I’m just back from the dog park where I spent 30 minutes chucking a tennis ball for my dog who refuses, for the most part, to return it to me. I also watched six men walk along the fence in single file, each with a weed whacker, each whacking the same weeds. Granted, I don’t know what instructions they were given before setting out. Perhaps the weeds along that fence are particularly hardy and required a great effort before they cry “Uncle!” Perhaps the men were whackers-in-training. Perhaps they were challenged in other ways: mentally, legally, etc. Who am I to judge? After all, they spent 30 minutes watching a woman throw a ball, walk to where it landed, only to throw it back to where she had stood originally.

But that line of men has left my mind uneasy.

I’m thinking about human potential and social progress. Had those men been told to follow the foreman? Was the foreman so bereft of ideas that he couldn’t assign each man a portion of the fence to suppress? Or did the men choose to fall in line, docile and dull? In any case, I wonder where such lessons are learned. Part of the answer is obvious. People are taught to behave “correctly” and within that lesson are implants of fear and shame. Mistakes are touted as learning tools and yet, in reality, are ridiculed and reprimanded. So tossing ideas into the air and questioning the top dogs are scary prospects. Not being the leader in line may limit one’s view, but it’s safe.

I consider the concept of “progress” often. I’m married to a man who sees ten years into the future as if it were tomorrow, so I’ve become accustomed to always considering possibilities. I’m also accustomed to the frustration of recognizing opportunities while experiencing the pokey approach to their consideration, not to mention their acceptance. Progress is not always forward. That’s true. Sometimes we need to take a step or two back and reconsider. I’ve read that Stephen Hawking, once he proves a new concept in theoretical physics, immediately digs his teeth into it and tries to tear it apart. Still, that’s what I call progress: an attempt, a risk, possible failure, reconsideration, retrial, ta-dah!

What becomes of the person who never dares step out of line? What violence breeds within a mind whipped and constrained? Whose wives are beaten; whose children are abused? What lucid protestations die on the tongues of the threatened? What oppressive regimes rise and thrive? What brilliance is hidden behind the veil and curtain, and for lack of oxygen, is snuffed? What progress is thwarted and therefore whose lives are forfeit?

Equally frightening may be the thought of a community or a country filled with individuals thinking independently and creatively. “Who’s in control,” we might cry. “That’s not allowed. Is it?”

As for me, I’ll take creativity over darkness and progress over safety. I accept possible failure over assured violence, abuse, and neglect.

Crap! Now I feel crumby all because of 30 minutes at the park with my puppy.