Tag Archives: high road

The road less travelled by may make all the difference but the low road is a LOT more tempting.

I try very hard to take the high road.

I have not always been this person. I consider life a work in progress; there is always room to grow and improve. So, yes. In the past, I may not have been a high-road kind of gal. And there are times that, even now, I take a walk down on that low road. It’s often Frost’s road-more-travelled by, which makes it the easier choice, even though I know it will make me feel disgusting and dirty and have trouble getting to sleep at night.

A heavy conscience makes for a terrible bedfellow, you see. Always stealing the sheets and the cool side of the pillow. Always kicking you in the small of the back, right smack where your kidneys are. Talking just as you’re nodding off and then saying, “Oh, I’m sorry, were you trying to sleep?” in a totally mock-innocent tone.

Taking the high road may not be the easier option, but it’s the one that makes you feel better about yourself. It’s the one that allows you to sleep at night. (Well, most of you. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night for no reason at all. Just because. It’s the fun of having a messed-up brain, you see.)

However, some days it’s a hell of a lot harder than others. (No. Not even close to being a euphemism. But a very good euphemism, were it to be one.)

Some days, you try very hard to stay up on that high road, but you just keep getting pushed down to the lower one. And all that pushing, well, it gets a little infuriating. And I don’t deal well with being pushed, people. Not even a little bit.

I honestly just wrote an entire post explaining exactly what happened, with links and all. Then I rewrote it, in more passive-aggressive terms, leaving out the links. Then I re-read it. And I deleted every bit of it.

High road. This fucking high fucking road.

People who attempt to tell me what to say, think, do, or feel, and then, when I balk against being put in this cage of their expectations of me, hate me for not lemming my way right off the cliff with them: these people make it very, VERY hard for me to stay on the high road.

This is as close as I can come to coming right out and explaining exactly why I’m furious right now without coming off the high road with a huge fucking crash.

The internet has felt less and less like a fun place to be and more and more like navigating an obstacle course filled with live landmines lately. BAM! You angered someone with a benign comment. BOOM! You found yourself in the middle of a pissing war between two people you barely know. KA-POW! You’re being called a bad person for speaking up, but not saying the right thing. Or not speaking up at all. Or for saying the right thing, but not worded the way someone would have liked. Or one of a million different things you can do wrong in a day. And each day is really, really long. There are a lot of places you can step in it. Or ON it. And then you’re vaporized.

And there are a lot of times you just want to go live in a cave with no internet service and just kind of rock and randomly hit your head against the wall.


Listen. I had something amazing happen this week. Something utterly out-of-the-blue unexpected amazing. I don’t have time to be furious. I don’t have time to be caught up in your reindeer games of petty grievances and “you’re doing it wrong” and your constant fucking NEGATIVITY. I want to bask in this awesome thing. Just for a little bit. I want to look at this thing that happened and say, “Look. This happened. This thing that you had pretty much given up on ever happening? This HAPPENED.” And I want to grin like a moron. And I want to cry happy tears over it. And I want to belt stupidly cheerful songs to and from work at the top of my lungs and scare the other drivers. And I want to fucking REVEL in the fact that yes, there is still MAGIC in the world, and somehow, I CAUGHT SOME OF IT.

I do not want to spend the day dealing with being passive-aggressively called out on someone’s blog I DON’T EVEN KNOW for not being, doing, acting, behaving, whatever-ing the way they would do it, and therefore, being found lacking. Being found a bad person because I’m not the person THEY are. The perfect person they are, who (obviously!) has it all figured out. What do they have figured out? Well! How to fix all the world’s ills, of course. And if I’m not part of the solution, I’m obviously part of the precipitate problem. I’m part of the problem. And you know what we do with problems, don’t you, kiddos? We internet-shame them. Because that is what we do in this day and age. It is how we get our problems to shut up and go away; by making them feel small in front of a large studio audience.

Here’s the thing.

I’m not part of the problem. I’m a human being. I’m a human being with feelings. I’m a human being not ONLY with feelings – but with empathy. Empathy which, I’m sorry to say, even extends to those who shame me on the internet and seem to have only the most tenuous grasp on that which the rest of us call “reality.”

So I will not call this person out. I will not link to the post where she calls ME out. I will stay up here on my high road. I will sit here and I will let this fury go. I will let this fury go, and I will hold onto the fact that this week, a very, very good thing happened. Something so good that, if you had asked me last week, “What’s the one thing you want? I mean, more than anything?” I’d have said this thing, like, as a stretch? Like, you say things like “I’d like a million dollars!” or “A trip around the world!” because you know you’ll never get them but we’re taught to shoot the moon when wishing for things.

I got my fucking shoot-the-moon wish this week.

And I’m going to sit here on my high road, and nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to drag me down from it.

And I do so sincerely hope that once you’ve shamed people publicly on the internet, you can sleep at night knowing you’re on the side of truth, justice, and the Merkan way.

Because I know I’ll be sleeping soundly.

Up here on my high road.

With a huge smile on my face.


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