Lifting Up And Dumbing Down Part 7

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 7

I’ve got the itch to continue, so I had to try to get this part up, too. XD Guess I just couldn’t help myself with how much I’m enjoying the characters and their progress thus far. Enjoy! :D

“Perfectly natural.” “Excuse me?” you ask as you gape at the red-haired psychiatrist, hypnotist, and vocal coach. “Perfectly natural. Your reaction. It was natural. Most young men your age have passive aggressive tendencies.” Doctor Schroder shrugged as she folded one of her legs over the other. “And given what you’ve told me about how things are going with your physical training regimen, it’s natural to have to channel a certain amount of aggression. You simply touched the edge of the box where you stored it all. It’s nothing to be concerned over.” “But I don’t like it.” “You don’t have to like it. It’s just a part of you, and like any other part, you can learn to control it, if you so wish. All it takes is time, patience, and the right direction. It doesn’t have to change you, unless you let it. And if it does, you have the power to make that change for the better, rather than the worse. Like I said, it’s all up to you. Now then,” she said primly as she picked up the microphone once more and flicked the switch on the speakers. A familiar whirring and ringing washed over your ears. “Let’s try again.”

Dizzy. Everything felt so dizzy. The laughter was back again. So many children giggling and cheering. Spinning. The world was spinning around you. A blur of faces and cheers from men and women. Shouts of, “‘Attaboy!” and “be careful!” broke through the mass. “This is so much fun!” You turn your head to see a giggling little girl atop a wooden Pegasus painted cyan blue with a golden saddle and a red set of reins with a bronze bit. The familiar tooting is back again, only this time, there are many bottles, many tones, all working together to play a jaunty melody. “So very fun,” another child cheers, this one a little boy atop a black stallion. He looks at you with grave eyes, even as his little blue suit jacket and red shorts shine in the sunlight. “Don’t you agree?” “F--fun?” you ask, confused. “Riding the carousel, silly,” the little girl said. “Carousel?” You feel so strange. How did you get here? Why ... did the air smell like popcorn and cotton candy? You’re vaguely aware of how the children seem to rise up and down again and again in a strange sort of rhythm. Then you look ahead and notice a spiraling golden pole. Your hands are clasped to it, and your’re not entirely sure why. Then you look down. Two great white horns jut out to either side of the carved animal’s head staring out in front of you. You become keenly aware of how your legs are stretched out to either side, and how a gentle sort of pull seems to draw at you every time the pole gets shorter. “I’m ... on a carousel....” You look to your left, surprised to see a great series of pipes stretching up and down all along the surface of the central portion, playing its melody and harmonic accompaniment. “Up and down. Up and down,” the little girl sang. You feel your hands clenching tighter around the pole. They seem so small. “Up and down. Up and down.” This time the boy has joined the girl. The carousel builds up speed as more voices join the chorus. A strange sense of exhilaration fills you as the wind picks up, blowing through your hair. “Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.” You find yourself laughing, but you’re not sure why. You suddenly feel giddy. There’s a sense of camaraderie with these two. “Come on. It’s fun!” the little boy laughs as he smacks his heels against his charger. “Hyah, hyah! Faster, boy! Up and down. Up and down!” “I ... I don’t....” “Play with us! Come on, just pretend for a moment. Oh, won’t you please?” the little girl begged. “Even a bull can charge. Don’t you want to race us?” “Race?” “Yeah, but ya gotta follow the rules, see?” She patted the side of her Pegasus gently. “Up and down. Up and down,” she sang, and the ride began to pick up speed again as her Pegasus rose and fell at a faster rate. You marvel. You don’t know why, but you do. It seemed like they were having so much FUN. And all you had to do was play with them. You wanted to race. You wanted so badly to race. You lean down almost sheepishly to the big bull’s ears. They’re a coppery red with white splotches along his coat. You feel so awkward, but you whisper anyways. “Up and down.” The instant you do, you feel a sudden jerk, almost like a buck as the bull accelerates its rise. Why, it felt almost like it was bucking. Rather than be startled, you find yourself laughing. “See?” The boy is grinning at you now. “Told ya!” You grin back, awash with a sudden enthusiasm you thought you left behind long ago. “Let’s race!” And so the three of you sing as you bounce up and down, up and down. The spinning goes faster and faster, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to ever stop. Up and down. Up and down. The children have all become blurs on their mounts, and the spinning is so intense. They’re all lights now, and the lights are blurring together, leaving such beautiful streams behind. You giggle in delight as you look back to see your own trail. Then you look up at the roof and see the polished reflection of millions upon millions of little mirrors, all reflecting a grand spiral that spins and spins and spins. “Up and down. Up and down,” you sing. And slowly, you begin to lose hold of your bull as you float towards that spinning nebula. “Up ... n’down.... Up ... down....”

