING: foreshadowing alert)

Brooks: Daddy, do I need a bowl?

Me: No buddy, you’re not sick.

Not five minutes later…the sound of feet hitting the floor hard, running, a short period of silence…then…horrifying sounds from the hallway of you already know what hitting the floor.

Everyone freezes. The only sound is that of the running water from the kitchen faucet, where dishes were being washed. No one blinks, but eyes slowly shift to Dad. Brielle, quickly moves toward her bedroom, sensing the coming storm. Dad slowly steps toward the site of the damage, looks around the corner and his deepest fears are confirmed. Dryden has thrown-up all over the floor.

 Me (sounding like the Dad in A Christmas Story when the fuse blows): Don’t ANY-BODY move! Stay away! Dryden, why didn’t you get to the bathroom?

Dryden: I couldn’t make it!

Me: But you stopped running!

Dryden: I couldn’t run anymore, my stomach wouldn’t let me!

Me (ignoring the fuzzy body physics from a 9-year-old): Well, where is your bowl?

Dryden: I didn’t get it!

Me: WHY!?!?!?!

Dryden: Because I felt fine! I’m sorry!

Me: I don’t care that your sick – that came out wrong – I care that you are sick, but I can take care of you better if you keep it IN A BOWL AND OFF THE FLOOR! BACK TO YOUR ROOM AND GET A BOWL!

Dryden shuffles off, finally takes a bowl, and fires off a final shot from the top of the stairs:

I feel better now!

Me: Not a chance, to your cell – I mean, room!

Brooks: Daddy, I have a bowl.

Me: Brooks, dude, you don’t need a bowl.

Brooks: But I wanted to be ready in case I get it too!

Cole: He’s sucking up to you!

Me: Well, then he’s learned quicker than you did.

Cole: [laughing] That smells terrible.

Me: You either clean it up, or you take your sister so I can.

Dominator: [standing on top of the kitchen island, looks at Cole, laughs and smiles] I poop!

Cole: [seriously seeming to contemplate which is more difficult] I’ll take Dom.

–Cut to a Mr. Clean commercial, because I’m all about well-placed ads.

I spent the next 10 minutes cleaning up the toxic wasteland, with a self-made hazmat suit, gloves and a scarf I fashioned into a breathing mask. For a moment, I envisioned myself as a warrior, ready to do battle, looking something like this:

Hazmat_suite_ingame

I then spent the next 45 minutes mopping the entire hardwood floor and wiping things off like a hospital room.

When my wife came home, she asked how the evening went.

I simply, methodically recounted the events of the evening like a court transcriptionist. I might have been on a second glass of wine at that point. She laughed.

Because what else can you do but laugh? We so often forget what it was like to be kids. As adults, I’m trying to figure out how to not take it so seriously. I fail often.

But I try. And really, that’s the ultimate lesson to our kids. Just try. Just keep going. And laugh a little at yourself. There just is not enough of that – trying and laughing – left in the world right now.

And maybe, that is of one of the reasons we had so many kids.

And maybe, that makes us a little insane compared to everybody else.

And maybe we don’t want to be like everybody else.

Because where is the fun in that?

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American culture, American People., Culture, Media, Philosophy, Technology, United States

Epilogue

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“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” – Henry David Thoreau

Several weeks ago, my oldest child turned and asked me a question I’ve been secretly asking myself for months.

“Why haven’t you written anything lately, Dad?”

I stared blankly back at him, my mind firing off excuses – and truths – as to why I had not done any writing since January. I wanted to give a good answer, something philosophical perhaps.

“Just haven’t, buddy,” I said instead.

Wouldn’t Hemingway would be proud of that eloquent answer?

The truth is I kind of already knew why I had not put anything in this space since I bombastically quit Facebook in my last prose.

In fact, I had drafted about five or six pieces in the months since, but deemed them all too heavy, too poor in quality or just gave up out of lack of motivation to finish a post.

I had something on the horrible events in Las Vegas and our loss of humanity in these senseless moments, I had a piece on grief, a piece on Fake News, and one about all the trivial pursuits we chase in life.

And I shared them with no one.

If I’m honest with myself, the lack of writing over the past year is largely due to feeling like all I’d be doing is repeating the same narrative I’ve spent the last five years writing about: society, social media and the loss of identity (both self and national).

Was this writer’s block, or just boredom?

