I once read a magazine article that said people who protested are happier than those who merely watch the news and let life happen around them. Always looking to make my world a little more jolly, I decided to experiment with this theory and protest against the evils of the world like right-wing conservatives and the makers of acid washed jeans. Feeling the rush of belonging to a group that sought to make a difference, I found myself marching for gay pride, black pride, Harley pride, poodle owners pride. I worked tirelessly with a team to make certain there really were two scoops of raisins in Kellogg's Raisin Bran.
All of this left me elated but exhausted. Somewhere in the midst of banner making and paint throwing I forgot why I started protesting. Was all this hoopla really making me happy? Did I even believe the things I shouted? Between same-sex and Malcolm X, I lost a sense of being. Sure, it was nice meeting new people with a collective idea of what was right and wrong in the world, but what about me? What do I believe? In this great bit, confusing world where the next big thing is yesterday's news, how do we keep a sense of self when we have so many choices?
No comments:
Post a Comment