Damocles

I have been working harder than ever to leave a lasting, positive impact on others. I’ve waded neck deep into the muck of humanity in order to aid in the rescue of the most vulnerable. I’ve worked harder to dull the edges of my cynicism, and to embrace the optimism I used to possess in abundance. I’ve changed my way of thinking to better understand others. I have become an outspoken advocate for the abused, the demoralized, the forgotten, and the ignored.
I didn’t do these things in order to curry favor, or to gain rewards. Having compassion shouldn’t be some kind of path to advance the ego. Doing good for others solely to gain something in return isn’t compassion, it’s compensation, and that doesn’t sit right with me. The only reason I mention this here, right now, is because of a feeling. It is a long held perception that I have carried with me for many years. Since I was a child, really.
I am being watched by many eyes. Just as you are. Some of the minds behind those eyes are surely friendly, made up of people who merely want to see how I treat others, how I deal with problems that arise to challenge me each day. Some eyes may watch for amusement, to be entertained. Still, other eyes, other minds, however, are not so friendly. They wish to see me stumble, to fall. They find fault with me, with the way I try to resolve these challenges, and wish to either exploit those actions taken, or squelch them.
It is not simply paranoia. It is a state of mind, and a logical conclusion. The unfriendly minds may try to decide whether it’s worth the effort or not to crush and suppress, but I assure you they do exist. You and I live in an age where we are watched by many eyes. Even when we are by ourselves, we are not alone. I don’t speak merely in the Orwellian tropism, in the method of the metaphorical or the allegorical, but in the literal sense.
I do not believe in destiny. I do not believe in fate. I do not believe in karma. That said, I do believe that no good deed goes unpunished, and I feel that the more I throw my weight against the box in which I have been placed, the more attention I gather. I have done a lot of good deeds, and continue to do them, much to my future chagrin.
Surely, out there, is someone who wishes to malign them. I feel it. I know it.
One of my favorite films is “Abe Lincoln in Illinois,” a movie made in the 1940s about the 16th President of the United States and his rise to notoriety, and eventually the Presidency. Certainly the film has factual errors, and makes many dramatic flourishes, but there is one scene that gets me every time I hear it, because it echoed the truth about Abe, something he struggled with that I do as well.
In this scene, Abe is still young, and lives in New Salem, Illinois. He is in a study session with his mentor. Mentor Graham tells Abe that when you fail at everything else, there are two options: Teaching, and politics. Abe rejects the notion of being in politics, because then he would have to go to the city. Mentor Graham asks him why he is afraid of the city, and what he says next resonates with me every time I hear it:
Mentor Graham: “Have you ever visited [a city]?”
Abraham Lincoln: “Sure, I’ve been down the river to New Orleans. You know every time I was there, I was scared? I was scared of people.”
Mentor: “Did you imagine they would rob you of all your gold and your jewels?”
Abraham Lincoln: “No. [long pause] I was scared they’d kill me.”
Like Abe, I have always felt this deep abiding fear of people. Oh, I help them, I reach out to them, I wish to embrace them and love them, but at the same time there is this deeply rooted fear that they wish to destroy me. That there are powers who want me either dead or detested by the rest of humanity.
Also, like Abe, I feel they will succeed.
Perhaps I am wrong, and will live a long, fruitful life filled with the love and warmth of others at my side, but I cannot commit myself to that vision without the apprehension that it will always be nothing more than a pipe dream.