The view from the mountain

Forgive my tone today, but sometimes I can't help but wonder about this crazy ol' world of ours. I keep thinking that somehow we're losing our humanity in favor of some kind of anonymous, nasty, reactionary madness.

Blogs, I must say, as well as talk radio sure don't help. I dialed in one of the sports talk programs the other night only to hear wall-to-wall insults, each successive caller trying to one-up their predecessor.

Then there's this election business. Hope and change somehow give way to smoke and mirrors, empty promises, backbiting, anger. The American public, cynical of anything political since Watergate, step back from their rendezvous with destiny, afraid to dance among the stars.

One of the reasons why I enjoy something like re-runs of "M*A*S*H," particularly the later episodes, is for its old-fashioned, idealistic view of humanity. Ditto to NBC's long-running "The West Wing." I may not always agree with the politics, but I can always identify with such ethos.

Sometimes I think your heart can get bruised rather easily when you wear it on your sleeve. But I just don't know how to do it any other way.

Turning 30 has got me reflecting a little bit. I wonder about things that have happened down through the years, worry that maybe I showed my hand too early, cared too much, loved too openly. I do think the resulting bruises might have taken away some of my idealism.

But then I think that the only way to go, really, is to give your all. Sing like nobody's listening, dance like nobody's watching.

Sure, you might get hurt, stumble and fall. But some days you soar like an eagle, higher and higher.

And that view from the mountaintop makes the sojourn through the deepest valleys all but a distant memory.