Thursday, August 27, 2015
The id Post: Why I Put It Out There Like I Do
The id Post: Why I Put It Out There Like I Do: by Irene Daniel I've often heard it said that we shouldn't put our business out in the street. Don't reveal the messiness of o...
Why I Put It Out There Like I Do
by Irene Daniel
I've often heard it said that we shouldn't put our business out in the street. Don't reveal the messiness of our lives, our broken hearts and dreams. Move on, they say. Just get past it. Don't wallow in self-pity, fishing for sympathy from others. Our community seems to value the stoic, but not those of us who cry out in our pain.
I put it out there because I know that there are people who read my posts who are suffering from a self-imposed silent, and unhealthy, isolation because they are afraid of their very selves. We can't reveal our problems and perceived weaknesses to our fellows. We are afraid of being judged. We don't want people to look down on us when we are struggling. We wouldn't want our neighbors to think we're crazy. We fear mental illness; in others and especially in ourselves.
I used to do that too. And it has not worked. My harsh self-judgment was born of many messages I have received throughout my lifetime; messages subliminal and covert, as well as blatant and overt, telling me that our society does not value the weak, the depressed, the bi-polar, the "sensitive" among us. We have seen our kind lobotomized, over-medicated, institutionalized, marginalized and otherwise kicked to the curb in more ways than one. And it is very frightening.
It is frightening to see how we are perceived and what might happen to us if we don't "buck up" and get ourselves together. So, we deny ourselves the treatment and/or medication we need to treat our disease of mental illness. We don't want to be thrown away like garbage. We can't let our employers, circle of friends or potential lovers know that we are ill. We want to be loved and valued just like everybody else; and we are afraid that we won't be if people think we're crazy.
However, I have learned that the more I deny myself the care I need, the more I tend to overvalue others and undervalue myself. And then I get afraid; afraid of being thought of as "less than." I tend to isolate myself from the rest of the world; not answering my phone for days, not going out of the house, not responding to those who love me. Woefully, this isolation of shame only makes matters worse.
I have found that the more I stuff my feelings and my psyche into a closet in my soul, the more likely it is that my illness will surface at the worst possible time. The angst and frustration just builds up and builds up until one day I will just lose my entire cool. When this happens I often hurt those closest to me, and especially cause even more damage to myself. And then my soul gets sick; for it has been infested with a darkness that does not belong there. And I put it there myself. And then, I just hate myself more and isolate more and on and on and on.
I saw this dance of shame play itself out with my mother, who undoubtedly suffered from depression and anxiety. She never sought treatment, for to do so would be a disgrace to her family and her community. And so, in her fits of rage, her illness was visited upon her family, especially her children. We all knew that she needed help, but no one knew how to talk to her about it without inducing more rage. So we never really talked about it and she was never treated.
I do not share this to shame my mother. In fact, I am very, very proud of her and all that she accomplished, and I am proud to be her daughter -- very proud. Rather, I share this to honor her; because in spite of her illness, she faced her life every day with courage and faith. She raised 3 kids by herself with no money, and still bought a house; the house in which I now reside. I just know now that it didn't have to be so hard for her. She could have experienced much more enjoyment in life and a greater and deeper emotional intimacy with those she loved had she been afforded some relief from her illness; and illness which took the life of her mother.
I am named after my maternal grandmother, Irene Velasco Cervantes. I never met her because she ate rat poison in the throes of menopause at the age of 52, ending her sad and difficult life. I can't help thinking sometimes that this is the only reason my mother never killed herself. I know she wanted to, and sometimes talked about taking a bunch of pills and never waking up again. I cannot even tell you how much I love her for sparing me this horrible tragedy which she and her sisters suffered. I always knew how unhappy and frightened of the world she was, and how ready she was for it to end. It could have been different for her. I want it to be different for me. And I want it to be different for you. Yes, you, the one reading this hoping that no one can see how desperate you are for relief.
As with many diseases, mental illness can be hereditary. My father's side of the family is also not spared of mental illness. Both sides of my family are rife with stories of rages, alcoholism, "nervous breakdowns," and other manifestations of our family disease. There are people in the world I am related to who I have never met; as well as many that I have not seen in years. All the angst and unresolved anger led to a diaspora of family members who are strangers to one another. What a waste!! What a waste of love -- precious, life-affirming love. As I write this, I lament what might have been.
