The story has a happy ending. Part of why I feel justified in much of my inaction is because of my appraisal of our current path should I do nothing or fail.
I’m on the correct side of history, and history is on the correct side of ethics. Humanity is already inexorably going where I would have it go. My efforts are no longer about guiding the ship of state so to speak but are rather about improving the voyage for anyone who will listen.
Children are the easiest to help ironically because of being the easiest to harm. As a disposable subclass, I need only convince their owners, and like a king making a decree they can implement wonder whole cloth.
The highest compliment ever paid me was a young mother who read aloud something I wrote to her son and she promised to do so again periodically as he aged.
Regardless of her specific following through, the point is that she listened. She saw him for a moment as I see them. His life will be incalculably improved as a result.
But I have my limits. I may be cold in my processing and merciless in my error checking, but I am ultimately like all humans emotionally driven.
And as the impoverished years wear on my armor corrodes and my control weakens. I am simply not as strong as I was. I cannot endure the rage anymore. Like a racing engine firing again and again, my parts are slowly warping, eventually the explosion won’t be contained and channeled into useful force.
And so I spend more and more time in my garage. Only coming out on good days for slow drives or to show to friends who won’t respectlessly kick the tires.
I don’t even debate or lecture strangers anymore. I walk away from as many debates now as I sought out in my 20s. The pain of that is hard to describe. I’d literally be dead now if it wasn’t for two facts. 1. I found a way to allow myself to begin setting down the torch. 2. My work is permanently available. Everything I’ve said is being said constantly not just by myself in standing print, but by others.
I heard it in a movie that no work of art is ever completed, only abandoned, well, the same is true of some life’s works.
After a life spent pushing, the boulder has starter to move ever so slowly down hill. It can and will only pick up speed. The walls at the bottom of the hill are doomed.
Inspired by: This discussion.