Hard to Hold Back the Hate

Hate is an emotion that I reject. But sometimes holding back that feeling is agonizingly difficult.

A short time ago I learned that at least two people were killed (one report says it was three) and 12 injured today by a terrorist attack in my city, Kharkiv. Apparently, cowardly terrorists – clearly associated with and supported by Russian-backed separatists – planted an antipersonnel bomb timed to explode as a peaceful crowd of people showing their support for Ukraine was passing by. There are indications that they were trained and received their equipment in Russia.

The victims and their colleagues were rallying for peace in this country and honoring the 100 people killed in Kyiv a year ago by the corrupt (and also Russian-backed) Yanukovich government during the Euromaidan protests. The outrage over that massacre helped to overturn the government shortly thereafter and send Yanukovich slinking off to hide in Russia. The fact that these patriots were showing support for their country and a desire for the war to end made them targets of despicable, low-brow animals who willingly do the bidding of that heinous despot in the Kremlin.

My immediate reaction to the news was visceral. It was the kind of feeling I’ve been experiencing all too often lately when I see what is happening to Ukraine, what Russia and its sycophantic minions in Donetsk and Lugansk are doing to this country.

Ukraine Under Siege – Hard Not to Hate

It is really difficult to hold back the hate these days.

In recent weeks, as I’ve watched Putin pretend to participate in peace talks while simultaneously sending more and more lethal equipment – and his own Russian soldiers – across the border into the Donbas region, it’s been hard not to simply hate the man. I’ve seen photos and video of the low-life criminals in Donbas who are charitably called "separatists," and it has been very difficult to not let my feelings cross over into pure hate.

As I see Ukraine’s economy fall further and further toward collapse and see the value of the currency spin down into previously unfathomable depths, and as I see the terrible impact it is having on the Ukrainian people, especially those I care deeply about, it is all I can do to stop from hating all of Russia and Donbas for causing this.

As I hear and read about the terrible casualties among Ukrainian soldiers and innocent civilians in the east, see photos and videos of the carnage, and see the fear in the eyes of people here who worry that they too might be drawn into the conflict – either through mobilization into the military or actual war coming to the city – it is almost impossible to repress the desire to see the terrorists and their Russian masters receive equal measures of retribution… and more.

As I see the mindless acceptance of lie after lie disseminated by the Kremlin’s propaganda machine – seemingly intelligent people in Russia and Donbas turned into hypnotized zombies by Putin and his obedient media – I can only shake my head in sadness and disbelief. I feel sorry for them, but I don’t hate them.

Amazingly weak "leaders" in Europe and the USSA refuse to take any concrete actions to help Ukraine defend itself. They are too afraid of Russia and, in the case of Europe, too worried about having their supplies of Russian oil and gas cut off. They talk a good game about democracy, territorial sovereignty, the rights of nations, and so forth, but they are too self-absorbed to actually act on these lofty principles. Still... I don't hate them.

In all of this, it is becoming harder and harder to not just hate them all.

Hate Never Helps

When I was young and stupid, it was not so difficult to say, “I hate this,” or “I hate that.” But I learned that hate is a useless, even counterproductive, emotion. For a long time now, I have tried to take a higher road, a more positive and forgiving perspective, and not let hate be a serious part of my vocabulary.

Of course, we often say things like, “I hate it when the bus is late,” or things like that, but it’s just an expression of frustration, not true hate. But perhaps even such expressions should be avoided.

In my life, there have been people who have done wrong to me, some in minor ways and some in very major ways. But I have learned not to hate them.

There are many people and groups in our world with whom I strongly disapprove of or disagree. But I don’t hate them. I believe the current president of the USSA is a feckless leader, a terrible manager of the nation and economy, and a perpetuator of a failed ideology who is tearing my own country apart and making it a laughing stock around the world. But I don’t hate the man.

I regret that so many of my countrymen who knew better simply did not bother to vote in the last two presidential elections and that so many who did vote were mislead by the slick propaganda and put that man into the White House twice. But I don’t hate them for it.

