The Trail of Tears

Sometimes, I feel that wanting something different, happier, and better in life is a betrayal of the people before me and around me who have walked and are walking the Trail of Tears. These are people who have suffered, who are suffering to survive, people who have not been privileged, don't have the things, talents, opportunities I have had. People like my parents. It is a kind of survivor's guilt.

When I refused the job offer (see earlier post), I freaked out afterwards in part because I felt - who am I to refuse to walk the trail of tears? Who am to want something different than working at work I don't love, leading a life I don't want to lead? Indeed.

To me, the Trail of tears is a dark, sad way. Slick, dark tears line the path, the grey mist of fear and resignation shadows the air. The trudgers - greyish, haggard people shouldering dark, bulky burdens - trudge down this path, bent over, hushed, staying in line lest they slip off the path into worse pain, worse drudgery, or certain slow, agonizing death.

This is a life of constraints, being boxed in, not freedom, not expressing, not daring to voice anything too loudly, lest the Trail of Tears overlords hear you and bring swift retribution. Have a pain? Lonely? Depressed? Stone in your shoe? Suck it up, shut up, ignore it. March onwards, mind your step.
The worst of it is when those who are committed to walking the trail of tears hear that you want to leave it, they say "What is wrong with our way? How do you think you're going to ever get off? And by the way, it brought you here, has brought you this far. You should be grateful, and you should continue to walk with us. March on, and mind your step."

What is this madness? I live in the twenty-first century Western world. For all its tragedies and sorrows, walking along the Trail of Tears is not a foregone conclusion. If you ask me to stay on the Trail of Tears, where do you want me to put my hope? Who are you to say that my dreams are not valid, not viable, unworthy?

Choking bitter ashy cynicism. Nauseated and retching, tired of battling the pressing mass of trudgers, I dream.

What about a world of light and color? A world where joy and happiness are real, here and now, not just shimmers and phantoms of light in the swirling, choking mists of tears. If you can't see it ahead of you, why must you shut out the vision in front of my eyes?

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That dreamworld isn't a fairy tale land. I'm not talking rainbows, unicorns, and and pixie dust - although, truly, such things have their place. I think all I'm asking for is a little support and respect for having a different vision, coming out of a different point of view. In my case, extra encouragment is needed. This is the tipping point between having my own personal well of fortitude and having helping hands pull up the bucket from the well. I think, too, this is the point where so many people get lost. You're not bad off enough to call in the troops, but not well enough to make it up on your own. And so, you don't quite fall all the way down, but instead, wind up finding your feet stuck on the Trail of Tears. Trudging.

Hence the need for good friends, positive attitudes, the kindess of strangers, the benefit of the doubt, the cutting of some slack, faith, grace, and miracles.