When someone shares word of a death on Facebook, I will occasionally respond “So it goes.”
What does that mean?
In a couple of Kurt Vonnegut’s books (most notably Slaughterhouse-Five), there’s an alien race called the Tralfamadorians. They perceive time differently. They see the past, present, and future all at once. When someone dies, they say “So it goes” to acknowledge that they knew the death would happen, but that existence goes on.
This week something big died in this nation.
My tiny blog is unimportant. I know from Google Analytics that my most popular posts are on How to play Portal on a Silicon Mac and the clickbait title Marx and Racism (which is about the Marx Brothers). By “popular”, it means that about 40 people world-wide have visited those pages.
The rest of my posts are on such vital topics as irrelevant game reviews, Baldur’s Gate 3, and the Klingon language.
Big whoop.
I could start writing political posts instead. A great anger lurks within me on how on the trajectory of this country, on how the pride of ignorance has come to dominate the search for knowledge, on how a few convincing liars are leading to the misery of millions or even billions.
After thinking about it, I realized how pointless that would be. I’m not a compelling writer like Heather Cox Richardson or Jim Wright. Since so few read my words, and those that do are likely to share my opinions on the depth of the tragedy that’s occurred, my waste of disk space would contribute nothing.
Well, they might serve to help condemn me once the AI bots start reporting those who don’t share the dominant views of the oligarch of the day.
For all that it matters, I might as well continue to write about the emotional needs of Shadowheart or how to conjugate the verb Qup.
Which is in fact what I’ve decided to do.
A friend of mine recently suggested that I attend meetings of local organizations that try to stem the oncoming stampede of bullies that are headed our way. My father did this.
There are two reasons why I don’t:
- My health. I’m still isolating due to medical issues. Maybe I’m being overly cautious. But if I’m lucky enough to have two or three decades left before someone says “So it goes” about me, I’d rather not spend that time missing a lung or a kidney. I’ve hung around folks, but they have been kind enough to make sure they’re reasonably up-to-date on their vaccines and test just before we meet. Attending general political gatherings is not on the table for me.
- I’ve spent too long doing my religious work not to recognize one of my big character flaws is anger. It can overwhelm my critical thinking. That is exactly the goal of the massive disinformation machine that targets our nation. I’m part of their success story. All I’d contribute to a political meeting is negativity.
I’ll continue to help in the wimpiest way I can: with money. I have donated, and will continue to donate, to causes that I feel help shed some light in the darkness.
Part of the cure for anger is to not be angry. By writing about games as if they were real relationships, or Macintosh problems, or fictional languages, I help create an illusion of normalcy (or at least what’s normal for a stereotypical overweight SF geek).
The fight needs to be fought. It’s just that I can’t be the one to fight it.
The best I can do is try to remain calm, to continue offering comfort to friends and loved ones, to give financial aid when I’m unable to give physical aid.
Here’s another bit from Kurt Vonnegut (who is neither a favorite author of mine nor someone whose writing I generally enjoy). It’s a quote from Player Piano, a book about a helpless rebellion against a mechanized society that has made the average citizen meaningless.
“If we didn’t have a chance, then what on earth was the sense of—“ Paul left the sentence unfinished, and included the ruins of Ilium in a sweep of his hand.
Lasher was fully awake now, and he stood, and packed up and down the room, apparently irritated that he should have to explain something so obvious. “It doesn’t matter if we win or lose, Doctor. The important this is that we tried. For the record, we tried.!”
[…]
“What record?” said Paul?
[…]
“Revolutions aren’t my main line of business,” said Lasher, his voice deep and rolling. “I’m a minister, Doctor, remember? First and last, I’m an enemy of the Devil, a man of God!”
I’m not Lasher. I’m just some guy huddled in front of his computer, trying to be the loving caregiver of two cats. I hope my pitiful payments and my willingness to listen to others is enough.
I know I should be better, but I’m not.
There’s another point to be made:
It’s Saturday, September 15, 2001. The smoke from the World Trade Center’s destruction is still rising into the air. I’m working at the New York Ren Faire.
At first, it seemed like such a pointless thing to do.
Then I realized: What people needed on that day was a sense of normalcy. Entertainment of any sort helped them deal with the loss, pain, and helplessness.
That weekend was the last one for the Faire’s 2001 season. After that, while walking through the site, I found a field of flowers that hadn’t been there before. One of the Rennies had been in the towers when they fell. His friends had held a small memorial that included the planting of the flowers.
But these were all cut flowers from the Ren Faire flower-sellers, the “rose ladies”. By the time I came to the field, all the flowers were drying and wilted.
So it goes.
My blog is trivial, the topics I write about are trivial, my readership is trivial (in numbers, not the quality of the readers).
My hope is that by offering a sense of continuity, of fascination with the small pleasures of my life, I’m contributing some comfort to those who can choose to move forward.
For myself, if for no one else.
I know that most of readers come to this blog through links I post on Facebook. I’m not posting a link there for this essay. It’s for me, to justify my actions (however weak they are) to myself.
If you somehow chose to read this post, I ask that you do as I say, not as do: Be the Lasher I cannot be.
Be an enemy of the Darkness, a child of the Goddess.