And then it struck me: This blog was really more like a book – or at minimum a long thesis – on a specific topic with chapters done in real time over the previous four or five years as posts. It’s garbled and not in actual hard copy form, and would require massive amounts of editing, a publisher and probably a hundred other things, but look! I wrote a book!

And any book, as such, deserves an epilogue. A director’s cut outtake of the proceedings. So, let’s let this entry serve as an epilogue to this site over the past four or five years.

Here’s why this thread has to stop for me: I am sick of myself when it comes to writing about social media and its impact on our culture. After all this time, I think I’ve made my feelings known.

But here’s why this topic captured me for such a long period of time: I believe what I write, or at least maybe just I want to. Above all, I want it to be genuine. As I’ve claimed many times, we are not the perfect robotic creations our social media feeds make us appear to be.

You see all the smiling photos, the congratulations, the “I’m so proud” comments, and miss the moments of breakdown in between where life is not nearly as pretty. Because life is not always pretty, and it cannot be hashtagged. And we are beautiful, inherently flawed, imperfect human beings.

And those imperfect human beings do horrible things to each other. Looking back, this began on my old blog, with the overly thought title of The Necker Cube. The site had been a platform for me to keep writing about sports after my sports writing career ended (columns, blogs, magazine).

But I grew tired of the sports narrative and the Sandy Hook tragedy caught my attention in such a moving and painful way that I felt compelled to comment on it.

(Note: if you click on some of the older links to these posts, be aware they were pulled from said former site and have not been edited for spacing – i.e. the lines run on strangely).

The entry prior to a post on the events at Sandy Hook, called The Growing Divide, was first entry in this so-called book. And the archives show a writer flipping back and forth for a time between social commentary and traditional sports commentary. Sometimes I even mixed the two.

And then the Boston Marathon bombing happened and I began thinking about Switzerland. I dealt with the backlash of the Ice Bucket Challenge, and Miley Cyrus leading a mini-Molly revolution of “we do what we want” angst.

There was the time I wrote about (one of probably 20 times I did) how we’d become obsessed through social media of giving our opinion on someone’s else’s opinion (what a wormhole). I spent some time holding us accountable. And gave that narrative some additional thoughts. Basically, a lot of it can be solved with kindness.

But I also tried to unwrap the media’s growing fascination with itself and the media’s ever-expanding use of rumors and unnamed sources. All this in an effort to be first – or to incite ratings and division. And we spend a lot of time being divided. There are also the times when the media blurs the lines of reporting, journalism and the monetary backers propping up these outlets.

Part of my problem has been that I just did not want to see us get swallowed by the groupthink and mob mentality. We’ve spent a lot of time on selfies and allowing ourselves to be marginalized. And that bubbling melting pot has been on the verge of boiling over. In fact, one of my last pieces in this series was after the election (and was the second-most read post I’ve ever made at 1,100 views).

Sadly, it has gotten worse – somehow.

Yet, some of my favorite pieces were about my own family and life in raising a large family during this small era. At times, it was like a dark comedy, cause you have to just laugh at the absurdity of it all. At others, it was a serious test of the blurred lines between media responsibility and parenting, with a key example of a Super Bowl Sunday that went in a direction I did not expect. And there was a life-changing family moment that has ripples personally to this day, that many can relate to: the loss of a loved one. (That one, by far the most popular thing I’ve ever written, has garnered over 1,200 reads to date.)

The biggest takeaway? Be present in your life. Put the phone down, maybe not all the time, because that might be unrealistic in late 2017. But being more aware of your surroundings and engage. A couple weeks ago, we had friends over and I’m not sure the four of us looked at our phones the entire night other than to play music. It was glorious.

Over 2.8 billion people are on social media, 1.9 billion on Facebook alone. And roughly 75 percent of all Facebook users spend at least 20 minutes per day on the platform.

It is a trap to make your life appear only as these shared snapshots of happiness. That has an impact on you – and those in your social media sphere.

First, it creates an illusion of you that cannot be sustained. You come to believe in all the “good” so much so that when something even remotely troubling happens, it becomes earth-shattering. All the while, what you were posting and sharing about yourself was a grand illusion, one that you bought into as much as everyone else. We seem to only care if people look, not if they actually see.

Secondly, to those in your sphere, it creates an illusion that they subconsciously cannot compete with either. I am not terribly certain when exactly this occurred in social media, but it’s certainly there, and there is really no denying it.

