Team Trauma

I remember when I was diagnosed with Birth Rage. Or wait. That wasn’t it. But as I recall the advent of my consciousness was so deeply triggering that I soon realized I was never going to get over this life, with all of its sharp edges and potential surprises at every crossing and turn. One might be taken unawares, one was told. This could lead to everything from catastrophic sudden unplanned disassembly to a lingering sense of ennui at twilight—and every shade between, from livid white to vivid black. Then aspiration led to adventure, with every result from benign to tragic. And I found a language—English, as it turned out. I was hoping for Arapaho, but no soap. For me words served as an eight-bladed cudgel when I first began to suspect that my own mental circumlocutions might not be the same as the stunted peregrinations of the average chap, but to no clear advantage—in other words I have been completely taken by surprise by how things have turned out; honestly, no one is more shocked than I am—and yet here we are. I may even have a few drawbacks. As it turns out I am entirely unprepared for this sort of thing (living a life), in every facet and niche except for the fact that I can sometimes bumble along and write about life with some verve and discernment, if no clear heft and thrust, and unknown intent and motivations, but still, I would be fine for everything if it were a series of lighthearted and amusing social lunches with witty banter and no end of warmth, followed by a jolly walk and perhaps a contemplative moment at some bridge on a river, or beach, and then some writing and reading and pondering the sky and oak trees and such. That would be just fine, thank you very much. But as they say on the internet, we want snuggles but we get struggles, and I don’t see how that can be spoken against with any sincerity. And as it turns out, all of us have had some struggles, and those are sometimes a defining aspect of our personalities. As it turns out, we’re all on Team Trauma, one way or another. Furthermore this might be both a blessing as well as a curse, our gift and our legacy entwined and unfurled, in each of our lives, and in all of our days. Maybe that high meadow is always just ahead and above us, waiting to draw us out of the deep valleys of pain and introspection, and to carry us to a place where we see one another with love and light, and glow ourselves in clarity and healing. What if we are inherently artistic and empathetic beings, and our true higher/inner self is best served by quiet gratitude, humble generosity and thoughtful kindness? Just swell.