[NR] Memories, apologies, wishes, and a challenge

[Leslie Miller]

My memories as I look back over a decade and a half in the
SCA are somewhat bittersweet.  I’ll never forget my first event;
wide-eyed as Burke and Mistress Megan told me stories and
introduced me to The Dream.   And a Dream it was, too, the
glory, the chivalry, the honor.  There were the people who
seemed larger than life:  heroes like Duke Inman, the once and
every other King, Sir Syf (a lady knight!), Pepin the Fool, and
William Blackfox (who drew those cool cartoons!).  There was
the thrill of putting on armor and learning to fight.  I was a
bookworm, and the adrenaline of battle was something new and
addictive.  I learned to be proud of bruises and enjoy the pain of
a shot well-delivered.  It was a grand and delightful game, and I
grew to love it.

I made friends who were as close or closer to me than my own
flesh and blood family. More than once I attended SCA events
instead of some family function that would have bored me silly.
My SCA family was just as important and just as loved.  The
SCA became more than just a hobby; it was my life outside of
work, and it was all I really needed because it was a satisfying
and rewarding support group.

It would be hard for me to relate just one memorable moment;
there have been so many accumulated over the years.  There
was my Falcon given to me by King Inman after the field battle
at Pennsic.  There was singing at Taylor Lake around campfires
and dancing at Gulf Wars.  There were awards and demos and
events and projects and offices.  So many good memories,
indeed.

Memories that have now turned melancholy.

I couldn’t tell you exactly when, or how, or why, but at some
point along the way (in recent years) the game that meant so
much to me ceased to be fun.  Instead of looking forward to
events, I started dreading them.  What brought me joy and
wonder instead brought disillusionment and unhappiness.

I should have been at Castellan this weekend, but I wasn’t, and
for that I owe all of Northkeep an apology.  I am sorry.

I’m sorry, but it isn’t fun anymore.  It hasn’t been for a long
time.  I hurt when my friends hurt; it’s as simple as that, and so
many of my friends are hurting that I can’t escape it anymore.
Nor can I make it better, and that makes it even worse.  It’s a
terrible feeling of frustration and helplessness to watch what I
loved so much lose its magic, because those I care about and
love are being emotionally injured in so many creative and
bedazzling ways.

I really wish I had a magic formula for making it all better.  I
wish I could point a finger at somebody and say, “It’s all your
fault!” and make them pay the price for my unhappiness.  I wish
I had somebody to blame
 the king, the landed barons and
baronesses, the seneschals, the peers, the nobles, the populace,
heck, maybe even Caitlin for dying and leaving a hole in so many
hearts.

Trouble is, I think we’re all to blame.  Very few of us make a
point to always refrain from gossiping with our friends.  We’ve
all made mistakes in our interactions with others.  We all have
our own personal agendas, desires, and goals, and we act to
further the them, sometimes at the expense of others.  It’s only
natural.  None of us are perfect.

Let me repeat that.   None of us are perfect.

I have to wonder, in fact, if the Dream is more of a curse than
not.  You see, we set people up for failure by comparing them to
the ideals of “The Dream.”  Our larger than life heroes, well, you
know, it turns out that they’re remarkably human.  Even my idol,
Duke Inman, proved quite capable of committing great, huge,
walloping mistakes, whether he’d admit it or not.

I think there’s a basic human need to have heroes, to have
people to look up to and admire.  The Dream calls us to
become those heroes.  To find them right before us.  Most of us
were raised with the ideal of the knight in shining armor.  We
expect our leaders in the SCA to be like those knights, whether
they fight or not.  We expect them to be better than the rest of
us.  And you know what?  Sometimes they are.  And you know
what else?  Sometimes they aren’t.  To be human is, by
definition, I think, to be imperfect.  But we set our standards
high, and we set our expectations high, and when our heroes fail
and make mistakes, it’s a long hard fall from the pedestal we
place them on.  Disappointment and disillusionment are the
natural result.  I learned that the hard way.

I look around the North, and I see a lot of toppled pedestals
(and attempted pedestal toppling), and I see a lot of people
hurting from the fall (or the attempt to make them fall).  I see
more disappointment and disillusionment than just my own.  I
see bitterness and anger.  I see resentment.  I see a lot of people
doing what I want to do: pointing fingers and  placing blame.
Slinging mud.  I see my Dream in tatters, my FAMILY in tatters
(and that's what hurts the most), with a stoic (and sometimes
successful) few still trying to have fun in the present while the rest
of us cling to happier memories and hope for a better future.

I wish those stoic few all the best in the world.  Certainly, they
have my blessings and gratitude for keeping the game alive for
themselves and those others who would play along.

Unfortunately, I don’t see things getting better anytime soon as
far as my own enjoyment is concerned.  The emotions are just
too raw and too close to home.  The hurts have been too great.
The damage is more than superficial.  This can’t be fixed with
duck tape and baling wire.  There isn’t a magic cure, and there
isn’t any knight in shining armor who will be able to make it
better.  Even if one tried, I think someone would just knock the
pedestal right out from under him or her, too.

I am sorry for it all.  I apologize I haven’t been around much.  I
apologize for being something of a coward, unable to face the
unpleasantness in person.  And just so you know that I’m not
trying to perch on a pedestal of my own, I realize that I haven’t
been a very good peer.  Good peers are active in the society,
and I have not been.  If it makes any difference, it has been a
source of guilt.

So what is the point of this message, you may ask.  It is a
lament, of sorts, brought on by others who have shared their
happy memories on this list.  It is an explanation and an apology
for my continued absence and lack of enthusiasm.

I suppose, too, that I want to suggest a path for making amends
and healing: Forgive, forget, and move forward in a spirit of
friendship for the betterment of the game, if not the tarnished
Dream.   Stop pointing fingers, stop trying to find blame, stop
harping about past failings and real or imagined slights and
wrongdoings.  We have to lie in the bed we make; we should
stop shitting in it.  All of us.  Forgive me for being rude, but I
think the crap has piled high enough.  It's time to start shoveling,
and you can't do that when you're fairly wallowing in the muck.

I am not so naïve as to think that forgiveness is a path that many,
if any, will follow.  It’s not an easy one to take, certainly not so
easy as to hold on to righteous indignation, resentment, and
anger.  You know, to err is human, to forgive divine.  The latter
is the easier route; forgiveness the more heroic, and we have
proven again and again that we’re more human than heroic.
Why should that change now?  I honestly don’t expect it will.
But, you know, I am a very bitter old baroness, and I challenge
you all to prove me wrong.  I’d love to believe in heroes again.

YIS (Yours in Spirit, since I no longer claim Service),
Gunhilda