It’s morning. I’m laying in bed. I look at the clock radio and note the hour. It is that groggy time between “Just another ten minutes,” and “Get your butt out of bed, Cupcake!”
I turn on the radio to get weather and propaganda updates (because Right-Think is always the Best-Think!). The station is in the middle of an advertisement, of course. This one is for–I kid you not–a divorce support service.
Their tagline: “Let us help you on your divorce journey.”
Another ad comes on. It’s for a cancer care clinic: “We’re here for you on your cancer journey.”
As someone who has done a bit of traveling but now prefers my secluded forest compound, I’m surprised to learn of so many people on the metaphorical move.
Just today, The Missus informed me of a friend who is now a certified Life Coach. In making her announcement, she mentioned she was intensely happy undertaking “this journey”.
In other news, apparently “Life Coach” is something that requires training and not, as I assumed, a whistle, tight-fitting gym shorts and the desire to yell repeatedly, “SNAP OUT OF IT, BUTTERCUP! NOW DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!!!”
Everyone is going places. Everyone is on a journey. Aren’t we special!
It used to be things happened to us.
“I got divorced.”
“I got cancer.”
“My Life Coach just kicked me off the team.”
But now, thanks to our modern penchant for not telling it like it is and instead repurposing words into meaningless euphemisms, you don’t just “get” cancer. No. No. No. Instead, you go on a Cancer Journey.
Like you planned it. Because your life is so full and unique, it’s not enough to experience it as a normal person. Nope. Better to wedge it into some mystical “journey” that is full of solipsistic meaning.
“Betsy, I’d love to meet you for lunch, but I’ve got my yoga journey at noon; arugula shopping journey at two; and I’m busy preparing for my cancer journey after that.”
If you ask me, I think this is just another example of our collective inability or unwillingness to see life as it is. The truth: Life is hard and often cruel. We’ve become so soft as a culture that we’ve let the weaklings among us determine how we view…well, just about everything.
Consider a Marine on a troop transport in the South Pacific in August, 1942. What were his thoughts at that moment? Honestly, I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t “I’m excited to begin my Guadalcanal Journey!”
As Americans, we seem to have lost the ability to face hardship and call it what it is. When hardship finally comes (and I don’t think it’s far off), how will we overcome it if we can’t even name it? And who are these weaklings who came up with this new way of making bad things seem not so bad by attaching the word “journey” to every stupid event or experience?
I don’t know, but I’ll bet it was a dude with soft hands, or a woman, and I’m leaning towards the latter.
Before the complaints pour in, please remember, I’m not a misogynist. I’m merely on a misogynist journey.
About the Author
Topdog is Steve Merryman, a retired graphic designer, illustrator, and unrepentant asshole. Steve can usually be found working on a portrait commission or some other artwork. Steve fills his days by painting, writing, shootin' guns, cuttin' trees, hiking with his dogs, and savoring a beer or two, all while searching for the perfect cheeseburger. He studiously avoids social media and is occasionally without pants.
Comments 2
I used to listen to radio overnight, but gave up because of the commercials, which all were trying to instill fear. Don’t miss it.
Author
I don’t listen to radio much, except as a wake up and when driving. In the office, I mostly listen to my vast music collection and podcasts.