With all the abuse and abandonment, not to mention the trauma of watching my house burn down on Christmas night when I was only 5 years old, I really should have been treated as a child instead of waiting until I was almost 40 years old to deal with this illness. Although it is never too late as long as you're alive, by that time I had compounded my condition for decades by carrying around all that hurt, anger, shame and sadness for so long. The sustaining damage takes a lot longer to heal.
And so, if you are reading this and you recognize yourself or someone you love, please don't ignore this illness that has taken my family away from me. Don't let it take you. Don't let it take away someone that you love because you don't know what to do.
Please, please, please get help!! I am not asking. I am not suggesting. I am BEGGING you -- you my readers, my friends -- GET HELP!!
You are worth saving, and so am I. Maybe if my grandmother had been treated, then perhaps I would have a memory of being held in her embrace. I wish, I wish I wish. But wishing will not heal me. Only action will do; seeing my doctor, taking my meds as prescribed, seeking therapy when necessary. And taking action will not happen without the courage necessary to move from the darkness to the light.
Judge me if you want to, but I am too busy getting well to notice. If reading this post can enable just one person to value themselves enough to seek treatment or to stay on their meds, how could I ever be ashamed of such an outcome.
I wish all of you love and happiness and, above all, wellness.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I've often heard it said that we shouldn't put our business out in the street. Don't reveal the messiness of our lives, our broken hearts and dreams. Move on, they say. Just get past it. Don't wallow in self-pity, fishing for sympathy from others. Our community seems to value the stoic, but not those of us who cry out in our pain.
I put it out there because I know that there are people who read my posts who are suffering from a self-imposed silent, and unhealthy, isolation because they are afraid of their very selves. We can't reveal our problems and perceived weaknesses to our fellows. We are afraid of being judged. We don't want people to look down on us when we are struggling. We wouldn't want our neighbors to think we're crazy. We fear mental illness; in others and especially in ourselves.
I used to do that too. And it has not worked. My harsh self-judgment was born of many messages I have received throughout my lifetime; messages subliminal and covert, as well as blatant and overt, telling me that our society does not value the weak, the depressed, the bi-polar, the "sensitive" among us. We have seen our kind lobotomized, over-medicated, institutionalized, marginalized and otherwise kicked to the curb in more ways than one. And it is very frightening.
It is frightening to see how we are perceived and what might happen to us if we don't "buck up" and get ourselves together. So, we deny ourselves the treatment and/or medication we need to treat our disease of mental illness. We don't want to be thrown away like garbage. We can't let our employers, circle of friends or potential lovers know that we are ill. We want to be loved and valued just like everybody else; and we are afraid that we won't be if people think we're crazy.
However, I have learned that the more I deny myself the care I need, the more I tend to overvalue others and undervalue myself. And then I get afraid; afraid of being thought of as "less than." I tend to isolate myself from the rest of the world; not answering my phone for days, not going out of the house, not responding to those who love me. Woefully, this isolation of shame only makes matters worse.
I have found that the more I stuff my feelings and my psyche into a closet in my soul, the more likely it is that my illness will surface at the worst possible time. The angst and frustration just builds up and builds up until one day I will just lose my entire cool. When this happens I often hurt those closest to me, and especially cause even more damage to myself. And then my soul gets sick; for it has been infested with a darkness that does not belong there. And I put it there myself. And then, I just hate myself more and isolate more and on and on and on.
I saw this dance of shame play itself out with my mother, who undoubtedly suffered from depression and anxiety. She never sought treatment, for to do so would be a disgrace to her family and her community. And so, in her fits of rage, her illness was visited upon her family, especially her children. We all knew that she needed help, but no one knew how to talk to her about it without inducing more rage. So we never really talked about it and she was never treated.
I do not share this to shame my mother. In fact, I am very, very proud of her and all that she accomplished, and I am proud to be her daughter -- very proud. Rather, I share this to honor her; because in spite of her illness, she faced her life every day with courage and faith. She raised 3 kids by herself with no money, and still bought a house; the house in which I now reside. I just know now that it didn't have to be so hard for her. She could have experienced much more enjoyment in life and a greater and deeper emotional intimacy with those she loved had she been afforded some relief from her illness; and illness which took the life of her mother.
