In the moment, it seems important
On Thursday, I had a birthday, the Supreme Court narrowly decided not to convert the judiciary into a political body, cable news proved itself to be run by idiot children, and I ate delicious, unhealthy food, figuring our improved healthcare system would take care of me down the road.
I chased my daughter up and down a ramp outside the town’s post office as we growled like monsters. I sprayed her with a hose, and she, soaked, jumped on me, making my clothing just as soaked as hers were. My wife made me a card and my daughter painted a picture for me. I read a sriracha cookbook.
Earlier, at work, I attended an all-day meeting about a project that could make or break our company, and though everybody was stressed and anxious, we laughed a lot, too. I had a beer after work with co-workers and was reminded that people are generally pretty great.
On Facebook, a conservative friend spouted overheated rhetoric, a release of steam built up over months of anticipation, months of slow cooking in the media crock pot.
People woke up on Thursday fearing a constitutional crisis over a farce. In the moment, this all seemed important. In retrospect, it will be an important day, but we have no idea how. The pundits certainly don’t. What happened at the Supreme Court will change my life. I don’t know how yet, not precisely. What happened at the Supreme Court will change my daughter’s life.
She isn’t yet forming memories that will be with her in adulthood. This is heartbreaking in a way: we have a lot of fun. In the years to come, when, as a teenager, she thinks she hates us, it would be so wonderful for her to have these memories. But that’s not what we get. She painted for me, and was excited about it. We roared at the post office, and she loved it. Somehow, in some way, this will this have a lasting effect? Does that even matter?
It was a good day.