An opposing view might hold that it is equally unrealistic to expect people to post “bad” things, for fear of being viewed a malcontent or someone just out for sympathy. And there’s probably truth to that, too.

But when it is all said and done, do any of these things matter? If I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that I will be far more prone to wishing I had five more minutes with my children, my wife, my family and friends that I will wishing I’d let my two cents on Fake News be known.

All that said…you cannot starve yourself of the things that make you you, to go too long without doing what you enjoy. The reason I haven’t been writing is because, well, I haven’t been writing. But I now realize that’s just because I need a new topic. The longer it goes without writing, the farther that piece of me gets away from who I am today.

I must find a new voice in my writing. Because the social media shaming shtick – while still valid – has been played out in this space. And my hope is this post serves as my last reference, my epilogue, to that being an ill of the world.

In a way, I think we all need to change our voice and find new passions and interests existing alongside our old ones.  You can still be you, but life is meant to be explored and pushed, not compartmentalized.

We called our ancestors settlers, but really that isn’t accurate at all. We are the settlers. Settling in and doing the same old things, without pushing ourselves to be a part of a solution – either just for ourselves (and what ails us spiritually, mentality or physically) – or for the greater world we’re a part of.

I reject that notion that we must settle within ourselves and wait for something to happen. This year, I am thankful for a lot of what I’m always thankful for. But maybe I just take it less for granted that I did before.

After a year of searching, I realize I’ll always be searching in small ways, big ways and all the ways in between.

As the quote at the top states, from Thoreau: “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

So maybe I will find a new voice soon and keep writing. Or maybe I won’t.

One thing is for certain: It is definitely more about the journey – and what we see – than it is what we are looking at.

Time to reawake my soul, open my eyes to see.

Onward – and upward – we go.

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American culture, Facebook, Uncategorized

The Book Without My Face

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In the end, it will not matter or make the least bit of difference to anyone but me.

Yet I believe it will vastly improve my life.

And that is why I’m leaving Facebook.

Starting now, my detox begins. And it is an addiction, no doubt about that. We pretend it is not, but it most certainly is. Whether it’s just deleting the app, or entirely deactivating my account, one way or another it needs to be out of my life for at least a good long while.

My life has not been enriched by Facebook. My faith has not been enriched by Facebook. My family has not been enriched by Facebook. My relationship with my spouse has not been enriched by Facebook. And I certainly interact with the platform far different than I do the other forms of social media I use.

But I finally reached the point where I am just tired. Tired of the correctness, or lack thereof, tired of watching what I say and how I say it because this friend is a liberal and that friend is a conservative, or that person in my feed hates this sports team and I don’t want to start World War III on anything. Tired of wondering if it’s my page and I can say what I want, or if because I post in the public sphere I’m fair game.

I am tired of pretending that most of the people in my feed are my friends to begin with. And I am tired of pretending that I am their friend, too.

That’s meant more wistfully than sarcastically or hurtfully.

At some point, we probably were friends. But there is a reason that before Facebook we didn’t remain close or that those friendships fell aside. For a while, it was fun to see from afar what people I used to know were up to. But reading a post or seeing a picture doesn’t really tell me who someone is now.

I truly wish I knew some of the people in my Friends list better, saw them more. Some of them, I forgot were there, honestly.

But regardless of status, in my mind, this is charade. We’re just pretending to know enough and care a little. My phone is a internet device, with fewer phone calls and texts to take or read than time spent app scrolling. But it brings out some of the worst reactions I have ever seen.

The name of the app itself is Book of Faces. Ever heard to not judge the book by its cover?

Because all Facebook seems to actually do is put even more labels on us, not knowing who the real person is behind the likes and shares and tagged photos.

It would take someone far greater and smarter than me to do the necessarily research and analysis on this, but is there a small chance that part of the apparent growing divide in this country – which at the moment feels like the Grand Canyon – could be caused by our use of social media?

Not only that, but I get tired of myself sometimes. I can’t imagine what other people thought when I mindlessly clicked like on about 25 posts about the New England Patriots winning the AFC Championship Sunday. (Yes, in case you didn’t know, I am a Pats fan – but let’s not open up that can of worms).

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Point being, I just clicked “Like” on every photo I saw. Over. And over. And over. Without even really thinking, “Hey, this is going to show up in everyone’s feed who hasn’t already hidden you.” And that only matters because others, almost with a carnal reaction as well, will inevitably judge you on your likes, your posts and shares.

