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rare birds

A growing number of us know we are solidly in an economic, cultural and political world that is changing for the worse. Many understand we are on the verge of change that is dramatically worse.

“What can I do?” constantly rolls around in our heads, but delivers no good answers.

“Preppers” are that special breed, we all know as crackpots, cranks, eccentrics, hippies and other images that cannot fit our self-image no matter how ugly our current trajectory looks. Of course the globalists, the ruling elite, want you to hold that image. Too many preppers and The Great Take-down may not work according to their plan.

Every day you pass forks in the road, “Y” intersections, “T” intersections and wide open paths offering other directions; other choices. But they don’t fit. They are ugly. Or you don’t see them. All for very good reasons… you think.

Think isn’t the right word. It is precisely because you are not considering those paths you pass by daily that you cannot see your way out of your rut – that trench you trod that points directly at the cliff.

I was there.

Anyone familiar with me knows of my long-term concerns with this house of cards we inhabit. Friends and family have observed several attempts in the last 15 years to improve my position for what many of them consider a fictional societal disaster.

Due to a number of “insurmountable” barriers, I determined that I was stuck having to stand and fight on a distinctly sub-optimal battleground. The odds against me were huge, but I had no way out. I had to make the best of what I had; where I was stuck; the rut I couldn’t climb out of.

But I did. I saw a fleeting glimpse of a path flash by my peripheral vision. I mounted the berm, but looking down the strange trail did not reveal what lay ahead should I choose to take it. My familiar furrow had few unknowns in it – the route was at least familiar, the company good.

We often miss opportunity because it’s dressed in overalls and looks like work.

While not exactly the same thing, that quotation is apt. I took the new path. As with most of those we pass by without investigation, the first few bends in the trail are of low risk. We can be confident of finding our way back to our familiar trench. But at some point we must commit. We are no longer confident we will find our way back. Roads wash out, trails grow over or bridges burn.

Missy and I had a dramatic, stressful and challenging four months. It was fast. It was intense. It worked.

Call me Mr. Lucky. I certainly was – calling myself that, I mean. Stuff kept falling in place. Barriers kept breaking down. Favorable coincidences came our way.

However, I am regularly reminded of Napoleon’s question of his other generals when considering promoting a new one: “Is he lucky?” The generals cited numerous other attributes, but Napoleon continually reverted to his original question. As he well knew, you make your own luck. You may lose a round or two, but in the long run, the odds favor those who are alert to opportunities, open to alternatives, creative and adaptable, and I suppose tenacious doesn’t hurt.

Perhaps the tallest wall of our rut is our long history with it. We think of it not as what lies ahead, but what is behind. It is extremely difficult to hold the thought that your future in that route WILL NOT BE like your past was. You can understand conceptually that CHANGE is coming, and that it is really big and dramatically ugly.

But every time you consider an unknown path, your mind compares it to the path you would be leaving behind – the one behind you, not the one in front.

It takes on open mind to see the ugliness ahead. It takes a strong one to hold that image while considering alternate routes.

With a little luck, there will be enough of us rare birds to help get the flock out.