“Ten.” You raise your head suddenly, surprised. “Wh-wha--?” you ask. “What happened? Where’s the carousel?” Doctor Schroder smiled triumphantly at you. “Congratulations. We finally found the right setting.” “Right ... what?” you ask. “Setting. You know, on the sound synthesizer? I finally found the right mixture for you. The carousel wasn’t real. It was all in your head, a scenario I concocted to ensure you experienced optimal trance to aid you in your work. Now it’ll just be a matter of compiling the proper scripts and recording them for you.” “That was ... all in my head?” you ask again, surprised. “With a little figurative imagery added in on my part,” Schroder allowed. “You could say I’m like a dungeon master, if you want to put it into those kinds of terms. I help you to set the scene yourself by guiding your mind to place familiar sights, sounds, and smells, even tastes and physical sensations into a cohesive scenario that feels real. Think of it like lucid dreaming.” “And you can make me lucid dream in any scenario?” “Pretty much. It helps my clients to get into character more easily, until they don’t need that help anymore. And as I said, I can help you with motivational tracks as well. Now that I have the proper frequency set for you, I might even be able to ingrain a few subliminals in a playlist, if you would prefer that.” “Lets not be too hasty,” you say somewhat hesitantly. “This is all a bit much to digest.” “Of course.” Schroder nodded. “How about we take a break?” “Yeah, a break sounds good. You got any water handy?”

The water was cold and refreshing compared to the blistering heat the gym provided you. You stuck your head under the flow from the arc at the fountain. You didn’t care if anyone else was behind you. You needed something to cool you down. “Take these,” Duff suggested as he walked up with two fogged up bottles covered in water droplets. The initial contact with your neck made you cringe, but after that, you sighed in relief. “Don’t worry,” he assured you, “soon you won’t even need those bottles to cool down. The heat starts to feel sort of natural, after a while. Heck, I prefer it now.” He chuckled. “Suns out, guns out, am I right?” You can’t help but pull your lips into a smile at that. “Please don’t tell me you used that old cliche.” “I’m sorry, Dave. I can’t do that,” he said in a monotonic voice. “You know, if I weren’t so busy trying to keep myself from melting, I’d smack you with these things,” you grumble. “I could always take them back, if that’s you you really--.” “NO!” you shout. Then a blush rises in your cheeks as everyone in the gym stares at you. You chuckle, then raise a hand meekly. “Sorry, guys. False alarm,” you promise. The men grunt, roll their eyes, and get back to work. Duff just smirked. “Not one word.” “I didn’t say anything,” he said innocently. “You didn’t have to. You were thinking it.” Duff shrugged nonchalantly. “Guilty as charged.” “What happened to the timid Duff I saw a couple of days ago?” “That was before we became friends,” Duff pointed out. “I’m much different, once I get past that hurdle.” “And if I were to say we weren’t?” “I’d call you a liar, and probably have to take those bottles back.” You gasped. “You would blackmail me?” you cry as you raise a hand artfully to your forehead and lean backwards, as though bent with grief. “Yeah, yeah. Ham it up, why don’t ya?” a ragged voice snarled as one of the larger body builders drew near. “If you two don’t mind, I need a drink.” He shoved his way past, bending down low to get as close to the stream as possible, despite his mass. “Duff, kid, get back over here,” Hank barked. “Break’s over!” “Coming, boss,” Duff yelled. You groan as you turn away from the oasis that is the drinking fountain and return to the blistering hell that is the weight room. Your core was going to explode tomorrow, and you were just waiting for that after effect to kick you in the gut. Hank just sneered at you again. You sigh in resignation as you make your way over, followed by Duff. “Don’t worry. I can give you some extra pointers later,” he promised, before parting ways as he dropped you off. “Time for me to run some cardio.”

