Hope and Sadness

Today could be one of those days that slips into the mist without so much as a whimper. This Friday might slink off into the corroded dustbin of history, skirting recognition as a time worth remembering and shirking its responsibilities for giving the calendar a reason for being. On the other hand, this extraordinary mid-August day, if that’s what it becomes, has the potential for greatness; the opportunity to go down in the annals of peace as the commencement of  a time free of war and conflict, or a day during which a cure for cancer or MLS or Alzheimer’s disease is found.

The sun need not rise for this day to make, or mask, its mark on history. A ceasefire in Syria, one that actually holds, could be announced, perhaps. Or the political stage in the U.S. could—for just a day—be empty, allowing us all to breathe air untainted by lies, corrupt proclamations, and narcissism of epic proportions. A full day, beginning before daylight and ending well after nightfall, could usher in nothing new at all; a boring day so much like other boring days that historians in years hence will be unable to differentiate it from thousands and thousands of other days.

I see potential  in the pre-dawn darkness. As a quixotic optimist, I see opportunities for this day to leave an ever-lasting and beautiful mark on humanity. But I am an unwilling realist, too. Today, like every day before it, could reveal the ugliness that I too often associate with humanity.

The only piece of history available to me to make is my own. Like most history, it will go unrecorded and unremembered. But my little piece of history is subject to my personal investment of time, thought, and energy; along with imponderables and influences outside my control. But that’s nothing new. Every day, remarkable or not, is like that. And so ends a minor rant tinged with hope and sadness.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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