I’ve stopped listening to the news. With gloom and doom surrounding every story, sometimes ignorance is bliss. Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of a slick, shiny-toed news pawn or politician and think to myself, “Could YOU survive a night in the high desert wilderness? Our even a trip through our little Starbucks drive-through? Really? I think not.” Have they ever been challenged by the wild in ways that tested their spirit? Some seem so fragile that a strong wind might blow them away. Perfect hair. Perfect teeth. Perfect eyes. Perfect points of view. If you happen to think their interpretation is perfect.
Wearing suits that cost more than a week’s salary for many, or shoes cost more than it does to feed a family of four for two weeks, Their images are displayed on American televisions. Smug and polished, they dictate the newest hair styles, clothing, and catch phrases. They hand out fabricated “facts” like Halloween candy to us, the little Trick or Treaters. And, we gobble it all down, hungry for more.
In my youth, news was something that came on for a few minutes at 7:00 AM and then again at 6 PM. At a very young age, there was no such thing as dinner time shows, because, there was no television. With the advent of TV, we would all watch the evening news with Walter Cronkite and soak up his every word. Each night, his program would finish with the number of dead soldiers in Vietnam. In a house full of girls, the news came to a group that really didn’t understand war or casualties. But, we listened, all the same, with quiet sadness as the numbers grew.
Now, it seems that anything qualifies as news. As the hands of the clock move, Tik Tok videos go viral. The silliest things catch the nation’s attention, becoming the latest rage. While Covid isolated elderly parents from children and grandchildren for over a year, the news marched on, showing images remaining in our brains long after the broadcast was turned off. Stories of horror, caused by something we can’t even see or touch. Something that has changed our way of life forever.
Microscopic evaluations occur on a daily basis of events that are parsed into small visual sound bites by news “professionals” that were not even there. Not knowing the before or after, we’re asked again and again to join a group or cause often without being told the entire story. Words are arranged to make tempers flare and rage simmer, all while individuals forget to do their own investigation to make informed decisions about their stand on a subject. Opinions are formed by the lead story. Passions flame over something that happened somewhere that someone told them through a game of telephone. Very few times is a story told in its entirety, without personal opinion and point of view added for impact.
Through all of this, those slick dressed entertainers sit in studios and offices with the perfect lighting to make their youthful skin glow. The pretty people write stories they spoon feed us like a baby’s formula. We lap up every last drop.
Yesterday, driving through the vast and barren high desert BLM (Bureau of Land Management) lands owned by us all, I thought about those people who seem to give us daily answers to questions we never thought to ask. How would they fare if placed any one of the many mountaintops that surround my little town with only water and a loaf of bread? How many of them would know that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West? How many would be able to come close to knowing the time of day by the position of the sun in the sky? How many would not be able to find their way off the mountain and perish before lunch? Even with an abundance of gravel roads to follow, most would die within ten feet of where they started.
Self sufficiency and critical thinking are life skills that seems unimportant to many in our country. Even making a home brewed cup of coffee is lost on millions of citizens. Watching commercials, it’s easy to see that some people have forgotten how to find a recipe or chop an onion, because it’s easier to wait for a box to arrive with a preassembled dinner inside. A microwave system reads a bar code on a prepared dinner, so even entering the necessary cooking time is an unneeded skill. More time for videos gone viral, or games on a screen. More time to showcase selfies to the world.
This summer, I’m looking forward to being outdoors. Visiting the local woods while reading a paper map, I plan to make my own Vitamin D while soaking up some sun. Maybe I’ll even continue to live on the wild side and walk outside without a mask or sunscreen. My bronzed skin has never looked more healthy. I can’t wait to ditch the internet for days on end while just enjoying the sky and wind with nature surrounding me.
Those polished types live in a different world than the one in which I thrive. They would never fit in the little town I call home. We are referred to as heartland fly-over country by the elites. Funny, here in the high desert, we’re relieved they keep flying wherever their itinerary takes them. News folk and politicians just may be missing what is real and true about our country. At the very least, they cause me to click off the television. There is always something more interesting to do in the high desert.