I am named after my maternal grandmother, Irene Velasco Cervantes. I never met her because she ate rat poison in the throes of menopause at the age of 52, ending her sad and difficult life. I can't help thinking sometimes that this is the only reason my mother never killed herself. I know she wanted to, and sometimes talked about taking a bunch of pills and never waking up again. I cannot even tell you how much I love her for sparing me this horrible tragedy which she and her sisters suffered. I always knew how unhappy and frightened of the world she was, and how ready she was for it to end. It could have been different for her. I want it to be different for me. And I want it to be different for you. Yes, you, the one reading this hoping that no one can see how desperate you are for relief.
As with many diseases, mental illness can be hereditary. My father's side of the family is also not spared of mental illness. Both sides of my family are rife with stories of rages, alcoholism, "nervous breakdowns," and other manifestations of our family disease. There are people in the world I am related to who I have never met; as well as many that I have not seen in years. All the angst and unresolved anger led to a diaspora of family members who are strangers to one another. What a waste!! What a waste of love -- precious, life-affirming love. As I write this, I lament what might have been.
With all the abuse and abandonment, not to mention the trauma of watching my house burn down on Christmas night when I was only 5 years old, I really should have been treated as a child instead of waiting until I was almost 40 years old to deal with this illness. Although it is never too late as long as you're alive, by that time I had compounded my condition for decades by carrying around all that hurt, anger, shame and sadness for so long. The sustaining damage takes a lot longer to heal.
And so, if you are reading this and you recognize yourself or someone you love, please don't ignore this illness that has taken my family away from me. Don't let it take you. Don't let it take away someone that you love because you don't know what to do.
Please, please, please get help!! I am not asking. I am not suggesting. I am BEGGING you -- you my readers, my friends -- GET HELP!!
You are worth saving, and so am I. Maybe if my grandmother had been treated, then perhaps I would have a memory of being held in her embrace. I wish, I wish I wish. But wishing will not heal me. Only action will do; seeing my doctor, taking my meds as prescribed, seeking therapy when necessary. And taking action will not happen without the courage necessary to move from the darkness to the light.
Judge me if you want to, but I am too busy getting well to notice. If reading this post can enable just one person to value themselves enough to seek treatment or to stay on their meds, how could I ever be ashamed of such an outcome.
I wish all of you love and happiness and, above all, wellness.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
The id Post: Ashes of LA
The id Post: Ashes of LA: by Irene Daniel I gaze out at a desert where the sun paints the sky in myriad dazzling hues orange yellow purple and deep, deep blu...
Ashes of LA
by Irene Daniel
I gaze out at a desert
where the sun paints the sky
in myriad dazzling hues
orange
yellow
purple
and deep, deep blues
I see nature
everywhere
I'm home
I've paid my dues
As the city of the angels
became a living hell
I knew the time had come
to don my walking shoes
The ashes of remembrance
are blowing in the wind
as my little baby Phoenix
becomes my only muse
Some ashes of my LA past
are scattered to the winds
and some remain here with me,
the Phoenix to reuse
Another zenith approaches me
and once more I will soar
but my soul lives here now
in pre-Phoenix recluse
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I gaze out at a desert
where the sun paints the sky
in myriad dazzling hues
orange
yellow
purple
and deep, deep blues
I see nature
everywhere
I'm home
I've paid my dues
As the city of the angels
became a living hell
I knew the time had come
to don my walking shoes
The ashes of remembrance
are blowing in the wind
as my little baby Phoenix
becomes my only muse
Some ashes of my LA past
are scattered to the winds
and some remain here with me,
the Phoenix to reuse
Another zenith approaches me
and once more I will soar
but my soul lives here now
in pre-Phoenix recluse
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
The id Post: A Birthday Tribute to Justice Arthur L. Alarcon, a...
The id Post: A Birthday Tribute to Justice Arthur L. Alarcon, a...: by Irene Daniel Today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. Tomorrow would have been the 90th birthday of the Honorable Arthur L. Alarcon,...
A Birthday Tribute to Justice Arthur L. Alarcon, a True Gentleman and Scholar, Who Always Had Time to Be Kind
by Irene Daniel
Today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. Tomorrow would have been the 90th birthday of the Honorable Arthur L. Alarcon, Senior Associate Justice of the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. I, like most people who worked for him, just called him Judge or Jues; mostly Judge. He left this world on January 31, 2015. Somehow, my world just doesn't seem the same without him in it.
