The Fears That Stalk Us

 The last couple of years have further cemented my suspicions about what people are willing to do when they are fearful and refuse to either ask or entertain questions that refute that fear.

We ask how the atrocities of war can happen, where whole societies can look the other way as groups of people are singled out for ostracization, imprisonment, and even extermination. We have our answer: fear and control. Most people, it would seem, will abandon their morality if they feel justified through fear and a sense of authority. The people who, in the last couple years, self-righteously declared that anyone who didn't comply with the arbitrary rules of covid should be ostracized from society and refused medical treatment are the same people who would justify sending Jews and other undesirables to prison camps because they were supposedly a blight on society. Yet those people had the gall to call us, the non-conformers, Nazis.

I can't un-know and un-see what I've learned and seen since 2020. I can't look at people the same way that I did before. 

I did have inklings before 2020, of course, because I have asked uncomfortable questions. I know that people, by and large, refuse to question accepted knowledge. You might study and research a topic that contradicts something that "everyone knows," and you might have very good reason to question it, but most people (having done exactly zero research on the subject) will immediately poo-poo your questions and shut down any discussion. They won't want to hear what you've learned or what you're thinking. They will call you names for asking the question. They will laugh at you. 

When I served a mission, I created a name for this. I called it "the fear of being sold something you didn't want to buy." There is this irrational fear we have that somehow, someone will talk us into believing or buying something that we don't agree with; and somehow, we will have no control over this process, and we'll just wake up one day and realize we're stuck against our will and can't get out. 

It sounds silly when you name it and describe it (how would you be completely unaware of the process until it was too late to question it?), but naming and describing a fear is how you overcome it. Until you name it and describe it, it lurks like a demon in the shadowy places of your heart, causing nebulous anxiety and worry. An unnamed fear is a truly frightening thing. A named fear is a tamed fear. But to name a fear, you must face it and examine it thoroughly, and that can seem like a daunting process. Most of us are not interested in doing that work even though the more you face and name your fears, the easier it gets.

Once you name this fear, you can comfortably have conversations with people who are presenting a different viewpoint from yours, learning to understand where the other person is coming from and calmly choosing which points you agree with or disagree with, pondering those points later at your leisure. Only when both participants have tamed this fear is such a conversation possible. When you have faced and named this fear, you can ask questions that challenge the narrative. You have the mental capacity to reject "common knowledge"--or at least to have reservations about it until you have done more study and research to your satisfaction.

There is also a fear of being different, of not being seen to conform to society's standards, of being on the outside. It's a powerful fear. It works to keep most of us compliant with society's rules--which isn't necessarily a bad thing since it can prevent people with a weak moral compass from committing crimes. But when the fear is too strong, people will commit atrocities against each other in order to remain acceptable to the larger group. 

In the last two years, we have seen how fear rules most people. We have seen how seemingly normal, kind people will immediately turn on those who are not complying with the authority that the larger group has accepted as valid. We have seen how people will refuse to ask questions or allow others to ask questions that challenge the accepted authority. We have seen neighbors, friends, and family members cast out the undesirables. 

We have caught a glimpse of what we, as otherwise normal people, are willing to do to others we don't agree with or who are not toeing the line. And it is truly frightening. 

Does fear rule you?

Kidney Stones and Influenza for Christmas

 It's been an exciting couple of weeks, but not for the reasons I would have hoped. Still, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, no?

A preface: 

A year-and-a-half ago, when we were driving to Indiana to visit my MIL and FIL, I had an incident of pain so bad that I actually shed some tears and asked Husband to call an ambulance, which I had never done before (or since). We were literally in the middle of nowhere, and, if you recall the story, I ended up opting out of the two-hour ambulance ride to a hospital back the way we'd come in favor of just being miserable in the car with my family for the two hours it would take to get to our next destination, only to happily have the pain dissipate about ten minutes later as quickly and mysteriously as it began, never to recur again.

Until December 13 of this year (da da DAAAH!).

This time, I started suspecting a kidney stone based on the pain that wrapped around my left torso just under my rib cage. After a couple hours of serious discomfort, the pain dissipated again. I got influenza the next day, which added insult to injury; and to go along with the fever, aches, and chills, I also had the persistent sensation of urgently needing to pee but not being able to. I cannot describe to you how annoying that is.

I got over the flu--except for this pesky cough that is hanging on for dear life--and then had yet another kidney stone attack on Tuesday of this week. This one was really bad. It felt like I was in the beginning stage of active labor. The pressure was unbelievable, and if I had actually been pregnant, I would have birthed a child every time I had to cough, which was frequently. 

By this point, I realized that I could use pain killers to manage the pain, which is what I did for the hours and hours that this attack lasted, and which made it barely tolerable, because I was NOT going to the hospital if I didn't have to. I imagined the hours-long, deeply uncomfortable wait in the ER, the prodding and pushing and "Does this hurt?," the tests that would probably not reveal anything of significance, and, finally, the instructions to go back home and take pain medications and then make an appointment with my doctor for a follow-up. Followed by the hefty bill. No, thank you. 

At some point in the night I had finally dozed off in exhaustion, and when I woke up at 5am, I realized my kidney was no longer killing me. You know how the cessation of severe pain is such an intensely blissful relief that you feel so very grateful for everything you've ever been blessed with? If you know, you know. 

I had attempted to make a doctor appointment after the first kidney stone last week, but the receptionist was stupid and sent me to the voicemail box of a doctor's coordinator not in my insurance network and that couldn't help me. I had the flu pretty bad by that point, so I kept putting off calling back because I didn't feel well. This week, though, I tried again. The stupid receptionist tried to fob me off and tell me that there were no available appointments until January, but I mentioned kidneys and stones, and she magically found an appointment for me. I just went to that appointment last night, and the doctor wants me to have a CT scan of my entire abdomen. He's a little concerned. I, however, am not currently having any kidney stone symptoms, which is lovely.

Meanwhile, there is good news:

I got my new set of hormone pellets, and the higher dose of testosterone seems to be doing something. I am sleeping better and have more energy. 

While I was sick, I decided to use the time to also overcome my diet cola addiction. I went cold turkey rather than taper it down. The withdrawal headaches were impressive, but I'm now a week free of all soda/pop/Coke. I am drinking a lot more water, and I'm chugging down warm lemon water to try and eliminate future kidney stones. I am well aware that drinking soda might have contributed to my having kidney stones. I am grateful I was able to use the unpleasantness of last week to kick the habit. I now associate soda with pain and suffering, and the temptation to drink it is gone.

My kids, sons-in-law, parents, and siblings are coming over for Christmas. I'm setting up a baked potato bar with chili, and everyone has instructions to bring a snack to share. It will be casual and fun.

The Humor of the Youngsters

Joseph showed this to me, obviously hoping for an epic reaction. Apparently, this is the epitome of Gen Z humor, and, according to the glowing comments, this is laugh-until-you-cry funny for people of a certain age.

I don't get it, for I am old. I mean, I get why it's supposed to be funny (to a certain extent), but it just doesn't really tickle my funny bone into side-splitting gales of laughter.

Humor is definitely generational. I remember trying to explain Gen X humor and terms to an older male adult when I was about 17 or 18 and being confused as to why he was confused. 

I am he. He is I.