somewhere between

monasteries, magic fairytales, and our motherland

My wife and I walked around our local monastery yesterday, talking politics while staring at cows and trees and creeks. We wandered through topics like income tax, ICE raids, public education, and programs meant for the common welfare. We questioned the inconsistency of it all while the cows chewed their cud. We marveled at the complexity while the monks made their way to Mass. We considered how impossibly hard it is to make the right decisions—any decisions—while leaves rustled above and water trickled beneath our feet.

Then we went home and watched Cinderella.

And while my kids questioned why the cat was so mean or how the mice doubled as dressmakers, I found myself thinking about how Cinderella is an allegory of the American Dream. A story of rags to riches. A fable of faith in the face of oppression. A timeless hymn to the relentless pursuit of your heart’s desires—and the belief that, with determination (and a little luck), those desires can become reality.

Especially on days like today, I find myself somewhere in the middle of all this. Somewhere between the castle and the cathedral. Between glass slippers and great despair. Somewhere between happily ever after and how did we get here? Somewhere between quiet patriotism and crippling pessimism… where hope feels noble, but naïve.

I don’t have answers for what can be done with this country in which we live. Part of me wants to play Cinderella and blindly believe we can dream it into a better place. Part of me wants to play the cynic and question it all into oblivion. And then, there’s part of me that just wants to be the cattle and the canopy and the creek bed.

Still. Listening. Waiting. Watching. Here.