Humanity Is Going Rogue
When we lose our orbit, what is left?
Everybody was somebody’s baby — once.
This is something that I have to work to remember.
The man audibly hissing BITCH at a woman in line at the pharmacy wearing a T-shirt with a slogan he doesn’t like.
The person on social media gleefully invoking Darwin at the news of another preventable death.
The woman in the grocery store sampling strawberries out of the plastic box before she strolls on, leaving the open container behind.
The driver of the car whose sole purpose is to make sure that another driver doesn’t get to merge.
Me.
Who judges all of the above for not being better, disregarding my own failings. Who is relieved to get home and shut the door behind me, letting in only who and what I want. Kind of like that driver I gifted with the stink eye.
All of us were new to the world once — hopefully loved, but maybe not enough or even at all. Left with a varying assortment of tools and armor to make our way into adulthood. Maybe we were confident or foolhardy enough to bring our own children into the world.
Those babies, ours, are the ones who will always be babies to us. Forever worthy of love and protection…