I had the esteemed honor and privilege of working in his chambers as a Judicial Extern during the fall term of my third year in law school in 1989.I learned more in one semester under his careful tutelage than in all of my other classes in law school combined; and that takes some doing because most of my law professors, like Judge Alarcon, were truly brilliant. It was a real thrill for me.
He took great pains to push me into improving my legal writing and I owe him a tremendous and eternal debt of gratitude for really caring about what kind of lawyer I would be. He swore me into the Federal District Court; another historic milestone for me. And in 2006 when I celebrated my appellate victory in The Fifth District Court of Appeals for the State of California, I knew I owed it all to him. From opening brief to oral argument, his mentoring was with me all the way.
Since our Leo birthdays were just one day apart, we celebrated them together on occasion when as many of his former law clerks and externs were available in the LA area would throw him a little birthday party at Barragan's, an old favorite Mexican restaurant in Echo Park. On one very special birthday, I got to have him all to myself for lunch at Barragan's for my birthday. As well you might imagine, the staff of Barragan's treated him like a king, reserving his special booth in the back of the bar, and serving a dish named after him: frijoles al Jues.
My favorite thing about this man was not his genius, nor the fact that he really enjoyed finding extraordinary talent in unlikely places. Many of his externs were not at the head of the class or on law review, as is usually the case with such coveted opportunities. But he had the confidence in himself to trust his own judgment and people-reading skills, and to cultivate the raw talent he often found in us. Perhaps it is this confidence that so enabled my favorite thing about him, which was his infinite kindness and compassionate tone. You see, the Judge always had time to be kind.
He was no push-over, mind you. He was on a Supreme Court short-list twice, a testament to his legal genius and professionalism. He was an exacting task-master and set extremely high standards for all of his law clerks, externs and support staff. And we were so inspired by him, as well as encouraged by him daily, that we always wanted to put forth our best effort. None of us wanted to let him down. He inspired us by his example of courtesy and respect for all persons with whom he came into contact. Always. I never heard him say a cross word or respond in like-kind to any slight or discourtesy on the part of others. People who knew him much better than I did will tell you the same thing.
The Talmud says that the highest form of wisdom is kindness. If this is so, then Arthur Alarcon was one of the wisest persons I will ever know. How lucky I am to have had a mentor such as him. His emotional wisdom, more than his intellect, is what I remember most about him; and what I most wish I could emulate.
So when I hear Donald Trump say that we have no time for political correctness, and insist that his insults to women, Mexicans and everybody else, are just "in good fun" or "telling it like it is," I think of Judge Alarcon. He was a conservative Republican too, and yet I never heard him insult anyone. He loved to laugh and could be quick with a joke, but those laughs were never at the expense of someone's feelings.
True leadership is about inspiring others, not bullying them. It is possible to elect people who know how to solve problems without insulting and demeaning thousands of people every day. I wonder why it is that so many Americans would choose cruelty over class, divisiveness over compassion, and insults over inspiration.
Insulting people is easy. Maintaining a lifetime of leadership and professionalism based in the wisdom of kindness is not. If it were easy, everyone would do it. I'm so glad I had this example of unrelenting kindness early in my career. I wish everybody had a Judge Alarcon in their lives. Maybe this world would be a better place.
Happy Birthday, Judge. Thanks for everything -- the opportunities, the mentoring, the laughs, the birthdays. But more than anything else, thank you for your example. I remain forever in your debt.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. Tomorrow would have been the 90th birthday of the Honorable Arthur L. Alarcon, Senior Associate Justice of the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. I, like most people who worked for him, just called him Judge or Jues; mostly Judge. He left this world on January 31, 2015. Somehow, my world just doesn't seem the same without him in it.
I had the esteemed honor and privilege of working in his chambers as a Judicial Extern during the fall term of my third year in law school in 1989.I learned more in one semester under his careful tutelage than in all of my other classes in law school combined; and that takes some doing because most of my law professors, like Judge Alarcon, were truly brilliant. It was a real thrill for me.
He took great pains to push me into improving my legal writing and I owe him a tremendous and eternal debt of gratitude for really caring about what kind of lawyer I would be. He swore me into the Federal District Court; another historic milestone for me. And in 2006 when I celebrated my appellate victory in The Fifth District Court of Appeals for the State of California, I knew I owed it all to him. From opening brief to oral argument, his mentoring was with me all the way.
