Hanging On

I wonder what it feels like to be a gecko hanging on a screen door. Suspended, in space, a flimsy net, a minimal connection to stability. All that air rushing past, an open patio door, like a giant industrial vent. Maybe it would be like skydiving but without the inconvenient falling, the screaming earthward at terminal velocity.

Delicate little gecko claws, grabbing tenaciously, defying gravity. Its minute lizard brain thinking lizard thoughts. Cold-blooded, suspended, clinging,  and then the bob. Like the blink of a human eye, thoughtless yet relentless – always the bob – a genuflection that seemingly, is a nod to its primitive ancestors.

At the mercy of so many forces; like I’ve said, the wind could sweep it away without warning, gravity too would pull it down to a thud of a landing. And predators; could a bird swoop past and pluck the lizard off the screen?

Then again, how is this different from the situation of people – those who may be hanging on?

Maybe not different at all. Aren’t many suspended? Clawing, clinging, trying to stabilize on an uncertain fabric. A fabric that seems fragile, itself battered about by the wind.

Sometimes I feel the relentless rush of the air, the circumstance of life. What would it take sweep me away to a fall? Am I many small wisps, or just one big gust, away? To be whisked off, tumbling – what would it take? How many more mortgage payments can I make, with no income before my own tenuous grasp fails? Does the county stop collecting property tax once a job is lost – no, they don’t. I exist to fund my public servants and my public projects. Taxes I must pay. This fulfils me. Especially the local high school’s multi-million dollar project to install solar cells over the span of an entire parking lot. Student’s cars are protected from the sun by carport-like structures, the roofs of which are mounted with countless photovoltaic cells.

A good friend of mine has reassured me though that these solar cells are good – and that, I will see that someday.

Meanwhile, as unemployment remains above 8% for more than 40 months now, and as reckless government spending ruins our nation’s finances and imperils the future value of our dollar, I take reassurance from another source. The president has told me that the only mistake of his first term is that he hasn’t been a good enough storyteller. Imagine that – the great communicator can’t tell a story well. The one who was elected for convincing us to believe in his fantastical story of hope and change has failed to master the narrative.

Here I have told you a story, although I leave it to you to decide if it is ‘good.’ As for my own assessment, I’ll assert that I’d make a better president than this one, based on my storytelling alone.

While we wait for the president to find his voice again’ let me assure you, I am fine – after all, I am hanging on.

 

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