I can object until I’m blue in the face but it makes very little (if any) difference. I object to a lot of things. Currently I’m objecting to the presence of a tiny field mouse in my house, but he doesn’t care. He is not attracted to the peanut butter or minuscule fragments of popcorn in the numerous traps set all around his habitual stalking area. I’m beginning to think he likes me. I’m wondering if, at night, he curls up with Bear to sleep. He’s a daring little guy. I’ve named him Njal for the ill-fated but virtuous hero of my favorite Icelandic saga.
I object to most of what’s going on in Washington right now and I voted my objection. Easiest ballot I ever filled in. I didn’t have to think about anything since my goal is simply to contribute to restoring the balance of powers. I know how powerful my vote is, too. I’m one tiny person in the middle of a large (in area) rural Colorado county. Oh, the power!!!
I once objected to things vociferously and strenuously, but that was before I was 40. I still had the impression that people were listening to me and waiting eagerly for my opinion. Years teaching taught me that is NOT the case. It was a relief letting the weight of the world fall from my shoulders and, instead, lifting the little piece that belongs to me, barely bigger than this little audacious hungry grey rodent.