Excellence

“The antidote to wokeness is excellence.”  -Christopher F. Rufo (tweet from 10/2/2020)

 

This tweet captures a sentiment, that has been floating around my head for the last week.  Having watched The Last Dance, less than a month ago, I’m left contemplating how different things are now, since my childhood. 

 

The memories sparked from The Last Dance have been intense.  Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls were my childhood.  Watching a recap, twenty years later, sheds light on the cultural revolution we have undergone since. 

 

With exceptions, Michael Jordan was universally accepted as a role model.  As many of the people and institutions that we blindly trusted are disgraced, I’ve worried that Michael Jordan might be next.  After watching the documentary, I was assured he was just as great as my 14- year-old self, believed him to be.

 

What stands out the most, is that Michael embodied the same principles my parents were trying to impart on me, at the time.  Character traits like working harder than anyone else, striving to be my best, perseverance, raising up those around me, teamwork, leadership and general toughness were being taught at home and reflected in pop culture.  Today, I can’t even name a universally recognized role model (I admittedly don’t follow mainstream culture) let alone someone a parent (assuming and hoping parents are decent, well-adjusted people) would condone. 

 

Above all, Michael embodied excellence.  It emanated so powerfully from every action he took, that I get choked up thinking about it.  Cut to professional sports today.  Excellence appears to be the last thing on anybody’s mind.  Now we have a race to the bottom.  Who can embody victimhood or grievance culture the most?  How did we get here? 

 

Until recently we could see symptoms of the problem, but we didn’t have a diagnosis.  There have been cultural commentators, politicians, twitterati and college professors desperately trying to warn us of the cultural infiltration.  In the last few months, a few academics have enlightened us to an organized effort, that has been gaining traction in the shadows.  We now know, these early warnings were not a drill.   

 

Even without knowing the real cause, many of us have intuited a problem.  I was originally made aware of the problem because of First Amendment issues around 2015.  Anyone alert enough at the time, wasn’t surprise when Trump won in 2016.  His victory seemed like a direct reaction to the pinch that many were feeling, but couldn’t explain.  Now we know.   

 

Those such as Christopher Rufo, James Lindsay and Helen Pluckrose, have dove deep into woke culture, perhaps even more than those who subscribe to it, and are now doing the Lord’s work to inform the unassuming public, including the President.  Hence the recent executive order banning Critical Race Theory in governmental institutions.   

 

How is this related to Michael Jordan?  I’m hoping those who are old enough to remember when striving for excellence was something we could all get behind, will wake up.  What do you want to impart on your children?  That they can do anything?  Reach any heights?  Shatter limits?  Destroy records?  Inspire billions?   Or that they are victims?  Or oppressors (based on their skin color)?  That competition is bad?  That striving for excellence is shameful? 

 

It seems stupid to type, but that is what we are witnessing.  What a difference 25 years makes.  I am optimistic though.  Whether intuitively or because of understanding the woke movement people are coming to.  Consciously or unconsciously, reasonable people know that glorifying victimhood is a recipe for disaster.  Nothing could be less American.   

 

Like Mike, anyone with any fight left in them, isn’t going to be able to sit on the sidelines and watch as the weak wreak havoc on our court.  Now is the time to be the best version of yourself and encourage the same in everyone else.  Victimhood can’t abide in excellence. 

What Is At Stake?

We need some perspective.  Perhaps (hopefully), by this point, you’ve realized that most are unsure of what we are even fighting about.  What better day, than the 4th of July to remind ourselves what this is all about.   

Has anything changed since 1776.  In many ways, no.  The struggle is the same.  To this day, the divide is about freedom versus tyranny.  That’s it!  Seems simple enough.   

