Just call me Pollyanna

I was talking to a friend tonight who was telling me about two older women who had become friends. He said, "it seems that they forgot how much they used to hate each other."

We laughed and speculated on whether it was the wisdom of years, or the effects of dementia that allowed such an occurrence.

So maybe there is hope for us all. We are crazy and getting older.

The truth is, constant fighting will wear you out. And sometimes, after weariness sets in, you realize that the only others that can truly relate to how you feel and how you think are the people that were actually in the fight with you, both friend and foe. Not those people standing on the sidelines giving advice.

Take for instance Israel and Palestine. They have been at it for awhile. They both want a secure place carved out of a small, rocky, arid part of the world. They both want Jerusalem. They have dealt with the pressures of the conflict for as long as Israel has existed. They have fought and died in the process. They have persecuted and have been persecuted. Can Americans really relate to either side?

Take Democrats and Republicans in Congress. They all have to run for reelection back home every 2 or 6 years. That have to keep everybody happy, voters, contributors, the national party, while trying to remember why they went there in the first place. They take abuse, get no respect, and must constantly be on guard in case a live microphone or hidden camera is nearby. These days they may fear for their lives. They must leave their homes and families for long periods of time. All while they are making decisions that impact millions of lives, and sometimes the whole world. Can your average jimbob really understand what that life is like? What that pressure is like?

I am a lawyer by trade and have been at it longer than I can believe. The longer I practice the more I appreciate, actually the more I find necessary, the time I spend with my colleagues, often my adversaries, debriefing, de-stressing, and generally laughing at ourselves and how we do what we do.

No one else really understands.

I doubt that all swords will be turned into plowshares any time soon. That is more for the Harold Campings of the world to predict.

But I do sense a slight weariness among old foes, and perhaps a bit of wisdom too.

If two old women can do it, there's hope for everyone.

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