Lately, it has gotten worse. Now I feel as though what I like, what I post, what I share – or more importantly, what I do not like, post or share – is somehow the only representation or part of me that people see.

And it’s not that that is unexpected or that I’m chiding anyone who’s been guilty of doing that. I have done it, too. We’re humans. We process what we see and react to it. We can’t help it.

But it’s incredibly dangerous for so many reasons. We are not who we always appear to be, for better or worse. And our reactions run the gamut – from idolizing people or couples who we think are “perfect” to despising those we find that do not align with our already rooted bias’.

Again, this somehow makes us feel like we know someone, when we don’t. Facebook has created a mini-celebrity culture, just like the one in Hollywood where the message is controlled and everyone appears a certain, packaged way.

As I’ve written before, I am incredibly guilty myself of not keeping up with my friendships the way I should have or wanted to. But it’s also a two-way street. All I know is that my friendships are worse because of Facebook and the lazy idea that it fills in the gaps.

If we want to truly fix what ails America, it starts with becoming more humble and kind. We treat strangers horribly, but possibly that is because we started treating our friends like strangers first.

I am not naïve. I do not believe my simple decision to leave Facebook will make even the slightest of ripples. The machine will keep turning come tomorrow morning. People will continue to start verbal wars with each other about some of the silliest and inconsequential things, typing things they would never say to someone’s face.

But now, it just won’t include me.

It isn’t necessarily Facebook or social media in general that is bad. It would be tough and certainly irresponsible to blame a program for all this (unless we’re talking about TRON, which we can do, by the way – just give me a call.)

But by and large, social media has given an easy out to the rise of cynicism and criticism. It has provided a megaphone to a platform for a whole different kind of bullying. We like to think and pretend this is teens pressuring classmates. However, we adults make them look boring.

I have watched how we’ve responded to elections, general news, social issues, marches, to statements of opinion and I’ve come to the conclusion that we are worse than our children simply because we cannot handle it if everyone does not agree with us. We cannot even pretend to objectively hear someone else’s opinion because if it disagrees with ours, then we come out with verbal pistols firing like it’s the climax scene in Young Guns II.

And I’m not afraid to admit all of this serves to negatively affect me. I realize that I have allowed someone’s comments or posts to impact my opinion of them. Whether it should or should not is both parts irrelevant and up to whatever values or morals I hold to be important. But the point is, I am letting this platform dictate my opinions without spending the time to hear more about why someone thinks that way. Which is just lazy.

If we can recall such a time without social media, we spent time talking in depth about something. The pictures we shared weren’t captioned, there was a story to them. And hearing the story, seeing the form of emotion on someone’s face telling the story made it a connection point, which built bonds.

We all have enough to worry about in life. It is too short of a ride. Why spend it dealing with the decorum and unwritten rules necessary to circumnavigate a simple post on social media? Why spend it knowing everything and nothing about someone at the same time?

I probably sound old. I probably sound nostalgic for something that perhaps never really was.

So be it.

I know who I am, but I fear we are not taking the time to be present and to build our friendships and relationships because we’re too busy scrolling our News Feeds and posting selfies.

I kind of want people to wonder what I’m doing, what I’m up to – and then if they are inclined – reach out to me for lunch or to hang out and find out for themselves. And I should be willing to do the same for them.

To do that, I think I need to take my Face out of the Book. It’s perhaps the only way for me to truly have friends that know who I am, and not just my latest profile picture.

In the end, it probably will not matter or make the least bit of difference to anyone but me.

So be it.

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American culture, American Politics, Life, pop culture, Society, Society & Culture, Uncategorized

One of These Days

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There are no words, really, though I’ll type a thousand as therapy.

I’ve been staring at that picture of the tree above, with its old, bulky roots, for a few days, as the violence that has once again rocked America has once again led to a chorus of outcry for change. Perhaps what we need is a change in mindset to remember our roots as human beings.

As President John F. Kennedy once said, “For, in the final analysis, our most basic common link is that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children’s future. And we are all mortal.”

That mortal part, we do not seem to value it enough.

One of these days, we’re going to wake up, I think.

One of these days, we’re going to realize we’re killing each other over senseless anger, I think.

One of these days, a friend will call and simply ask how it’s going, I think.

One of these days, the headlines won’t be filled with both the tragic and the trivial, I think.

I think I might be wrong.

One of these days, we’re going to reap it.

