Doing the Hokey Pokey

I would do it more often, sit at a bar by myself, nursing a glass of wine, if it didn't make me feel so conspicuous and inconspicuous at the same time. Conspicuous because I fear others assume I'm there to pick up something other than the chicken paillard I have been fantasizing about for hours; inconspicuous because, really, nobody notices a fifty-eight year old woman sitting at a bar.

I'm not much of a conversationalist, but I like nothing better than listening in on others. The guys to my left covered all the bases -- brilliant children, miserable and ungrateful stepchildren, unworthy ex-wives, gracious new wives who gladly took them in, as is, damaged and laden with baggage. The circle of life in suburban America, same old story, except the guys are ignoring the sports on the TV behind the bar and getting touchy feely over grilled octopus (yuk) and marinated shrimp (yum). Not that my opinion matters; they didn't offer to share. 

Then came the make or break question -- triggered by some reference to politics so subtle I barely noticed it: so where do you stand, left or right? 

If there's one thing the lefties and righties always had in common, it was a tendency to avoid discussing politics and religion on dates or with people you don't know all that well. (Not that I was listening, but these guys seemed to be casual acquaintances, politely tap dancing around shared food choices and filling each other in on pretty basic life information.) 

Left. Way left. Except for criminal justice, then I'm way right. Not sure what that means in the era of "lock her up" and pardoning of white collar folk, but okay. 

And, oh yeah, fiscally conservative. Of course. Who wouldn't be? 

The answers seemed satisfactory; no octopus tentacles went flying, nobody stormed off in a huff. leaving me to lick the remains of the shrimp. 

I used to describe myself similarly, if a bit less extreme on both ends. That was pretty much the extent of it; beyond feeling self-righteous about good and evil, I had little interest in fleshing out the details. 

As I listened to the guys to my left (physically, anyway), I realize how complicit I have been, relying on labels and over-generalizations and never realizing how gray everything is. Having it all is complicated, if not impossible. In life and in politics. Every new wife or husband is somebody else's discard. And self-righteousness and a moral high ground come at a price. A price which is, however, far lower than the price we are paying now, where the line between good and evil is being so messed with its it's difficult to even see the gray. 

We all need to listen more carefully, to the folks on the left, and the right.