That night, you scoured the internet for extra material to use. You could only say your line so many times, before it became boring, after all. You found a few promising phrases and images, though you were shocked at just how large a community there was that focused around the subject of becoming the very thing you were being payed to act out. You weren’t quite sure what it was they saw in it, other than the raw sexual appeal, of course. There was no denying that would be a major draw to a lot of people who wanted to be fit. You drank your shake as you continued to scroll through the net. “Thank God for filters,” you mutter to yourself as multiple links to porn pages were blocked or led to a warning screen. You scratch an itch idly at your crotch as you finish the last of your research for the night and close down your laptop. Then you make your way to your mirror, where another sign has joined the first. The instruction, BE A BRO, now graced you with its presence. This time, you do your best to pitch your voice lower as you push more from your diaphragm and try to shove the air out your mouth. You look ahead, struggling to force all other thoughts out as you try to unfocus your eyes. ‘Remember. You’re a dumb, careless musclehead,’ you think to yourself. ‘Just an empty meathead with dumbbells for brains.’ You take a deep breath, and then you try. “Huhuhuh.” Weak. Pathetic. Far too forced. You try again, something shorter this time. “Huhuh.” You felt the corners of your mouth pull up that time, almost like you found something humorous. Good. The smile widens as you realize you’re onto something. “Huhuhuh.” Huskier. Lower. “Huhuhuh.... Uhhhh ... wut wuz I doin’ again?” You felt embarrassed. This was stupid. But ... wasn’t that kind of the point? “Huhuhuh....” you shudder as your grin grows wider. That sounded about right. Well, for what range you could manage right now. You step forward and keep up that grin as you point at your head. “Drain this,” you encourage in that same deep tone. Then you smack a hand on one of your biceps as you flex it. “Grow this,” you low. You repeat yourself a few times. Then you chuckle once more as you say your line. “I lift things up and put them down.” It sounded so funny, so dull. But ... still forced. You try again. “I lift things up and put them down.” No. Something is still missing. You furrow your brow and look around. Finally, you grab ahold of your soap dispenser and start lifting it like a dumbbell. You cast your mind back to the weight rooms, to Duff as he concentrated on his lifting, how focused he seemed, how intense of that one act alone. “You love to lift,” you tell yourself. “Lifting is incredible. You live to lift weights.” After a few more minutes of psyching yourself up, you go for it. “Huhuhuh. I put things up and put them down.” Up. Down. “I lift things up and put them down.” Up. Down. Now you’re getting into the rhythm of it. “I lift things up and put them down.” Again. “I lift things up and put them down.” Finish the rep. “I lift things up and put them down.” By the time you get yourself to bed, you’re feeling much more satisfied with yourself. It’s far from perfect, but you’re starting to make a little headway into the part. You sigh contentedly as you lay down and look up at the ceiling to read the encouraging message, and you can’t help but wonder if you agree. Perhaps a little CHANGE IS GOOD after all. “Huhuhuh. Yeah....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 3

