It was the Gin Blossoms, and they were right. If you don’t expect too much from me, they sang, you might not be let down. That’s how I feel about this website. There’s a chance that in a years time I’ll post a long, drawn-out apology for everything I’ve written and try earnestly to explain that I don’t believe any of that stuff anymore. Then I’ll re-direct the address to Netflix and tell you that your time is better spent binge-watching the first six seasons of The League. Or I won’t do that at all. Maybe it will actually turn into a little rag-tag outpost for refilling our collectively empty tanks. The kind of place where we can pull in on fumes, or push our broken down souls into, for the chance to admit out loud that, once in a while, everything goes to shit at the same time. That’s what I hope, at least. And I have a hunch that I’m not alone. The feelings say otherwise, because we’ve been bought and sold for so long that we’ve convinced ourselves that no one else is dealing with what we are. So we smile, play whatever socially-constructed game we’re a part of, and think things will get better on their own. Spoiler alert: they don’t, and they aren’t going to. These wooden nickels don’t have any value. They’re worthless.
So let’s give this a go. I don’t know what will happen. Nothing right now. But if you read something that gets stuck in your throat – that sweet spot halfway between heart and mind – maybe we can talk about it. And by talking about it maybe we can be encouraged. And if so, there’s at least a chance that we can encourage someone else. Someone who has a wallet full of splintery coins and an empty heart. Wildly idealistic? Without question. There’s really only one way to know for sure.