Tag: Maturity

Perpetual Childhood, Narcissism, and Fear


Do you get the impression that the hysteria following the SCOTUS ruling regarding Roe v. Wade is over the top, more so than usual, from the radical Left? Do you assume the reasons are because of abortion’s inherent controversy? Have you wondered about the extremely radical reaction by pro-abortion people who live in blue states that have already written pro-abortion legislation?

You have every reason to be skeptical because it’s not just about abortion.

Chronic Adolescence and the Mind of the Radical Left


For over 100 years we have watched the Progressives make inroads in their efforts to challenge the integrity of our Republic. They have been dogged in their efforts, and the political Right has had mixed results in trying to stop them. In recent years have witnessed an intensifying of the radical Left’s efforts to insist that their demands are met. Their persistence has increased, their anger and hysteria have grown and in some ways those of us on the Right are baffled, annoyed and are becoming angry at their unceasing determination to get their way. Often, we credit their attitudes and behaviors to utopian thinking. I’d like to suggest that this description is too limited to capture the undermining work they are doing. So I began to study their activities more closely, whether we watch them on social media, in the legislature, in corporations and in our interactions with them. We are not just observing idealistic thinking.

We are watching the playing out of “adolescent dreams,” or more accurately, “chronic adolescence.” By looking at how these mindsets manifest, we not only have a better chance of understanding the current environment, but we may also be able to create strategies that will stymie, if not stop their efforts.

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So, climate activist Greta Thunberg, ahead of the Davos forum, is demanding that the people who meet there “immediately halt all investments in fossil fuel exploration and extraction, immediately end all fossil fuel subsidies and immediately and completely divest from fossil fuels,” and do so “now” as in “right now.”  As one factor in considering how […]

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Unrealized Dreams


I walk slowly, leaning forward, as I approach the cabin. It sits in a clearing, where there are just enough trees to frame it, and few enough to allow the sun to regularly touch its natural beauty. As I get to the front door, I pause, unlock it and push the door open.

As I step inside, the smell of wood greets me. I look around to admire its simplicity and intimacy. On the left is a settee adjacent to one comfortable chair, my favorite, where I curl up to read. Farther back in the room is a doorway that leads to my small bedroom with enough room for a bed, a side table piled with books and a shelf with trinkets from my travels. I glance against the back wall, and there is a basic bathroom, and then to the right, a kitchen with a miniature refrigerator. A wood-burning stove rests on a platform near the south wall, with a stack of wood ready to be consumed. Colorful curtains of an olden style grace the windows; they are usually open, but closed at night to keep out the cold winter nights. And a large woven rug rests in the center of the room.

The Party of Adults


Candidates, please steal this.

Anyone who’s encountered (or recalls being) a teenager is familiar with the “Why can’t you just treat me like an adult!?” refrain. It’s powerful because adulthood is associated with liberty and a greater deal of control over one’s life, things just about everyone wants. The catch, of course, is that adulthood also entails greater responsibilities. Most people, however, decide — more or less … eventually … in most things — that they prefer the opportunities of maturity to the coddled safety of childhood.

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When watching a woman about my age sip her drink through a straw, it occurred to me that the action made her look like a little girl. Sipping on a straw will make anyone look like a kid for a few seconds. Do you agree?  What other simple behaviors and objects can make a mature […]

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The Family, A School of Compassion


“Good Lord.  I’ll never, ever let that happen to me.”

Thoughts along those lines used to cross my mind quite a lot when the Booths and Daytons and Birchards and Balls were all still alive—these would be my mother’s parents and their cousins.  They had been born before the turn of the last century and spent much of their lives on dairy farms, the men awake at four every morning to milk the cows, the women awake not much later to chop the wood, start the fire in the stove, and cook breakfast. (My grandmother refused to permit my mother to touch an ax. She wanted my mother to have an easier life than she’d had, and she believed that if she never taught my mother how to chop wood, then my mother would never have to chop wood. It worked. More than a dozen young men proposed to my mother before she married my father, but none was a farmer.)