How did the pursuit of freedom get so convoluted?  That is an ongoing, in-depth, never-ending research project, which, I highly suggest you start to undertake immediately, if you haven’t already.  Aside from civic duty, it is imperative to understand what has happened, if you dare open your mouth.  I’m not here to tell you my current understanding of history; we all have to come to an understanding ourselves.  We are each writing our own narrative.  Chances are, you are misinformed.  How can I think I know the truth?  I absolutely do not.  That is my point.  We just don’t know.  This is information warfare.  It's nothing new.  From the moment that your parents turned on PBS for you, as a toddler, you have been inundated.  The onslaught has continued every moment of everyday.  Until you go down every rabbit hole, you think you disagree with, and you are completely confused because your entire paradigm has been shaken, and you come to the realization that you actually can’t be sure of anything, you should assume, you are misinformed.  This awareness, alone could fix most of our fighting.   

As you wade through the mire, on the battlefield for your attention, it's important to keep your head up, as to not lose sight of the divide:  freedom versus tyranny.  I will continue to repeat this, because that is the trick.  Those who wish to limit our freedom have imposed a fake divide on us.  This hoodwink worked too well.  Seriously.  They are clever motherfuckers!  I am of course talking about ideology.  The ideological divide, otherwise known as the culture war, is a fake divide imposed on us, to prevent us from seeing what is really at stake. 

When we acknowledge what is really at stake, things don’t seem so divided.  Who isn’t for freedom?  If you claim not to be, I would suggest that are you trapped in the fake divide.  See how tricky it is?  Perhaps when I ask, “who isn’t for freedom”, your first thought is, yeah but everyone is not free so I can’t enjoy my freedom until we all have equal freedom.  A classic trick of the tyrannical.  Freedom begets more freedom.  Tyranny begets tyranny.  Tyranny never begets freedom.  Ever.  Thinking you have to give up your freedoms, to free someone else is a misunderstanding of how the world works.  It’s a trap.  An easy one to fall into, when one is ensnared in identity politics.   

Have you fallen for that trick?  Identity politics?  Don’t be ashamed, that was the point.  It’s a divide and conquer tactic.  It worked too well.  Get everyone to identify with groups and then set these groups against each other.  Once you fall into the trap, you lose sight of the real divide:  FREEDOM versus TYRANNY.   

The fake divides are peaking (I hope and pray).  Race, sexual preference, gender, class and political affiliation are characteristics, not identities.  When you start identifying yourself by one of your characteristics you see yourself as separate from those who don’t share your characteristic or from those who choose not to identify themselves based on a characteristic.  You are creating or perpetuating a fake divide.  This is all on purpose.  Once someone is made to be a victim based on one of these characteristics, that makes everyone else an oppressor.  Why is this bad?  Look at current events.  It's not hard to see how far people will take the fake divide.   

Please don’t confuse my claim that we are really all on the same side (freedom) as a mono-ideology.  I want and love pluralism.  Diversity of ideas is essential to a healthy republic.  But we must understand the parameters of the field we are playing on, before we can play the game.  Since the game didn’t come with a set of instructions and we can’t trust anyone to inform us of the rules or even how the game is set up, we first must quest to understand the reality of the situation.  Not an easy task, but necessary if one is to participate in the discourse.   

Consensus is the goal.  That is consensus on the scope and parameters and perhaps even the rules. (oh wait, we already have that...the Constitution.  Take a lesson.)  Then, we can disagree our little hearts out on the content.  Until then, this is all just a bunch of instigated nonsense.  Once we realize the game we are in, there will be healthy division, but the lines will be drawn much differently than they are now.  We’ll realize we agree on much more than not, and the disagreements are profound and important and the real challenges the American ideal was set up to grapple with.   

America.  Fuck Yeah. 

Exploiting Emotions

Two weeks ago, in the wake of the supposed virus plaguing our country, I started writing an article attempting to address my concern that our compassion may make many of us vulnerable to ideological ploys.  Given we are in an election year and we were already in the trenches of information warfare, I was hoping to warn my close friends and family, the only people I share most of my writing with (if it even makes it out of my journal) to be ready for the next assault on our heartstrings.  I didn’t even finish the article, before the next bomb was dropped.     

