Nowhere Near “In Control”

Dearest Rachel –

After drifting through a dream in which I could control the flow of events much like the art director from “Duck Amuck” (although rather more violently, as one of the individuals in this dream Twitter video was chucking grenades at whoever was filming it, and I was simply pausing the video to return them back to the sender with a quick swipe on the embedded video – look, I don’t know what the fight was about, or who started it, but unless it’s the middle of a war zone where everyone is doing it, if you’re the first to throw incendiary devices, you’re probably not the good guy), I was woken up by a series of ‘ping’s from my phone. After making an attempt to ignore them, I decided to capitulate and check it out.

And it was a good thing that I did, as the last of them was a message from Tim, indicating that the construction team had to change their plans (they were to be working outside at another customer’s place, but the rain has finally decided to fall, after several days of empty threats), and they would be arriving in a little more than half an hour. So, it was incumbent upon me to get up and get dressed, like, right away. Can’t be walking out of the shower to these guys ringing the doorbell, after all – even though it’s nice that it does ring these days.

Quite the switch, really, from being able to retroactively redirect firepower with a mere touch, to having to dispense with my morning routine due to changes in the weather. Clearly, I’m nowhere near as in control of my life as I’d like to be. Of course, given that last week was supposed to be completely quiet due to the work being delayed by the painters’ schedule, that works both ways, so I really ought not to complain too much.

Besides, it’s not as it I really want the responsibility of being in control of any of this; if I were to take the reins, I would have nobody but myself to blame if things went sour (and life being what it is, that’s almost guaranteed). At least this way, if life is out of my hands, I can shrug and claim that whatever goes wrong isn’t entirely my fault.

I wonder if that’s what the folks who claim to be running things these days wish they’d decided to do.

Anyway, that’s neither here nor there; besides, I keep telling myself I won’t talk about politics with you anymore, as it has no bearing on the afterlife, unlike certain other choices. It’s difficult to do, though, when it’s all aswirl around one these days; you would not believe how often the house phone rings these days with one poll or another, asking about who I intend to vote for in the primaries (and this in a solidly blue state, so whatever red vote I cast will ultimately mean absolutely nothing. Which reminds me, honey; I understand that this year will probably be your first crack at voting for a Democrat, so… congratulations?). But it’s just one more reminder that I have little control – if any – on what goes on around me, even though the folks calling me give me the impression that they think I do.

Ugh. Sorry about that, honey.

It used to be that we could read about the news – and the opinions of those who reported it – and laugh about it, since it rarely seemed to affect us. And to be sure, the one thing that has affected our lives in the biggest way since the transfer of power has had nothing to do with who’s in office. Neither party had anything to do with your accident, after all, and I can’t blame anyone for it. If my life is worse off for it, no election is going to change that.

Some things are just out of everyone’s control.

Perhaps the point is that we, as humanity, have to accept and, while maybe not embrace that fact – it’s an unpleasant one, since at least half of humanity insists on ‘fixing’ every problem as it comes up, regardless of whether we can or not, or even whether we should – at least lean into it. Some things have no solution, and for others, the ‘solutions’ we arrive at prove to be worse than the original problem. History is absolutely littered with mistakes made in the effort to ‘do something,’ despite not knowing what, or what might happen next. Indeed, it would be interesting to see what, of this day and age, will be mocked by future historians as a case of making the absolute worst decision among a collection of less-than-ideal choices. It would likely be a fairly thick volume, that’s all I’m going to say about it.

But I’ll doubtless have joined you before such a book is written, at which point, it will have all been rendered moot as far as we’re concerned. In any event, thanks for letting me vent to you about this and that along the way; I miss being able to do this with you in person, and listening to your perspective in return. But hey, what can I do about it? It’s just another situation that I’m nowhere near ‘in control’ of.

Anyway, I’ll talk to you later. Keep an eye out for me, and wish me luck – I’m going to need it.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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