Soft Targets, Hard Times

I spend my days, as most people do, moving in and out of soft targets. Still, I don't give it much thought, not even as I trudge up to my seat after a cursory bag search and a swift trip through a metal detector that would have to emit a ridiculously loud beep to penetrate the din of the crowd.  I am plagued more by feelings of discomfort about my advanced age and decidedly non-edgy outfit (not to mention sweltering heat) than by fear of becoming a sitting duck in a concert venue turned war zone. 

Which is not to say I don't worry. Every morning, I turn on the news with half averted eyes and ears, startled more by an absence of tragedy than yet another "Special Report." And with each new breaking news cycle of breaking spirits and breaking hearts, I take a quick mental inventory of my children and their whereabouts, assuring myself they are out of harms way.  At least this time around. 

We all wonder where we can go in a world where there is no longer such a thing as a safe haven. We can think twice all we want about our next trip to Paris or Brussels or Tel Aviv, but how do we think twice about simply staying home. Has the world really become such a place? 

Trump's incoherent rant on CNN this morning about all the haters out there and about how there will be even more haters if Hillary gets elected (that was his answer to the policy question) notwithstanding, I like to think the world is not such a place. I like to think our country certainly is not such a place. I know, for a fact, that when I walk out my door each morning with my dog, Eli, my corner of the world is anything but. 

My corner of the world. Eli's world. Where people of all ages and a startling variety of ethnic and socio-economic backgrounds stop to greet us and play. Eli's world, a world where an unpredictable and, let's face it, bizarre looking creature gets everybody to stop and smile and have a conversation with a complete stranger. Eli's world, where everything is a soft target of aggressive love and affection. Eli's world, where, despite constant rebuffs, he even reaches out to cats. 

Yesterday, as I sat getting to know the women on my summer tennis team, laughing off our scores and appreciating the post match goodies, we discussed an upcoming gathering. "I'll be there, as long as my Alaska cruise ship doesn't become the next target," said the woman next to me. We all assured her she'd be fine. Just as fine as we will all assuredly be, right here at home. Finer, probably; a cruise ship is hardly a soft target. 

In Eli's world, and in the world I like to think still exists, it is our softness that makes us human, not targets. It is the outpouring of love and solidarity after tragedy that reminds me of that, and gives me hope.