I’ve been considering recently why I started writing.  Mind you the process of writing for me has proven to be nothing short of a fool’s errand, and yet, each morning I wake up early, make coffee, light a candle and sit with my thoughts until they have nowhere else to go but through my fingers.  I don’t actually really know why or how I started to write, but as it were and continues to be, oftentimes it either resembles an annoying dripping faucet or an unstoppable deluge.  My writing generally mimics the way that I speak and lacks spontaneity, while I uphold a strict personal doctrine of maintaining a tight grasp on my words until I have, what I consider to be, something important to say. I often find myself listening and observing while mostly internalizing my opinions until they fester and need to be freed.  Maybe I find myself questioning my writing because of my unimpressive readership, or maybe it is because I have been struggling recently with finding something to talk about.  Which, on its face, sounds strange considering the fact that there is no shortage of current issues that are simultaneously vying for my undivided attention.   Nevertheless, I’ve been trying to figure out why my faucet has seemingly run dry while so much is happening in the world and have temporarily settled on a self-diagnosis that I must be suffering from a daily shock to my nervous system and probably PTSD.  Now.  PTSD is a common diagnosis which implies that someone is recovering from something traumatic that is no longer necessarily still a threat.  In my case, the ‘P’ does not stand for ‘Post’, rather it represents ‘Perpetual’ because the traumatic stress is seemingly never ending.  I turn on the news each day and watch only to find myself inevitably reaching for the medicine cabinet not knowing which of my symptoms I should treat first.  Either the Advil for the mind-numbing headache, the TUMS for the stabbing stomach pains, or the doctor-prescribed anxiety medication which is a last resort to get me out of my own head so that I can sleep and satisfy all of the aforementioned symptoms at once.   Like so many others, I’m tired of this merciless virus that arrived with a breathtaking, and everlasting, powerful punch.  I’m tired of blistering politics and polarizing perspectives that have permanently frayed what were once considered to be sound relationships.  Maybe it’s just because of the election and the current state of politics.  We have had a non-leader leader for four years too long, and just saying those words out loud is more than enough to throw opponents of that sentiment into a cataclysmic and uncontrollable tailspin.  My well-intentioned effort to withhold most of my personal opinions has unexpectedly backfired, because in doing so, I have done nothing more than give others the benefit of a larger platform to amplify their views than I have been willing to give myself.  I have, by and large, internalized my beliefs and have repeatedly bitten my tongue to salvage relationships.  And yet, others have been unwilling to reciprocate.  Winston Churchill said, “An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.”  Which isn’t necessarily how I see it, having gone out of my way to avoid the fallout that would undoubtedly accompany a crocodile feeding frenzy.  However, it does make me wonder if my silence has been construed as a concession, while putting aside my own views for the purpose of maintaining a semblance of peace.   We have been taught and teach our own children to treat others the way that we want to be treated.  But over time, that message appears to have fallen on deaf ears.  No one really does that anymore.  Today, people withhold nothing and could care less about the impact their words or actions have on their so-called friends.  There is a belief that saying whatever we want is our right and once the words leave our mouths, they are no longer our problem. We shift the blame from ourselves to any recipient by summarizing them as being too thin-skinned when their alleged fragile egos are under attack.  Maybe that is fair and maybe it isn’t.  I would argue that we have become proficient at not holding ourselves to the same standards and levels of accountability that we expect from others.  As we cherry pick and scrutinize their words while simultaneously excusing our own.   A combative election does nothing more than add fuel to an already uncontainable fire.  A tangible lack of civility and a profound sense that a sleeping giant has not only been stirred, but it has been awakened.  However, we have seen compelling evidence that the proverbial sleeping giant was never really asleep in the first place.  Perhaps there is a truth to the notion that the giant has been awake the whole time watching and waiting to make a move, gradually letting its presence be known.  Smoke signals and other warning signs have been erected to alert us of the inevitability of the danger before us, but over time, we have misunderstood and largely underestimated the terrain.  We have been given many opportunities to change course and improve our situation.  And in our quest to forge ahead inside our bubbles of perceived normalcy, we have either misread the warning signs as mere suggestions, or we were moving too quickly and somehow missed the signs altogether.  But we also know that this is complacency not very well disguised.  Winston Churchill said, “Want of foresight, unwillingness to act when action would be simple and effective, lack of clear thinking, confusion of counsel until the emergency comes, until self-preservation strikes its jarring gong – these are the features which constitute the endless repetition of history.”  Yes.  Historical events remain unhidden and are well-documented.  We can recall indelible moments from the past that shook humanity to its very core, and yet, rather than learn from those consequential, …