My heart sometimes boils over with frustration at the ineffective leadership in Europe and the USSA, and the resulting dangers that are increasing as a result – especially as it relates to Ukraine. The majority of these “leaders” are corrupt, selfish and taking actions that only protect or enrich themselves, usually at the expense of the people they have pledged to serve. But, still, I don’t hate them.

What to Do When it Affects You?

There are all kinds of evil terrorists in the world, especially in the Islamic world. I want to see them defeated – killed if necessary – but I cannot say that I hate them. Perhaps it’s because most of them have not affected me directly. No one I know has been hurt or killed by the actions of ISIS, Al Qaeda, Boko Harum or similar groups. Maybe if I lost someone in those situations, I would be driven over the edge. I hope that time will never arrive.

But the terrorists in Ukraine have affected me directly: they directly threaten people I care about, and they are wrecking the economy, which directly affects all of us here. And I feel as though I am on that proverbial edge. These are terrible, terrible people; words cannot express how angry I am or how I feel about them. But I do not want to use the word hate.

I really do not want to feel hate for the people who are tearing this country apart and mindlessly killing and destroying, and I will continue to do my best not to let myself slide into that mindset. But it is getting very, very hard.

Below is a video clip of the explosion:

Ironically, today is Forgiveness Sunday in the Orthodox Church.

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* Follow-up: The death toll was officially set at three on Monday, the day after the attack, when a 15-year-old boy died in the hospital from a massive head wound. Officials say now that 10 people were wounded.

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The Joy of Driving

I love to drive!

Since the day I turned 16, driving a car has been something that has given me a special kind of joy. Perhaps it’s the sense of freedom you have when you can just hop into your machine and go wherever you want. Or maybe it’s the feeling of the wind in your hair driving with open windows, an open sunroof, or an open convertible on a warm, sunny day.

It might be the way you seem to be on a mission of discovery when taking a road trip or other long-distance drive. Your car or truck takes you through places you otherwise would never have visited and treats you to sights and experiences you could not have had without your trusty metallic steed.

And even the routine commute to work, traffic and all, can be a pleasure – especially when compared to walking in cold and snow or riding on an overcrowded bus or subway train.

Yes, I love driving, and it is one of the few things I really miss living in Ukraine.  But it’s more than those feelings of freedom and discovery; it’s something that goes deep into the heart and soul.

Driving is Who We Are

Maybe it’s an American cultural thing, a special aspect of the American male psyche. To the American man, driving is hugely important. One of the things an American boy looks forward to the most is being old enough to get his driver’s license. It’s a rite of passage, one of the most important steps that signals ascension to manhood.

The ability to drive – and drive well – is an essential part of a man’s self-image. It runs deep and speaks to who and what he is as a man. For most American men, driving skill ranks second only behind sexual prowess in their assessments of their own manhood. If a man isn’t a master of the road, he is somehow less of a man.

I’m not sure if driving occupies such an important place in the minds and hearts of men in other cultures, but the automobile has dominated American culture for 100 years, and our love of cars and driving is deeply engrained into who we are. I suppose I can’t speak for all American men, but I do believe this is generally true. I know it is true for me.

Driving Memories

I remember years ago when my first new car saw me safely and comfortably on multiple trips between Massachusetts and Maryland. We (the car and I) often drove through the night to avoid the worst of New York traffic. Good music inside a smooth and reliable ride did more than just get me through those trips, it gave me a safe inner sanctum in which the rest of the world could not touch me, and my mind could soar. It was almost like meditation.

A few years later, I took another new car on my first cross-country jaunt, traveling from Norfolk, Virginia, to Monterey, California, to begin a Navy language school. That April drive treated me to the beauty of spring in the Appalachians of Tennessee and the absolutely new (to me) landscapes of the north Texas flatlands and the desert southwest of New Mexico and Arizona. My final prize on that trip was 100 miles of scenic wonder along the California coastal highway from San Luis Obispo, through Big Sur, to Monterey. It was pure magic.

When I returned to the United States after six years in Japan, my motorcycle took me from San Francisco to Fort Collins, Colorado, through some of the most beautiful mountain scenery you could imagine. That trip took driving magic to yet another level.

