Through it all I reside, a member of the faithless souls, in a heavily regulated house bound by paranoia, containing air that has a constant odor of risk, collecting money, putting it aside, and guarding it with my professional life, carrying on the insur
Every single one of us is naked, riding a go-cart without a helmet, headed straight for a brick wall.
Some of us are smiling as the wall rises in front of us, confident that instead of bone and blood, they will see angels and light. Others have their arms thrown up over their eyes, figuring that there cannot possibly be a good ending to this. Still others eye the wall suspiciously, knowing they have no brakes, no steering and wondering then why this ride has to be taken at all, even if there are harps and lightness of being at the end, even if the brick wall is an illusion.
Because there will still be more unanswered questions, won’t there?
We still won’t know everything, will we?
Don’t angels have their own brick wall even if their go-cart isn’t exactly a go-cart?
These last people worry, when does the wondering stop? And they are terrified that it will, ending in blood and bone. I am one of these poor faithless souls and the deepest part of me wishes that I could pick a lane and just stay in it but I am afraid that it doesn’t work that way for my group. Maybe we’re lost in the details, obsessing. Maybe we’re not.
Either way, there’s always that wall and it’s only getting closer.
That’s probably why my profession might not be the best for my general state of mind. Every outcome is bad in some way, every patient a plaintiff. Babies die, doctors’ revisit and rationalize their care, some lie and some cry. Lawyers ride the sad story like a mechanical bull, slanting and leaning each word, every conversation to achieve what they put forth as balance but is really the creation of a safe place for their ego and bank account to live and grow.
Through it all I reside, a member of the faithless souls, in a heavily regulated house bound by paranoia, containing air that has a constant odor of risk, collecting money, putting it aside, and guarding it with my professional life, carrying on the insurance tradition. Here I am, never quite sure how many rights and wrongs there are because there are so many different kinds and I can easily get lost in the tunnels they bore in my brain, my heart and even, from time to time, I am sure of this, my soul.
If I have one.
Every once in awhile, when something strikes close to home, a dead child the same age as my son, the death of someone I went to high school with, I stop reading the story and I look up and the brick wall is a little closer, a little taller, blocking out just a bit more light than the last time I ventured a glance. And that’s the effect, too much time watching the wall while the scenery flies past, possibly containing answers to all those questions…but probably not. To me, ignorance is the hardest thing to learn and I am sure of the touted bliss that comes along with it because nothing so difficult to gain comes without reward. And that reward may very well be faith, not your standard garden variety faith that is simply spoken and so believed to be real, but actual genuine faith without a shred of self-doubt. I am not sure, by the way, that it actually exists in the minds of sane people. But I am sure of one thing. I simply can’t be sure of any of this, nobody can, and that’s the unreality of reality. I hope that’s clear.
And that, my friends, is my professional life.