I always end up amused. That's probably why I suck as a political activist. My own self-righteous anger on any subject dissipates into abashed humor when I view if from the bird's perspective. A healthy sense of my own ridiculous fuckedupedness, my own faults, my own mistakes take over and the steam escapes in embarrassed laughter. The rocks dissolve in humility.
Humor is life's goo-be-gone.
I'd like to tell you that it's forgiveness, but that's too generous. I haven't forgiven anything. I still think the doctor is an ass and life is unfair and shitty shit happens. It's just that I've heard the big cosmic, "duh, dumbass" boom from the stars and the crumbling leaves on the ground and the frozen dog shit in our front yard and I can't help but notice that the sun still shines prettily on the maples on our boulevard (when it deigns to shine at all).
It's not forgiveness at first. It's closer to distraction with a side of laziness and contentment. It's the gentle mocking of family. It's breakfast and clean up after breakfast and lunch and dinner and clean up after those. It's the church that's paving our backyard publicly accusing the "children in the adjacent house on the corner" of doing "burn-outs" in their empty, unpaved parking lot. Our children, specifically. Who are all under six. It's the house we bought on Friday as a rental. It's the way Quinn tells me that I am "the bestest in the whole wide world" and also "softer than Daddy." It's I love you and I love you too. It's laundry and playdates and dishes and kisses.
It's life, dammit. Suddenly, you're laughing, humble and distracted and full of forgiveness, which feels suspiciously like gratefulness. And gratefulness is life's balm for the red, raw places where the goo-be-gone burned a little.
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