Since our Leo birthdays were just one day apart, we celebrated them together on occasion when as many of his former law clerks and externs were available in the LA area would throw him a little birthday party at Barragan's, an old favorite Mexican restaurant in Echo Park. On one very special birthday, I got to have him all to myself for lunch at Barragan's for my birthday. As well you might imagine, the staff of Barragan's treated him like a king, reserving his special booth in the back of the bar, and serving a dish named after him: frijoles al Jues.
My favorite thing about this man was not his genius, nor the fact that he really enjoyed finding extraordinary talent in unlikely places. Many of his externs were not at the head of the class or on law review, as is usually the case with such coveted opportunities. But he had the confidence in himself to trust his own judgment and people-reading skills, and to cultivate the raw talent he often found in us. Perhaps it is this confidence that so enabled my favorite thing about him, which was his infinite kindness and compassionate tone. You see, the Judge always had time to be kind.
He was no push-over, mind you. He was on a Supreme Court short-list twice, a testament to his legal genius and professionalism. He was an exacting task-master and set extremely high standards for all of his law clerks, externs and support staff. And we were so inspired by him, as well as encouraged by him daily, that we always wanted to put forth our best effort. None of us wanted to let him down. He inspired us by his example of courtesy and respect for all persons with whom he came into contact. Always. I never heard him say a cross word or respond in like-kind to any slight or discourtesy on the part of others. People who knew him much better than I did will tell you the same thing.
The Talmud says that the highest form of wisdom is kindness. If this is so, then Arthur Alarcon was one of the wisest persons I will ever know. How lucky I am to have had a mentor such as him. His emotional wisdom, more than his intellect, is what I remember most about him; and what I most wish I could emulate.
So when I hear Donald Trump say that we have no time for political correctness, and insist that his insults to women, Mexicans and everybody else, are just "in good fun" or "telling it like it is," I think of Judge Alarcon. He was a conservative Republican too, and yet I never heard him insult anyone. He loved to laugh and could be quick with a joke, but those laughs were never at the expense of someone's feelings.
True leadership is about inspiring others, not bullying them. It is possible to elect people who know how to solve problems without insulting and demeaning thousands of people every day. I wonder why it is that so many Americans would choose cruelty over class, divisiveness over compassion, and insults over inspiration.
Insulting people is easy. Maintaining a lifetime of leadership and professionalism based in the wisdom of kindness is not. If it were easy, everyone would do it. I'm so glad I had this example of unrelenting kindness early in my career. I wish everybody had a Judge Alarcon in their lives. Maybe this world would be a better place.
Happy Birthday, Judge. Thanks for everything -- the opportunities, the mentoring, the laughs, the birthdays. But more than anything else, thank you for your example. I remain forever in your debt.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
The id Post: Political Junkie Season Begins!
The id Post: Political Junkie Season Begins!: by Irene Daniel I am preparing for the debate(s) tonight. I have plenty of food and drink; and am catching up on Daily Show and Nightly Sh...
Political Junkie Season Begins!
by Irene Daniel
I am preparing for the debate(s) tonight. I have plenty of food and drink; and am catching up on Daily Show and Nightly Show episodes that I missed earlier this week. I am taking the day off after several days of problem-solving, and just allowing myself to have some fun. For me, history and politics is fun. I was a nerdy kid; ask anyone in town.
I have been a political junkie since I was 8 years old, over 50 years. Maybe it's a birth defect. I don't know; but I've always been like this. Because I am a bleeding heart, liberal Democrat, I'm hoping for a full-on train wreck. With Donald Trump leading in GOP polls, this doesn't seem like such a stretch. Bring it!
As much as I am looking forward to this evening, as evidenced by my stock-piling of diet coke and potato chips, a part of me laments all of this excess. The actual election is 15 months away, and soon we will all tire of the endless political ads that will barrage us full-time once primary season is over in about another year. Until then, only those of us living in primary states will be overwhelmed, at least for the moment. Billions of dollars will be spent, lots of insults will be hurled, the truth will still be obscured and a whole lot of people are gonna end up unhappy in the end. Sometimes it seems that we are more engaged in the excess than the outcome of political campaigns.