Your first session with Hank may not have been deadly, but it was far from unpleasant. He meant it, when he said he would test your limits. He took you through the whole range of exercises from cardio to calisthenics to strength and endurance training. To establish a base line, he’d said. A part of you wondered if it was just because he took pleasure in seeing you sweat. Then again, that was kind of his job, so he probably did. A purple turtle neck clung to your upper body, helping to keep you warm as you gingerly removed your coat to hang in the closet. The workout may not have been intense, but you still felt the after-effects, and you were not looking forward to day two. It always hurt more on day two. The waiting room was a small one, but incredibly warm. Harry had said he wouldn’t be able to make it to the meeting, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle it yourself. It was a vocal coach, after all, and you only had to say the one line. A few sessions, and you’d have that part ready to go for the cameras. You twiddled your thumbs idly as you waited in the leather chair. Finally, a good five or so minutes later, the door opened and a tall man with dark hair and green eyes walked out with a smile across his face as he put on his glasses. “Thank you so much for the help, Miss Schroder. Your training is an absolute life saver.” “It’s no problem, I assure you,” a woman’s voice carried out from behind the man. A few moments later, you caught your first look at her. Her skin was pale and flawless as marble, and she strode out confidently in high heels. Her hair fell in rich red curling waves that cascaded down her shoulders and back like the fronds of a willow tree, and her pale blue business suit was accented by light pink lipstick. “Just make sure to remember those dialects. Just because it’s one nation doesn’t mean they won’t have different accents.” “Ah, but how could oi be forgettin’ sumpin’ so positively voital ta me craft, yer ladyship?” he asked as a sly smile pulled at his lips. Miss Schroder laughed. “Oh, stop it, you. Save it for the character.” “All right. All right,” the man acquiesced as he raised his hands in defeat. “But it is fun, you know.” “Naturally. Just make sure to be careful, Scott. I find that the roles my customers play tend to take a life all their own.” Scott laughed. “Well, I don’t think that’d hurt all that much, in my case. See you around.” He waved, nodded to you, then retrieved his coat, before making his way out the door. Then Miss Schroder turned her attention to you. She called you by name, then motioned curtly with a finger as she strode back to her office. You followed her her with little prompting. “I’ll have you know that I take my craft very seriously,” she started. “I meant what I said when I warned Scott back there. My lessons can be very much like role playing, and like all role playing, there is a chance that the character can spill over into your everyday life. I would advise you to keep things as separate as possible.” She handed a sheaf of papers to you. “Please make sure to sign these, before we continue. They’re release forms, among a few other necessary documents. By signing them, you agree that I am not to be held responsible for any changes or repercussions that should occur during your time here. You are taking my courses of your own free will, and are willing to accept the consequences of whatever may result from these courses. As a part of the process, some hypnosis may be applied. In signing these papers, you consent to allow me to hypnotize you for the sake of understanding the role you are to take. If you do not wish to be hypnotized, you may so indicate in the necessary boxes; however, it will take longer for you to accomplish your role to satisfaction this way, and the commercial will not move forward, until I give my official seal of approval.” “What?” you balk. “They trust me. I’m good at what I do. If I say someone isn’t ready, they aren’t ready. Each time I’ve warned a client, my predictions came true. After a time, people learn to listen.” She shrugged as she planted herself in a tall stool with a high back to support her lithe frame. “Now, then, assuming you’ve finished the paperwork, let’s get started.” You gulp, then sigh as your shoulders slump in defeat. It’s not like she’d be able to do much to you, anyways, even if she did manage to put you under. And you needed this part. You scrawl quickly across the necessary lines, after a swift perusal of each of the segments for any hidden language or gimmicks. “All right. Let’s get started,” you sigh. “Good.” She seized the paperwork and shoved it into a file with your name on it. “Now, then. According to the paperwork, you are to play the role of a stereotypical bodybuilder with just one thing on his mind.” “Lifting weights. Yes,” you say as you roll your eyes. “I take it you’re not too keen on the role.” You shrug. “I take what I can get.” She pursed her lips. “Hmm. You’re going to be an interesting one. It’s more difficult working with a client who isn’t enthusiastic about his part. Not impossible, mind you. Just more difficult.” She perused the file once more, then pulled out her phone. “Let’s start off with various accents, shall we? I want to see what kind of range fits you best. There are a few that come more prominently to mind. You have German/Austrian, surfer beach bum, frat boy jock, and a few others. Each of them may sound similar, but there is a certain subtlety that designates each vocalization as its own unique sort of language. The only difference here is, rather than a language of words and letters, you have a language of sounds and inflections. Now then. Let’s begin.” You run through each of the various accents and styles, trying your best to replicate each. She shook her head and tutted at each separate attempt to mimic the recordings. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” she sighed. “Let’s start off with the basics.” She flicked to another track, and white noise started playing gently behind the sound of a metronome. “I want you to listen to the beat and follow it. Emphasize the key words of your line with each stroke. ‘I lift things UP and put them DOWN.’ Got it? Up,” her voice climbed higher, “and down.” Her voice glided down into the lower register.