One of these days, someone with their finger on a very important button will go too far.

One of these days, we’ll just stop responding to texts and calls.

One of these days, we’ll just give up.

I hope I am wrong.

Yes, Black Lives Matter. And white lives matter. Asian lives matter. Christian lives matter. Muslim lives matter. Young lives matter. Old lives matter. American lives matter. Russian lives matter. Iraqi lives matter. Women’s lives matter. Men’s lives matter.

Our short-sighted solution to respond to an event by pulling into tighter, highly defined groups of ethnicity, race, gender or religion isn’t working. We’re dividing ourselves further and playing into the devil’s hand of hate.

In 1963, most of the world watched in astonishment as President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. Last night, nearly 53 years later, mere blocks from Dealey Plaza where Kennedy was assassinated, five Dallas police officers were assassinated by snipers, on the heels of two men shot to death by police in Minnesota and Louisiana.

We’re regressing, America.

We can argue about guns and who can have them, or if it makes sense to allow military grade weapons available to civilians all day long. We can get snarky about deleted e-mails or business ethics of presidential candidates for months. But that’s not the division that ails us.

Simply put: how do we legislate kindness, compassion – or the simple ability to leave each other alone?

On Monday, the United States celebrated its 240th birthday. As majestic fireworks filled the sky, I doubt I was alone in pondering the sheer awe of time that had passed since those responsible for declaring our independence had put ink to their cause.

I also wondered how long we have left, how much has changed since the late 1700s in the world and how one of the greatest things about being American is not only freedom, but feeling relatively safe in our everyday lives.

We are no longer safe. And if we are no longer safe, we are no longer free.

When guns are fired from downtown skyscraper parking garages (Dallas) or from interstate overpasses (Washington, D.C. many years ago), when people are shot in their cars reaching for their wallets (Louisiana) you start questioning your safety nearly all the time.

All this does is serve to separate us more. We pull back into our homes, our neighborhoods and stay out of the cities and protests. Freedom to assemble shouldn’t have to come from the fear of being shot.

The song remains the same. We’re dividing ourselves.

Technology and social media have put a wedge in our society. We might be perhaps more disconnected that we were hundreds of years ago, when there were far fewer of us and our homes were miles apart.

We all have a voice and opinion and want to be heard.

The problem is, no one is saying anything worth hearing.

We market ourselves in blur of posts and pictures. If the intent was to be connected with people we don’t see as much anymore, maybe that was an itch we didn’t need to scratch if this is all we plan to do with it. If we wanted to see and talk to all those old friends and family more, would distance matter? We could still pick up a phone and catch up.

We’re a nation of creepers on social media, as if a picture of smiles and 140 characters of text tell the whole story. No one is perfect. But we pretend to be, and we’d prefer to take swipes at other people – their errors and mistakes – by calling them out on social media.

We’re jealous and envious of those with seemingly more than us.

It’s either that or the common obsession we have to know who Taylor Swift is dating now. And as much as I think we’re all a little too interested in celebrity boyfriends and girlfriends gossip, it’s probably the former.

We’re on social media to stalk people we used to like or be close to, but aren’t anymore and this is our totally American way of snooping in from time to time on their life.

So many angry people in the world, yet they all look happy in the photos.

What does this have to do with the most recent tragedies in Dallas, Louisiana and Minnesota? The same as it did for Columbine, Sandy Hook, Aurora, Fresno and more.

Simply put, we just don’t treat each other very well and we’re hiding behind two things: a lack of self-esteem and insecurity.

I usually try to come up with a positive message at the end here, to tie it all together, to provide a spark of hope in an otherwise dark moment.

All I can come up with this time is that we can only take care of ourselves. Preaching, lecturing isn’t working. To be the change you want to see in the world, I suppose it’s the Nike tagline.

Just do it.

If we raise our children right, hug our spouse, wave to the neighbors, keep our commitments and just try our best to not stab each other in the back, shutdown the apps a little more, we’ll hopefully lay down an example to the next generation.

It would be nice if we were happy in the life we have, not the life we want others to perceive we have.

Worried about what to do yourself? Want your voice to matter in the world? At a loss of how to raise your children to avoid this in the future?

Start there.

Love yourself, your family and your life. Be proud of who you are and kind to those who aren’t like you. The young ones are watching.

And maybe, one of these days, they will have a chance to save us.

One of these days, I hope I am right.

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