Now the lines have been drawn.  Or have they?  While many want to see this as two-sided, my observations produce different results.  While it is very easy for me to see how all those who jump on the Black Lives Matter bandwagon, got there, I’m not so sure about the other “side”.  I'm unable to find anyone who does not think that black lives matter.  It seems to be a consensus that all lives matter and that the police officer who set this all off, should be held accountable.  Where the debate lies is how/why this issue is relevant now.  

The injustice that transpired isn’t new.  Nor is the exploitation of it.  If you were born yesterday, I will pardon your ignorance of the injustices in our country/world.  Otherwise I am baffled.  How are you still falling for this stuff?

Am I suggesting we just accept injustice?  Of course not.  If you are so moved, do something about it.  But be careful.  While I’ll avoid the systematic racism debate, the situation of black people is being used for political gain.  Lumping a whole race of people together is stereotyping.  The Black Lives Matter movement, is being used for politics, not justice.  Do you think it is a coincidence that the last surge of interest in the movement was in 2016, just prior to the previous presidential election?   

This is a reoccurring theme.  The very people trying to call out injustice, inadvertently become the ones grouping people by the color of their skin (or gender, or sexual preference…) and not on the content of their character.  Its tricky.  When blinded by righteousness, its hard to avoid hypocrisy.  An easy trap in the identity politics world.

Why am I saying all this?  I’m just asking that everyone be a little less easy. First the whole stay home/mask thing and now the immediate and unquestioning obedience to support this political ploy. Frightening.  Please don’t let your emotions be exploited by those who care nothing for the causes you feel so strongly about.  Not only will you fall short of helping others, but you risk doing the exact thing, you claim to be fighting against.  

Be vigilant.  The onslaught on your emotions will only intensify until November.  They want us divided.  We are all in this together.  

Nuance

Very little is black and white.  However, if I look at the news or social media, this doesn’t seem to be the case.  People talk as if everything is cut and dry.  You are either for or against vaccines.  You either believe in climate change or you deny it.  You are either a Democrat or a Republican.  You either hate Trump or you are a racist.  Really?  These are my only options? 

Of course not.  There is so much in between.  And most people, probably fall somewhere in between.  But, the loudest voices seem to come from those who stand strongly in one camp or the other, and try to project these narrow parameters onto everyone else.   

Everyone else dwells in the nuance sphere.  I trust these people.  People less sure of themselves.  People who are unsure of what to make of the plethora of information we have at our fingertips.  People who recognize that we don’t really know the truth about much.  People who are trying to discern for themselves what information to base their actions on. 

It's clear to me how people became so sure of themselves.  We have been made to believe everything is black and white.  Good and evil.  Right and left.  But, we have been deceived.  A fake divide has been imposed on us.  It is not accurate.  We mostly agree.  It is details we disagree on.  And those details have been exaggerated to such an extent, some are ready to die for their “side”.  Calm down.  You don’t have enough information to die for any cause.   

We can know things.  For yourself.  You know the truth, for you.  But that is only your truth.  Once you try to impose that which you know, for yourself, to be true, onto others, you cross the line.  When you do this, what you are saying is, “I know what is best for you, because you are too stupid to figure it out for yourself.  Let's legislate my truth.  It's for your own good.”   

No thanks.  While I cherish your right to share your OPINION, I reserve the right to judge your opinion.  I question your motives.  Mostly, people just want to be right.  Most of this is ego bullshit.  Check yourself.  Are you really doing any good by perpetuating the fake divide?  Is being right, closing your mind off from understanding that we are all perceiving differently?  Are you desperately grasping to an ideology because that’s just what you’ve always done and questioning it, or changing your opinion would mean you were wrong or misinformed in the past? 

Finally, the things that I have been most concerned with, for decades, are now the main topics of social discourse, but it really hard to talk to most people about it, because they refuse to have nuanced conversation.  The moment I don't echo back their opinion, the conversation is over.  It’s disappointing.  I know you are out there though.  The silent majority.  People too wise to open their mouth.  I get it.  I look forward to the day when we can engage in CIVIL, productive discourse.    

