The Tragedy is Thinking You, Yes You, Aren't in the Middle of One

In business and marketing we talk about velocity, meaning the speed in which something moves, the pace of say software adoption or on the consumer side from placement to purchase.

We like velocity.

The quickness.

For something to go viral.

1 million hits, likes, followers, streams.

Another “V” word


The amount of space something occupies.

These two words together are a marketers or a businesses dream.

To have mindshare.

To capture an audience.

To have a message go out and be heard.

As I watch the other half of a state I love go up in flames, l’m sickened by the velocity and volume to which our value, not values are being given away. Our values are a whole other conversation.

I wrote about the disconnect one can have from tragedy when it isn’t yours. I wrote about the fact that I too moved on from remembering the pain that surrounds so many people I care about and love. Wanting to be active and woke and admitting that I forgot.

Tonight I think that what is most tragic is that we all and I mean everyone, each one of us on this planet is in the midst of a monumental Shakespearean/Greek Epic tragedy where the shifting of our moral fiber is being gutted, stripped and carved away from the very bones of our beings, history, and strengths as individuals, a nation, and a global citizenry.

The velocity at which decisions, codes, bills, laws, signatures, disrespect, egotism, rudeness and hate are being pushed and choked down our throats is proving difficult to keep up with. The very volume weighing down on everyone having what I see everywhere these days — a Chronic Fight Fatigue, a level of stress weighing over us, a black cloud of ugh.

This fight to simply live your life put food on the table and take care of what matters most is enough. Then, how do you choose which cause or plight to take a stand for when exhaustive, unbelievable notions are coming at you rapid fire from an automatic machine gun with unlimited ammunition. And there is no force field, no “shields up” to protect any of us. Because you cannot hide from it. It’s everywhere in every aspect of our lives from football to foreign policy.

It’s the little things that unravel a code of conduct, the rules of engagement, a belief system that you hold dear. The big things that make you scratch your head and say did that just happen?

It’s a discriminatory sign on a business, being “ok.” Second class citizenship.

It’s a racist woman in first class, profiling a black man boarding before her.

It’s protected land been grabbed because of money and spite.

It’s cutting off an elephant’s trunk just for fun and having THAT be protected.

It’s a big bloated (with extraneous scribble) yet oh so personal bill that not many even know what is inside it. Like ripping open the belly of a shark to find an infinite number of rank, disgusting pieces of rotting garbage. And then saying wow, that’s so weird that, that was inside there, huh? Sharks eat everything. (With respect to the actual apex predator).

If next year, another fire comes and my house burns down, per the tax plan, I’m not allowed a tax deduction for damages unless the federal government deems it a “disaster”. So my beloved California and Washington State, next year if the fires come again and when the disaster isn’t deemed a disaster by the powers that be. Oh well.

Seniors, the two “M” words that keep you safe and sound, and the Social Security that you worked for — these things are not “safe” - you are actually not “entitled” to them, someone is coming for them. When your medication(s) isn’t free and becomes $80, $100, $400 per month on your fixed retirement income. Oh well.

I know I know there are sides to every story, but this isn’t a choose your own adventure book. You are not turning the pages here, someone else is. And the fact that a majority of people don’t understand that fake news isn’t the problem but the truth of what is happening is in plain sight is. A moderate still swings on the same pendulum with extremists even if they don’t believe in hate. Unfortunately, history tells us so.

We are being taken for a ride and yet people cannot, will not or are simply not able to see it. The inability for people to see that the sky truly is falling for everyone, with no political party spared, all races, all creeds, everyone’s value is being cut to the quick and that in my opinion is the most tragic thing of all. You can be diametrically opposed to my beliefs, but I would hope you value my humanity because I value yours. The thing is, is not everyone thinks this way. Hate is a spectrum that has an evil, secret way of spreading its tentacles.

Cancer doesn’t discriminate. And death comes for us all. We have to choose to see that the velocity and volume of what is happening right now the little things and the big ones affect each and every one of us. Our value as human beings, the freedoms we enjoy, are not slowly and surely being ripped away but are disappearing at a rapid-fire rate. Today, right now at this very moment. There is an “F” word on the tip of my tongue, and it isn’t the one I often use in a colorful epitaph.

How long do you wait until you recognize in the horror story that you are actually in the middle of it — do we have to cue the creepy music for you to see that there is a person with a knife is behind you?

The right to protest is being threatened, but there is moral outrage about our right to bear arms.

The walls around sexual misconduct are crumbling, and yet we have a Predator in Chief.

I could go on, but you get my point.

When we don’t value each other, we all lose. Not just one side or the other. We shouldn’t have to have aliens or an asteroid to come barreling toward earth to get us come together and say stop this utter nonsense. And to not see that we are going down a terrible, dangerous path that we may not be able to course correct no matter who is at the wheel. Again this has happened before.

Here’s the thing about being human. As I wrote this after watching the news and am a little tired, a little in the mire of my own “stuff” the personal stuff we all have and are going through in our day to day lives. I flip over to Facebook and a family member of mine has posted a video of the “Top Ten Ways to Fart”. Which I watched and started crying because I was laughing so hard.

And I think, above all my anger, all my wanting to spread some thoughts, all my “can we get it together”, how can I say something, anything that could be helpful in the middle of what is tragic (and I do believe wholeheartedly that we are in a mess of epic proportion) was that what maybe what I really needed was to laugh for 10 minutes over a fart video.

Because what truly is tragic is to lose your light, your love, your laughter, your leaning into the goodness of people, your “we can do it” in the face of adversity.

So maybe for a moment after all that, I flipped my talk of the tragic into a comedy in true Shakespearean form.

The thing is, is that farts are funny. The problem is that devaluing and degrading of human beings is not. And this isn’t going away. This is the new normal. I read this after writing this and it scared the hell out of me.

Aye, there’s the rub.

I’ll tell you this scares me to post, but there are some things you just can’t not do.


To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: aye, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.