This week’s writing challenge at The Blacklight Candelabra intrigued me, and truth be told, intimidated me a bit. For a few moments I was thrown back into the “I’m not a real writer” mindset. A real writer would understand this challenge a lot better than I did. Plus I never read Satanic Verses so I have no idea of the context. Based on the instructions though, that may not be as important as I think it is. In spite of my concerns, I copied the challenge into a Word document, highlighted a couple of (I thought) pertinent phrases and opened it a few times during the day to re-read it. Then I read one of the responses already posted and added that to my already buzzing brain. Here goes nothing.
I think ideas are fluid – they change or evolve as they develop. Or perhaps what I mean to say is they should be fluid. So compromise would seem to be one means of an idea changing or growing, right?. What happens if there is no compromise? No bending or growing? Rushdie said it plainly enough: “smashed to bits.” Sometimes that’s the way I feel when discussing ideas with JD. He sees things one way: HIS.
And wouldn’t you know he’s an expert on just about Every. Damn. Thing? From scrambling eggs to alternative healing to the cost of oil to the political crisis-of-the-day. He knows everything there is to know about everything worth knowing – in his opinion. Dare to disagree with one of his ideas and prepare to be disparaged for your foolishness. His baby sister lives dangerously by voting Democrat and having the audacity to proclaim that with an Obama sticker on her foreign car. Oh the horror! I gave up trying to reason with him long ago. You can only bash your head against the wall so many times.
JD will start one of his orations on some topic or other and the moment I realize this is one of those discussions, I tune out, which in itself is risky. I manage to retain enough connection to the conversation to nod and murmur “mm hmm” on occasion. (Can you call it a conversation when only one party is doing the talking?) The risks come later when he says he told me something and I have no recollection of it. He certainly could have told me the sky was purple with green polka dots and it probably would have sounded like the adults in Peanuts.
Then he complains that I never pay attention to him; that I don’t think what he says is important enough for me to listen. Sigh.
We agree on that, to a point. When he goes on and on and on about the same tired subjects, why would I want to pay attention? I know his opinions on certain topics as well as he does and I don’t see those changing any time soon. What’s the point of debating with someone who believes they’re right and everyone else isn’t? Life is too short.
If I didn’t love the man I’m sure I would have killed him by now. But I have to admit, every now and again he says something that resonates with me. We often ask ourselves why we love each other and 18 years later we both still have the same answer: I Don’t Know.