You sigh, then set your shoulders as you listen to the recording. “I lift things up and put them down,” you say lamely. “With feeling. Emphasize. You have to draw the audience into what you’re saying. Again,” she ordered. “I lift things up and put them down,” you say. “Again. Hit the beat.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “Again.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “Repeat.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “Good. Keep going.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “That’s right. Follow the beat. Up. Down. Up. Down.” “I lift things up and put them down.” Click up. Click down. Tick. Up. Tock. Down. It’s so boring, but you continue to follow the pattern. “Cadence is everything. Flying high, then dropping low.”

Up. Down.

“Lower.”

“I lift things up and put them down.” Did ... your voice sound huskier? “Deeper. Don’t stop now. Repeat. Follow the rhythm.” Follow UP. Follow DOWN. Follow.... “I ... feel funny....” “Relax. You were just starting to get it right. Try again,” she urged gently. “You want to nail this part, don’t you? So you have to try again. Relax. Try again. Listen. Try again. Follow the beat. Try again.” Her tone was so soft, so low. You had to strain to hear. Had to listen. ... Had to try again. “I lift things up and put them down. I lift things up and put them down. I lift things up and put them down....”

“That’s right.” You feel something in your hand. A ... paperweight, maybe? “You lift things up and put them down. Up. Down. Up. Down.” And suddenly your arm is moving. Up and down. Up and down. You lift things up. You put them down. Lift up. Put down. Up. ... Down. “Good boy.” Then everything went dark.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 8

You yawn as you wake from your sleep and smile. The weekend was here. You finally had your first day off to rest and recuperate. Your breathing hurt as the expansion of your stomach set off the warning signals in your muscles, but that was okay, because you had the day off, and it was going to be amazing. You pull of the covers on your bed and shuffle onto the carpet, letting it massage your soles as you savor your freedom yet again. You scratch at the itch along your stomach, then make your way to your kitchen for your cereal and morning shake. You found that if you added a little cinnamon to the shakes, it became more tolerable. It still felt like drinking cement, but at least it didn’t quite make you want to gag so much anymore. You finish your cereal and put your dishes into the washer to prepare this week’s load. A few dashes of detergent and you were ready to go. You take a deep breath and let out a gusty sigh, only for a sudden burst of gas to explode out your mouth in a gigantic belch. “Oh, my,” you gasp in surprise. Then you chuckle. At least you were alone here. Nobody would think any less of you for an accident like that, anyways. You make your way to the bathroom next and take care of your morning oblations. Once again you step out from the shower. Once again, you stare into the mirror. You raise your arm, flex it, and smack a hand over the bicep to feel it. Naturally, you don’t feel much difference, but it’s good practice all the same. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to pose a little. “Lookin’ good, bro,” you say. Once again, you feel ridiculous, but it was better to get used to saying those sorts of things, anyway, at least if you wanted to be able to push yourself closer to channeling the mindset you’d need for the commercial. Once you’ve gotten to your room and finished getting dressed, you check your phone for messages. Soon Duff’s voice is carrying over the speaker. “Hey, man. Just calling to see if you wanna hang out for some lunch today. I know a great place that serves some of the best food in town. Real affordable, too. Call me, if you’re interested. And ... well, call me if you’re not. I’d kinda like to know.” He chuckled. “Anyways, see ya ‘round, and hope you enjoy your weekend regardless.” You can’t help but smile and shake your head. At least he was being friendly, though you doubt he’d know a place that could possibly be better than the restaurants you’ve been to, when clients have treated you. Somehow, you don’t see Duff as the five-star gourmet type. Then again, he had been a big help with avoiding some of the bigger stumbling blocks with Hank, so you do sort of owe him. Your body probably won’t thank you for putting it through more stress, but it’s better than being cooped up all day. You sigh and hit the call back button. “Yeah, Duff? It’s me. Where’s this place you wanted to meet again?”