Dirty Van Hippie

If you know, my best friend, Gracie, you maybe surprised to learn, that she is an excellent van-dweller.  Her appearance, which clearly takes a lot of time and energy and the size of her wardrobe, let alone her shoe collection, would lead one to believe that she is too high-maintenance to live simply, off the grid.  It came as a shock to me, on our first trip together.  Even her dad noticed.  Around that time, he saw a picture of Gracie in her van garb, that I posted on Facebook, and commented, “you dirty van hippie”!

Gracie is a dirty van hippie.  While I take advantage of any opportunity to get clean, getting in ANY body of water, any time of year, Gracie would go weeks without bathing.  To her, clean, is redoing her makeup, which she would do, every couple of days, despite the non-existence of any human contact, besides me, who not only doesn’t care, but is actually turned off, by such things.  But that is her homeostasis, as mine, is being clean.

Another quirk I learned of Gracie’s, as we started traveling together, is how long she would hold her bladder.  This was not only in situations when it was inconvenient to go to the bathroom.  Out of sheer laziness she would wait hours to use the bathroom.  While this seems extremely uncomfortable and unhealthy to me, what could I do, besides make fun of her?  Which I did.

This all came to a head one day, long ago, on a frigid day in December, somewhere in Texas.  We woke up in my van to a completely frozen landscape.

We had already been traveling for a week.  A few of the nights were spent in below zero temperatures and we had already sat out a snow storm near Zion National Park.  Realizing more weather was impending we picked up our pace heading south.  When we got to interstate 10, in Tucson, and started heading east, it seemed like we were in the clear.  We were taking our dear old time to get to Longview, Texas, where Gracie’s parents live.

The day before waking up in the frozen nightmare, had been interesting.  After hitting up a Cracker Barrel in El Paso, we continued east, enjoying the sun and western Texas landscape, that was all new to me.  We smoked a bowl to settle our stomachs from the Cracker Barrel mistake.  That too, proved to be a mistake, as shortly after getting extremely high, we pass signs and cameras indicating we are about to be stopped at an immigration checkpoint.  We freeze because the cameras, and then scramble to put the paraphernalia away, without appearing to move, as we slow to a stop in the checkpoint.  Gracie, who is driving, puts down her window, and gives the border patrol agent her full southern accent, “Good afternoon, sir”.

“Is everyone in the vehicle, a US citizen,” he barks.

“Yes?”, Gracie answers with a question.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Texas?”, Gracie again asks instead of answers.

The border patrol agent looks at her, then looks at me.  I try to keep a straight face despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.  Before he can even figure out what to say (as we are already in Texas), Gracie tries again.

“My parent’s house?”  Another question.

The border patrol agent, cracks a smile, unsure what to make of this ditzy bitch, and backs away from the window and waves us through.  We bolt down the interstate without moving and talking without moving our lips, as if they can still see us.  After we can think and breathe again, I research these immigration checkpoints and learn there aren’t any more.  Holy shit.  Now we are really high.  The combination of smoking weed, the adrenaline of the surprise stop, and then the relief of getting through it, was intense.  We cruise on down the interstate with our new buzz on.

We enjoyed our high, and the easy interstate driving for a few hours before things got a bit ominous.  When I say got, I mean turned, in like 10 seconds.  Sure, the temperature had dropped a bit, as we arrived in some hillier territory, but with very little warning, moisture started to hit the windshield.  The wipers couldn’t keep up.  They seemed to be making it worse.  What the fuck is happening?

“Pull over,” Gracie yells.

With almost no visibility, I pull off the interstate, noticing I’m nearly to the onramp to a picnic area.  I pull in, up to a curb, and dozens of semis and other vehicles fill in, around my van.
We are safe now.  We can just stay here for the night.  Fully equipped with food, water, gas, movies, 4G, and weed, this was no different than our night would have been had we not been forced off the highway, by a flash freeze.  This likely wasn’t the case for others at the picnic area.  We could only imagine how unprepared anyone else was for this, as we were not going to be leaving the vehicle, at all.  I had tried to pee outside, but couldn’t even go, because it was so frigid and there was no place to go and not be seen by others.  This was just a picnic area, not a rest area, with restrooms.  Huh, I thought, as I relieved myself in a bucket, inside the van and threw it out the door.  What if its like this in the morning.  Where will I shit?

