LET GO

A committee comprised of twelve members of Congress; evenly divided between the House of Representatives and the Senate, between Democrats and Republicans, would collaborate, compromise, and create a bipartisan agreement to control our nation's staggering debt. 

Reasonable, right?  

Regardless of deep ideological divides and a fierce determination to protect their jobs, members of Congress (and the White House) would somehow work productively to solve our nation's problems. 

Reasonable, right?  

What's most shocking about the Deficit Super Committee's spectacular FAIL yesterday, is that so many Talking Heads are shocked that the Deficit Super Committee spectacularly failed.   

I do not profess to be a student of history, but I'm pretty certain that from Thomas Jefferson to Tip O'Neill, American politics has been characterized by contentious disagreements which were (almost always) resolved through compromise- by individuals, committees, or backroom politics. The "leaders" of today, however, prefer the politics of the playground to the politics of reason: Get off my property. It's my sandbox, not yours.  

So while our country is at war, the economy languishes, millions of Americans remain unemployed, and the chief economist of the International Energy Agency warns- according to the most thorough analysis yet of world energy infrastructure- that the last chance of combating dangerous climate change will be "lost for ever" if fossil fuel infrastructure is not rapidly changed, our politicians again fail to find solutions to critical crises, because they refuse to compromise.  

   

It's kind of like families. For the last couple of days, I have asked friends, colleagues, and acquaintances about their Thanksgiving plans. In almost every instance, I have been entertained with anecdotes of in-laws-who-can't-be-bothered, moms-who-expect-too-much, antisocial-boyfriends, siblings-who-can't-let-bygones-be-bygones, or spouses-who-refuse-to-give-an-inch.   

I'm quite certain I have, or will, play most of those roles. I definitely dated the anti-social boyfriend.

So I am thrilled to report that, with the exception of the climate change nightmare, I have found a solution to all of the problems mentioned above.  

The politics. The family-tics. All of it. 

It's a simple, profound solution, brought to you by a magnet I discovered in a stationary store a few months back. 

Five simple words: Let Go or Be Dragged.  

I would like to purchase them, in tattoo-form, for the foreheads of our nation's politicians.

I would like to give them, with a box of girl scout cookies, to my family and friends. 

I will try to remember them whenever I am about to dig in my heels, or open the door to the desolate, destructive dwelling I built with the timbers of 24/7 bad-news cycles, and the stores of annoyances and resentments I have accumulated through the years.  

It's Thanksgiving week. We have many concerns, and much to celebrate.

My wish for all of us is that we can let go.  

Then, unlike the rest of the turkeys, we just might be able to take flight and soar.   

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Read the magnet: Let Go or Be Dragged.

Addendum:  Fowl lovers, I know that wild turkeys can fly.  But that fact didn't work with the ending I fashioned. If you must, you may retype my last line to read, "Then, unlike the rest of the domestic turkeys, we just might be able to take flight and soar!"  Should you choose to make that change, expect a whole lot of us domestic turkeys to be pretty ticked off at you.