i am a statistic. however much i wanna convince myself i’m the outlier, i gotta face the fact that i am an undeniable part of this sh*t. i’d like to think that that’s just a self-fulfilling prophecy i shouldn’t fall into, but i fear i can’t escape it. simply by existing i become a part of the pot. and the reason i don’t like this fact, is that the statistics scare me. they say we’re getting weaker. they say we’re getting dumber. lonelier. sadder. more numb and less interesting.
i’m contributing to the trend. the trend of being less social. the trend of working less hard. there’s so much about this world that is headed in the right direction, but i’m a part of the part that is not. that’s not to say that all of me is what’s wrong, but some of me is. and the very idea that what’s wrong with me is what’s wrong with the world could be dangerously encouraging company. an excuse.
i’m one of the guys. the guy that doesn’t apply himself. the guy that doesn’t talk to people. the guy that isn’t proactive. the guy that wastes his time. the guy that doesn’t finish what he’s started. the guy that goes back on his word. the guy that judges other people. the guy that says mean things. my hatred and my pride are not new. i am simply another one of those guys that should just keep his mouth shut.
but keeping my mouth shut is also a part of the problem. i’m a part of the statistic of white men who didn’t say sh*t when their brother was killed in the streets. and i don’t say brother as an out-of-touch colloquial term for black man, i say brother because i believe that under God we’re all one big family. one big group. one big population. and in that population we’re all a statistic. we all contribute to some seemingly made-up number that boxes us in. and it’s the statistics that seem so definitive. structures that feels like shackles. i’m stuck holding onto concepts of “i am one” or “we are one”, but these ideas just seem to fail me. it’s a binary way to look at things; being either my own thing, or merely a part of something bigger. but i guess it’s whatever comforts you in the end that will seem to make the most sense.
being a statistic always felt like a concept that controlled me, until i realized i’m in control of which statistic i’m gonna be.