Where I shit, is not something I take lightly.  This is the main determining factor of where I park, to sleep.  If it is not somewhere, I can wake up, drink coffee, and immediately poop, arrangements will have to be made, as to where that is going to transpire, within a reasonable distance.  I set myself up for success.  My day will be ruined if I have the urge, but let it pass, as I am not in a position to make the deposit.  This isn’t just in vanlife, this is everyday shit for me. 

This brings us to waking in the completely frozen landscape.  We were still surrounded by semis, but many of the cars that had pulled off with us, were gone, likely having to brave the icy conditions as opposed to freezing at the picnic area.  We didn't need to risk it.  We were warm enough (if under the covers), had plenty of food and water, and enough gas to occasionally run the engine, as some trucks seemed to be dealing with a frozen engine.  The only discomfort was that there was no where to shit.  It was insanely cold out, but I would not have let that stopped me, if there was privacy.  That's all there was too it, I was not going to be able to shit today.  Drinking coffee was certainly out of the question.  This is not how any day, ever, starts for me.

I crawled back into bed and smoked some weed, as that inhibits me from pooping.  Wait a second.  What the hell?  Gracie hasn't peed since we got here the night before.  She isn't into peeing in the bucket, despite my exclamations at the conveniences that go with it.
At this time, I had only been peeing in a bucket for two years.  That isn't long, considering I'd been living and/or spending large amounts of time in vehicles for six years.  Once I started doing it, I wondered how had I not done this sooner.  It was a game changer.  Freedom.  I had started doing it, when staying in a city and had no options, but soon realized the myriad times this action was convenient.  I had known, and been a little jealous, of guys doing this, and often capping it, to throw out later.  When I figured out I just needed a much wider-mouth, container, I was good to go. 

Up until this point, Gracie had not only refused to pee in a bucket, she made fun of me for doing so.  “I will never do that,” she said.

Which brings us back to the dilemma of the moment.  It is definitely not convenient for her to relieve herself, outside, now.  In every moment her situation is becoming more dire.  She has to pee so bad, it hurts me.  Finally the realization sets in.  She either has to go outside and face peeing where all the truckers can see her and her pee will likely freeze mid-stream or she can go in the bucket.  She opts for the bucket.

Gracie pulls the curtain between the bed, where I am laying and the open space, that incidentally serves as kitchen, living room and bathroom.  I remain quiet, holding back my laughter, as she tries to relax and settle into the reality of the situation.  Finally the silence is broken with the sound of the stream hitting the inside of the bucket.  I feel just as relieved as she must be feeling.  I try to hold back and give her “privacy”, but unable, I mutter, “you dirty van hippie.”

“Stop it!”, she screams, as she begins to laugh.  “I’m going to miss.”

I am so proud.  This feels like a milepost of van-dwelling.   A whole new world.  Gracie had plenty of opportunities to put her new skillset to work in the days that followed.  We ended up being parked at that picnic area for 36 hours.  Finally when we woke the second morning, everything had thawed, and we felt safe, proceeding.  The sun was out, and we cruised on down the interstate.  Despite being relatively comfortable during the emergency situation, we were slightly perturbed when we learned that a couple miles down the road, was the fanciest fucking rest area, we encountered on our whole trip.  Oh well, Gracie had earned her van-dwelling badge.

I wish that was where the story ended, but it ended up getting way crazier, as far as driving conditions went.

To this day, I have still never had to shit inside the van.  Most van-dwellers, if not by choice, are forced to do so, one way or another, eventually.  I’m sure that day will come for me, but luckily, it hasn’t come to that….yet!

As for Gracie, you’d be unlikely to find a more stalwart van-dweller.  Aside from all the usual skills one acquires while living in a vehicles, Gracie has mastered van cooking and interior design.  She continues to take being a dirty van hippie to new levels.