It has you trapped.
Can’t say what I really feel about Trump or Hillary because politics is so polarizing.
Can’t invite a conversation about Egypt Air because it’s such a downer.
Can’t reveal the anxiety I feel about my marriage because that’s too personal.
Can’t say what I think about gun violence because it’s not politically correct.
Can’t express frustration about sexism at my job because I might get fired for it.
Can’t voice exasperation about intolerance in my town because it’ll cause complaints to my boss.
Can’t explode about the mess that is the American health care system because that’s not why people listen to us.
Can’t share my personal grief because I can’t control myself once I start and that would be embarrassing.
Can’t open the door to my insecurities and failures because then I would feel naked in front of my world.
Can’t rail against injustice and greed because it’s not funny and I want to be funny above all.
Can’t take too long to make my point because PPM shows it’s a tune-out, so I’ll shut up and play this 7-minute stop set instead.
Can’t risk a real emotional connection because it requires me to be vulnerable and defenseless.
Can’t push everyone at my station — everyone — to be better because they’ll think I’m a giant, egomaniacal jerk.
Can’t. Can’t. Can’t.
So I’ll stay safe, read the liner, avoid potential conflict and rejection, keep my head down, keep my true self totally hidden from everyone and hope to ride this out a few more years.
Maybe by then I’ll have thought of a Plan B…