There have been a number of other fantastic, long-distance driving experiences. I’ve traveled between Colorado and Massachusetts several times, usually in a rented moving truck. And on several of those trips, I enjoyed the good company of a traveling companion. It was especially sweet when one of my daughters made the trip with me from the East Coast to Denver.

I’ve driven between Denver and Chicago several times, and in the 1990s and early 2000s, I made a number of trips between Denver and Albuquerque, New Mexico, and even a few longer trips all the way down to Las Cruces on the Mexican border. And there have been a lot of other road trips over the years.

That’s a lot of miles and a lot of memories.

Of course, not every driving experience is good. Besides being a joy, driving is responsible and serious business. You have to be focused and aware to keep yourself and others safe on the road, and for this reason you can sometimes become overly stressed. Bad drivers around you, difficult weather and road conditions, and other factors can conspire to replace your driving joy with unwanted anxiety.

But that’s worst-case, and in my experience, the pleasure of driving has always far outweighed those occasional speed bumps.

Becoming One with the Vehicle

The trucks and cars I have owned (and especially my motorcycle) are integral to my great driving memories. The vehicles become part of who I am, an extension of my identity and personality. It’s important to get to know the vehicle – intimately – and to become one with it. Together, you share the driving experience, and together you work through challenging situations.

You learn the essentials of operating a car or truck, but then you have to get used to the specific idiosyncrasies of any particular vehicle. You learn that no two standard-shift vehicles behave the same with regard to the engagement point or sensitivity of the clutch, the feel and throw of the shifter, the sensitivity of the brakes, the RPM range at which the engine operates most effectively, and so forth.

Experience teaches you that every vehicle behaves differently in snow, in heavy rain, or on icy streets. You learn to handle a front-wheel drive car differently from a rear-wheel drive. And you get to know the advantages – and the limitations – of operating your four-wheel drive truck in those conditions. And you get a real appreciation for good-quality tires, as well as for studs or chains when you need them.

For me, little can match the thrill of working with a four-wheel drive truck to negotiate difficult paths – or no path at all – in the backcountry. I’ve had three exceptional off-road rides: the famous, nimble and tough white Bronco (not O.J.); my classy and sassy Nissan Frontier; and the big, powerful and comfortable Nissan Titan.

The Bronco holds the best memories because it took me into the wildest places and saw me through the most precarious off-road situations. It had a long-throw shifter, like an older truck should, and I became adept at working the clutch at a higher rev to avoid stalls, keeping higher RPMs at low speeds for torque, power and sure-footedness, quick-shifting between first and reverse to rock the truck out of jams, and assorted other tricks and techniques. Together, we worked through mud and snow, over rocks and logs, and along roads a mountain goat might thing twice about using. It was special.

Colorado: Nothing Compares to You

In September, I wrote a series of observations about my trip to the USSA that I called my American Journal. In that post, I wrote about driving in Colorado and how great it was. The best part was driving to Steamboat Springs in the northern mountains.

We drove at night along lonely county and state roads and saw only a handful of other cars for hours. The drive back was in the daytime, and there were a few more cars, but with the bright weather and beautiful scenery, it was still pure motoring bliss.

For the most part, driving in Colorado is special. There are exceptions, of course. City driving in Denver or Colorado Springs is pretty much like city driving anyplace not named New York, Los Angeles or Boston; except for the view of majestic mountain peaks to the west. And I-70 into the mountains is to be avoided on any weekend during ski season or on major holidays. That’s what happens when too many people learn what an amazing place Colorado is and crowd in to get a piece.

But those problems aside, driving in Colorado is a joy. Mountain driving challenges you with occasional narrow roads, sharp curves, sudden snowstorms, and the chance that a deer, elk, bighorn sheep, moose or even a bear might suddenly dart in front of you. Those kinds of challenges are fun, but you have to be careful. In the end, you are rewarded with the opportunity to experience some of the most breathtaking and inspiring places on Earth.

I seem to be persuading myself that I need to return to Colorado and get back behind the wheel.

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