You Feel It Just Below the Ribs

by Jeffrey Cranor

Comfort is dangerous. It is the illusion that nothing will ever change even when things are changing constantly, right in front of you. And this personal conservatism is seductive.

“You feel peaceful? When you read?” “Yeah. More peaceful than I do any other time, anyway.”

You don’t know how something can be deeply traumatic and yet somehow incredibly boring.

The pain was gone—or not gone. The pain was so much a part of me now that I did not notice it. The way you do not notice your heart beating or your fingernails growing.

Safety becomes violence when mixed with fear. And closed groups feed off collective fright.

Language is rich and vast, but with all its breadth, it’s insufficient. Every word, every turn of phrase, every variation of tone is liable to be misinterpreted. When we speak to each other, how can we know what has shaped each other’s view? What unknown connotations they bring to our words? It is overwhelming. If you think about this for too long, it is terrifying. But I found myself having to think about it.

I never liked speaking out. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Unless the squeaky wheel is removed and replaced, discarded into the junkyard of unremarkable history. To stage a public fight only draws more attention to oneself. I always felt that way.

It is one of the universe’s deepest and cruelest jokes that it takes a lifetime to learn the lessons you need in order to live.

But being jaded—having experienced the world at its most brutal—doesn’t prevent naivete. It robs you of innocence but can leave you credulous.

Was I looking for something to occupy my mind? Conspiracy theories are like micro–religious beliefs to help us find comfort in the unknown.