One thing that mountain climbing taught me is the value of acceptance. It is raining, or it is not, the route is open or it is not, the summit is attainable or it is not. I cannot debate the mountain, I cannot twist its arm, and I cannot trick it. My only duty is to accept the mountain for what it is and then navigate the situation as best I can.
Well, roughly five years ago—and after long consideration—I felt that the American Experiment was over.
Although at first, this saddened me, after I fully accepted it as a new reality, I found it had freed me.
I am aware of the political issues of the day, I rigorously obey the laws of the land, and I diligently vote, yet I now see our Republic may only be a historical fact; it is gone, and will not return.
I feel no need (or desire) to convince anyone of this.
I don’t have time to spend changing peoples’ minds, writing Op-Eds, or arguing with people over Twitter: these are the activities of a vibrant citizenry in a living democracy.
But our democracy may be similar to a brain-dead patient in an ICU— a body existing for some time, but without any hope of resurrection or consciousness.
Hope! Ah, there is the rub. As I get older, I have no time for hope, or despair.
I have decided not to fight this possible death. Instead, just as my time in the mountains taught me, I have accepted what is, and I am now free to move beyond politics (and all political engagement). In the public sphere I choose to help people in need when I can, and in the private sphere I choose to pursue the much deeper (and far more interesting) questions that surround me—the questions of knowledge, mind, metaphysics, and aesthetics.