In 1944, President Roosevelt began campaigning in October for the November election. I realize that comparing the 1944 election to the 2016 presidential election is really unfair and not a very informative comparison. I know that. However, even in 1960, the campaign pretty much began at the beginning of 1960, not 1959; and no one spent nearly this much money on political silly season. And while it is true that the parties, and party bosses, were much more in control of the process than they are now; the control of the choices of candidates paraded before us is now clearly in the hands of a very few, very wealthy men. Is this better? I don't think so.
While the party bosses were just as male, white and wealthy as they are today, they at least had some sense of respect for the hard work of governance and vetted their candidates for good leadership skills. They knew better than to run a buffoon like Donald Trump, for such a choice would reflect negatively upon them among the prominent members of their respective parties. While it wasn't perfect, the job of governing was honored and respected much more than it is today. Government was something to take pride in, instead of loathe. This attitude is also reflected in the caliber of some of our contestants this evening. All you need today is a Sugar Daddy. Ideas and responsible compassion for all Americans is not essential.
And so, in the midst of all of the fun this evening, I'm sure that at some point, I will long for the good old days, when uplifting messages about the concerns of all Americans used to score points with the electorate. Today, insults and mean-spirited personal attacks rule the day.
Hurling insults is not difficult. It might be fun and might even be useful in conveying a serious message. But an insult, especially one with no truth to it, can never, ever replace a message of hope and optimism; for this is what the American spirit, what that American "Exceptionalism" is all about.
This is the 21st century, America. Whatever your perspective, as we watch this debacle continue to unfold before our very eyes for the next 15 months, let's keep our eyes on our prize, our extraordinary march forward, toward that "more perfect union." Who can bring us that future?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
I am preparing for the debate(s) tonight. I have plenty of food and drink; and am catching up on Daily Show and Nightly Show episodes that I missed earlier this week. I am taking the day off after several days of problem-solving, and just allowing myself to have some fun. For me, history and politics is fun. I was a nerdy kid; ask anyone in town.
I have been a political junkie since I was 8 years old, over 50 years. Maybe it's a birth defect. I don't know; but I've always been like this. Because I am a bleeding heart, liberal Democrat, I'm hoping for a full-on train wreck. With Donald Trump leading in GOP polls, this doesn't seem like such a stretch. Bring it!
As much as I am looking forward to this evening, as evidenced by my stock-piling of diet coke and potato chips, a part of me laments all of this excess. The actual election is 15 months away, and soon we will all tire of the endless political ads that will barrage us full-time once primary season is over in about another year. Until then, only those of us living in primary states will be overwhelmed, at least for the moment. Billions of dollars will be spent, lots of insults will be hurled, the truth will still be obscured and a whole lot of people are gonna end up unhappy in the end. Sometimes it seems that we are more engaged in the excess than the outcome of political campaigns.
In 1944, President Roosevelt began campaigning in October for the November election. I realize that comparing the 1944 election to the 2016 presidential election is really unfair and not a very informative comparison. I know that. However, even in 1960, the campaign pretty much began at the beginning of 1960, not 1959; and no one spent nearly this much money on political silly season. And while it is true that the parties, and party bosses, were much more in control of the process than they are now; the control of the choices of candidates paraded before us is now clearly in the hands of a very few, very wealthy men. Is this better? I don't think so.
While the party bosses were just as male, white and wealthy as they are today, they at least had some sense of respect for the hard work of governance and vetted their candidates for good leadership skills. They knew better than to run a buffoon like Donald Trump, for such a choice would reflect negatively upon them among the prominent members of their respective parties. While it wasn't perfect, the job of governing was honored and respected much more than it is today. Government was something to take pride in, instead of loathe. This attitude is also reflected in the caliber of some of our contestants this evening. All you need today is a Sugar Daddy. Ideas and responsible compassion for all Americans is not essential.
And so, in the midst of all of the fun this evening, I'm sure that at some point, I will long for the good old days, when uplifting messages about the concerns of all Americans used to score points with the electorate. Today, insults and mean-spirited personal attacks rule the day.
Hurling insults is not difficult. It might be fun and might even be useful in conveying a serious message. But an insult, especially one with no truth to it, can never, ever replace a message of hope and optimism; for this is what the American spirit, what that American "Exceptionalism" is all about.
This is the 21st century, America. Whatever your perspective, as we watch this debacle continue to unfold before our very eyes for the next 15 months, let's keep our eyes on our prize, our extraordinary march forward, toward that "more perfect union." Who can bring us that future?
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, all rights reserved.
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