Sunday night. Philpott Lake. I am alone in the RV loop. Everyone else has gone home or moved on to their next site.
The world here is peaceful. The world here doesn’t reveal the turmoil beyond the park’s border.
It’s a cold night reminiscent of a Texas winter: temps falling into the 40s, rain, and still. I remind myself it is May.
I have been thinking a great deal about boundaries. A minority faction of the US wishes to destroy boundaries we all hold dear, but because they have attacked an issue some deem one of morality, those same are not clear on what they too are losing.
I have been raging and tearful for days, but if I’m honest, I have been raging and tearful for ten years.
For many years I would lose my temper over the mildest events. Almost always, they were mistakes I’d made: Where is my wallet? What have I done with my keys? How could I forget that appointment?
The man I was married to at the time once asked, “Why are you so angry all the time?” In the moment, I had no answer.
As the years passed, I began to incrementally discover the source of my rage: I had allowed one person to determine my boundaries and overstep them on a regular basis. I raged at my little failings because I was so angry with myself for the big failing of allowing that constant and agonizing transgression.
I left that marriage in 2020, bent on not allowing such transgressions again. Some slipped through the cracks as I tried to fight off loneliness and grief. Since taking to the road, however, I have gained significant strength against people trying to impose their will on me. My rage and tears have been aimed at the people in my life rather than my own errors.
These last few days have been difficult for so many. It will continue to be difficult for some time. The episode of rage and sadness it is triggering in me is small compared to that felt by marginalized groups. In the grand scheme of things, it directly affects me very little—for now.
As I sit in the growing gloom and silence of this park in the Blue Ridge mountains, I feel significant guilt for that last fact. I shouldn’t have such outwardly peaceful environs when the country is on fire for others. I shouldn’t be fighting such tiny demons while others fight dragons.
I simply don’t know how to contend with this sudden silence and isolation after several days of busy and boisterous neighbors and personal anxiety. It leaves me as cold and emotionally void as this Blue Ridge Mountain air.
Last Updated on March 22, 2023 by Lee Ellis
