White Flags

I am weary. I catch myself blankly staring, my usually bright demeanor replaced with concerned eyebrows and sober lips. I thought being a grown-up would be so much easier than this. I imagined certain things to be a bummer; like bills, and car repairs, and grocery shopping; but I didn't know how burdened I would feel by the world, how misunderstood, defensive, and helpless I would feel.

It seems like people constantly have their fists clenched and swords drawn, ready for a battle. We take each other's words, twist and distort them, then force them into the mold we created for each other. We want proof that the enemy is as malicious and callous as we think, so anything they say or do becomes evidence of their malevolence. With our shields we deflect our opponent's real and often harmless intentions, and then we bludgeon them, making them look weak and most importantly, wrong. Has it always been this bad? Or am I finally seeing life through the eyes of a grown-up?

I believe there are a lot of people with white flags on the battlefield, but no one notices them because they are the silent ones. Some stand confidently with their flags held high, fearless of the war around them. They are strong enough to fight, but have more strength not to. Others clutch their flags while they minister to the wounded and get spat on for their service. And others stand there helplessly, their white flags hanging lifelessly at their sides, blankly staring with concerned eyebrows and sober lips, but at least they are holding the flag.