“Welcome to Gut Busters, home of all things healthy and/or tasty,” the perky hostess said with a smile. “Table for two?” Duff nodded. “My usual spot, April.” April winked at him. “You’ve got it.” Duff blushed. “Do I detect a hint of chemistry, Duff?” you ask. Duff blushed harder. “Sh-shut up.” “I’m sorry, Duff. I can’t do that.” “You botched the line,” he accused. “No, I just changed the name.” You shrug. “2001: a Space Odyssey was overrated, anyway.” Duff sighed. “Can’t argue with you there. Not nearly enough action.” April showed you to your chairs and passed you a menu. “Aren’t you going to give one to Duff, too?” April giggled. “Duff’s a regular. Never changes his order, no matter how many times we try to make him.” “What can I say? I love their teriyaki bowl,” Duff said with a shrug. “And besides that, it’s a lean meal with plenty of protein. I work at a gym. I do have a certain figure to maintain, you know,” he pointed out. “Now who’s hamming it up?” you accuse as April giggles yet again. “You two are just so adorable.” “And speaking of ham, I think I’ll try your country western burger. Barbeque’s always been a favorite of mine.” “Well, that was quick.” You shrug as you hand the menu back to her. “I was in the mood for something meaty, and I didn’t want to make Duff feel awkward waiting for me to order while his meal got cold.” “Anything to drink?” “Water, please,” Duff asked. “I’ll take a coke,” you order. “One coke and one water coming right up. See you gentlemen soon.” She winked at Duff again, then strutted away. “Duff, she’s all but asking you to take her out. I only just met the girl, and even I can tell how desperate she is.” Duff blushed. “It’s a bit complicated.” “Then uncomplicate it for me.” Duff fiddled his thumbs nervously. “Well, used to be she couldn’t even see me, back when I first met her. I was just some wiry kid coming in for a good meal. It didn’t exactly help that I was dealing with bullying at school. Back then, the world just sort of seemed like it had it out for me. When I saw the kind of guy she went for, well, I tried to be like that.” He motioned to himself. “You can see I got there eventually, but when I first started, it was rough. Most of the time, I got picked or laughed out of any place I tried to use. Then my parents got killed in a car crash on their way home from the airport. Drunk driver.” He shook his head as his face scrunched up in distaste. “After that, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I didn’t feel ready to live on my own yet, but I sure as hell didn’t want to go into the foster system either. I was lucky Hank found me when he did.” He sighed. “He was a hard man, but he was fair. Got me a job, helped me to get my own apartment, showed me the ropes for managing my finances and getting fit. I guess you could say he’s like a second father. Fast forward a few years, and here I am now, bigger, stronger, and more confident in my standing.” He chuckled. “Hank insisted I go to college, so I’ve been taking classes online to certify myself as a personal trainer.” You whistle in surprise. “Yup. So now I have a steady job that could eventually turn into one that’s even better paying, an awesome boss, and I get to stay in the gym, which has pretty much become one of my favorite places to be.” He shrugged and his pecs strained slightly against the front of his polo. “So yeah. It’s nice to get the attention from her, but ... after seeing how she goes after some of the other people in here, I’m not sure I want to go through with it, especially when I’m so focused on my career and my body right now.” “Well, it is your choice.” You shrug. “Personally, I’d be willing to take the risk, but then again, I’m not dealing with college, a job, and trying to build up my body simultaneously.” “Yeah, it’s kinda hard sometimes.” “But worth it?” “Oh, definitely.” He grinned. “I love that feeling when I’m pushing at the weights. The pump, the surge, the muscle. It’s amazing. I plan to be bigger than Hank one day.” “Seriously?” “Just wait and see,” he challenged as your drinks arrived. “Just wait and see.”

