We are not dealing with the rumble … just moving it elsewhere.

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We are not dealing with the rumble … just moving it elsewhere.

I used to drive down the road that I now live on as part of my daily commute. Traffic on the road was a problem. It would take ages to get past what is now my house. All the roads in my local area would become clogged. The government came up with a “solution”. They built a motor way. The traffic in my suburb is now significantly reduced from what it was.

But that didn’t really address the problem. It just moved it away from my direct line of sight. If I go outside in the morning I can hear the low rumble from the motorway. It doesn’t bother me though because that low rumble is an acceptable compromise from my point of view.

They are upgrading the motorway at the moment. You see, it wasn’t actually a very good “solution”. But even upgrading it is only going to move the rumble to somewhere else. It doesn’t deal with the rumble. It just means I am going to have to listen harder to hear it.

Right now Australia is hearing the rumble of a different kind of traffic. We are looking for a solution. But all we can really hope for is to move the rumble further away, to make it harder to notice. I actually think that is all that most people really want. The rumble makes us uncomfortable. It is the rumble of footsteps on a path of despair. Just like living too close to the rumble of vehicles will lower our property values, we fear that this other rumble will somehow take away the value that we have built up for ourselves.

I propose a different “solution”. My solution is that there is no solution. That instead we should cope with the rumble. We should even embrace it. We should bring the rumble close to us so that we can watch it and take care of it rather than pushing it closer to the edge of disaster.

Ruzinfruz?

Muttley of the “Wacky Racers” fame used to mutter to himself when ever he was told off by Dick Dastardly. As a young boy I identified with this, and used to “mock mutter”. Because I am a hopeless mimic, my muttering sounded like “ruzinfruzinruzfruzin….”. It seemed therefore appropriate that my internet mutterings come via a pen name that emulate this strange weird little part of my past.

Muttley … a symobol of a small part of me!?!