The World According to Pederson: It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

For months now, I've been wanting to start writing again, but I haven't quite known where to start. Whenever I do come up with a great thought or idea, the voice of caution sounds off in my ear, like my dad used to when I would get in trouble for something stupid like pushing my brother down the stairs in an oversized container. "Why would you do that?" he would ask. I would simply shrug my shoulders and say, "because it seemed like a good idea at the time." It's sort of the same concept when I write. I hear the voice of caution telling me the infinite number of ways I'm going to get in trouble for writing something that somebody might be offended by or could be used against me in some way, as if my blog will be read by millions of people all around the world. I fear for my job. I fear for my reputation. I fear and that fear controls my actions, thus placing a prohibition on my own thoughts and the language in which I express them. In reality, however, my thoughts will probably only be read by my dad and my wife, who will both inevitably ask me, "Why would you do that?" It seemed like a good idea at the time.

My wife is actually one of the most encouraging people I've ever known, and she has been encouraging me to write for a long time. However, I keep coming up with excuses not to. I like to blame it on time - or lack thereof. I'll blame it on the kids keeping me busy. I'll tell myself, "Hey, this would be a good time to do some writing," and then I will sit down and play several hours of Final Fantasy VII Rebirth. Every once in a while, I'll even blame it on the dishes in the sink, even though my wife usually does them. This is because I don't put things where they're supposed to go half the time. Why is there a spoon specifically dedicated to stirring sugar and cream into your coffee, and why can't it just go in the drawer with all of the other spoons? In reality, none of those things are holding me back. The only thing standing in the way of these words reaching the blank page, is me. To say I'm terrified would be an understatement. I honestly can't explain it, but I'm going to try my best. Part of it has to do with my faith.

Having grown up in the church, I feel as if I've been living in this culture for my entire life that teaches you to be ashamed of every thought you have that doesn't align with what the person in charge thinks, and what their followers believe. If you speak out, they will go out of their way to not just ruin your reputation, but to also destroy every last trace of any sort of impact you've made in the lives of others. Then they go before God on Sunday, praising him for "casting out the influence of the enemy." I have a lot of thoughts on organized religion. Please don't take that to mean that I am an atheist, because I assure you that I am not. Not that I feel the need to justify my faith, but I am very much a believer in God. My beliefs are just somewhat unconventional in the eyes of people who go to a certain mega church. It's the people part of religion that I have and probably always will struggle with. I always hear that statement that "God is not the church", and I do absolutely believe that to be true, and I believe there is a difference between the two. However, as all things that rely on faith, the lines can get rather blurry through the imperfections of humanity. God is great. Man is easily corrupted. Just ask the people who selfishly bought all of the toilet paper during the pandemic.

Not to make a blanket statement for all Christians, but there are a lot of "Christians" that I've met over the course of my thirty-five years in this world that are - for lack of a better term - incredibly vile human beings. This past year has been no exception, as I could tell you some stories from the past twelve months alone that would make your skin crawl. I felt myself being gnawed beneath the sharpened teeth of a type of fanaticism I didn't think was real, by people who I didn't think existed outside of the pages of trash television scripts. I don't know why I let people like that bother me so much. I think it's because my faith is such a foundational part of who I am that it hits me on both a spiritual and psychological level. It feels as if the floor beneath my feet is shattering just as quickly as I can put it back together. I also know that this is a hazard of having your spiritual and professional lives mingle with one another. When I say that this has been the most difficult year of my life, I absolutely mean that.

The other part of this equation involves my family. Not my wife and kids, but the other parts of my family. We are the perfect characters for a book about dysfunctional relationships. If we were being pursued by a flock of velociraptors, and I tripped, I know at least one person who would leave me or purposefully break one of my legs so they could escape. Not that I can blame them, because I don't know what I'd do at the threat of being eaten by dinosaurs . . . though I hope I wouldn't do that. My point is, my family has a tendency to put things that I write under a microscope in order to find references to themselves, or at least my past experiences have proven that to be true. So in order to prevent drama from breaking out, I try to completely avoid it.

On top of all of this, the world is just a strange place, these days. Much like Microsoft's endlessly updating Windows platform, the list of things that upset people is always changing. Last year, you could laugh when somebody in an animal costume tripped and fell. These days, the entire furry community comes after you with pitchforks and blog posts. The Simian ones are the worst, they throw feces. In all seriousness, there's an infinite number of genders and sexualities out there, race politics are out of control, and those of us who still vote are constantly at each other's throats, while trying to decide which corrupt old guy to put into the White House. If you want to talk about any of that, make sure whoever is in the room doesn't have any Tik Tok followers, because they'll probably stab you in the back for a few hundred follows. And before you say I'm exaggerating, remember that Julius Caesar thought he could trust his friends, too. Imagine if they had social media accounts. One like equals one stab. We're all metaphorical versions of Brutus and Cassius.

At the end of the day, everybody just wants to be validated. It's a weird type of survival of the fittest, validate or be destroyed. All because we would rather martyr ourselves on the altar of our own beliefs and opinions than take the time to love and understand our fellow humans. All for what? For the sake another social media post? For our pride and the ability to say we were right? It's all selfish. We. Are. All. Selfish. We create our own gods, and those gods create us. Try doing a good deed without a camera and share in the human experience, instead of trying to stand above it. You'll find that we all need each other a lot more than you think . . . regardless of the differences between us that we may or may not agree with.

Now that I've fed you my thoughts through a fire hose, perhaps I should land somewhere. This is the world we live in, and I am powerless to do anything about it. I'm afraid, but the consequences of facing that fear are a lot less than the weight of my potential regret. I’ve always dreamt of being a writer of some sort, yet, I don't write. Why should I care what people think? It's not my responsibility to clean up whatever lies and assumptions people have heard or made about me. Go off and listen to them again. At least I've got your attention. And if those people are worried about something I said, the odds are good that it was something they needed to hear. It's not my fault they can't handle the truth. I can't even handle the truth, unless it's spoonfed to me or soft regurgitated, like a baby bird. The truth hurts. Even under the best of circumstances, it's hard to swallow. However, conflict and struggles - even ones that exist deep down - can't be overcome unless we acknowledge that they're there.

So I have acknowledged . . . and I have written.