Thanks for hot stories!! By any chance, could you do a spin-off featuring nerd to football jock transformation in college? Like a smart and intelligent student reporter or classmate, whose friend suddenly became a dumb meathead and joined a team, started to investigate the hidden secret of the football program and ended up being transformed into one like quite agile and obedient RB by his close friend? Love 54 and 56!!

It is an interesting concept, and I’ll definitely keep it in mind, but for now, I have to focus on a few other projects. Family stuff is going on with a wedding coming up, and I have a few other pieces I need to finish for commissioners, etc. That being said, I might make use of your suggestion in the future, so keep an eye out. And know that you definitely haven’t heard the last of 56 and his friend, 54. ;)

Stone!!

Well, that brings it to one and one. Let’s see what others have to say.

Finding Common Ground

Forgive me, if this sounds preachy. It’s my first time trying to tackle this concept in a written format, whether prose, letter, or something else. I’ve just had cause to reflect recently on our current situation in the nation (United States), and on differences as a whole that often lead to conflict. Different ideals. Different cultures. Different religions. And, yes, in some cases (though I do hate that these cases exist) different skin color. There’s opposition and conflict in just about every situation in the world. Even when we’re doing something as simple as moving one object to another place, opposition is in effect as we enact a force on that object to make it move against the laws of gravity. It seems in all this disparity that often, the only similarity between extremes that I can find is an intense dislike, if not outright hatred on both far sides of these conflicts. I hear conversations where men and women defame Donald Trump as a liar, a con man, and someone who is out to only better the wealthy and the rich. And yet, I don’t hear anything about his accomplishments that he’s made in his time as president from many of them. Likewise, I hear those who have praised Trump for his good works without acknowledging the past mistakes, sins, misdeeds, or misconducts that he has committed, before taking office. (I wasn’t sure which word would best apply. Hence, why I used multiples that could be deemed as synonyms.) Please note, this is not a political commentary, or at least it’s not intended as one. I’m simply stating this as an example. Another would be the whole debate that rages between homosexuality and heterosexuality (forgive me, if these terms seem outdated. I don’t keep up with all these new terms scientists and culture has come up with. Heck, I didn’t know they’d changed LGBT to LGBTQ, until I had to do research on it for an article I was writing.) It seems that people are forgetting what it is to be willing to respect that others have different beliefs on both sides, whether it be over religion, sexuality, politics, culture, or any number of other topics. As a Christian, I found myself under attack for saying that I couldn’t support someone’s decision to go through a transgender operation, but that I could and did respect their decision to go through with it, because it’s their choice. The funny thing of it, the person I was addressing didn’t blow up at all. It was a boatload of other people from all across the spectrum. Other Christians, atheists, and who knows what else. I don’t know what classifications or identifications these people take. It was online, after all. I understand the importance of free speech, of letting one’s opinion be known. I just miss the time when we could be willing to look at one another, and while we saw differences, could still see a common ground of humanity, of the fact that we each have our own choices to make, and that while we may not agree with each other, we can still have civil conversation and even develop great friendships, despite our differences. What happened to the age of compromise? What happened to the time of understanding between one another? I don’t know. All I know is that I wake up and look at the news, and all I see is more disparity, more anger, more violence, and not much dialogue. Maybe it’s happening behind the scenes. I don’t know. I just wish people would be willing to look more at one another and say, “Hey, I don’t agree with your choices, but I like you as a person. Wanna hang out?” I know there’s no cookie cutter solution to differences. Every situation is different, and I most certainly will never claim to have an answer to the conflict in the first place. But I do think it would help, if people stopped pointing fingers or making mobs or yelling or screaming against other points of view. Compromise and change require peaceful discussion. It’s like Doctor Who said in his famous speech during the Zygon war. You can get up, fight the battles, lose thousands of lives on both sides, or you can do what you always have to do in the end, what inevitably happens, no matter what the end result may be. You sit down, and you talk. I wish people would do that again. It’s so much easier to find that common ground, when you’re actually willing to look for it.