Learn to Shoot a Gun (29 of 40)

I visited a gun range for the first time in my life last month. My friend, Andrew, offered to take me and teach me how to properly handle and shoot a gun. I didn't grow up with much exposure to guns or hunting, so I was about as novice as you can get. The conversation around gun-ownership and gun-violence is so heated and, like most of the divisive topics facing our society today, there are people I love and respect on both sides. 

A number of years ago, a president I did not vote for was elected into office. It was a hard election year all around. Many of us felt forced to choose who we viewed as the lesser of two evils, rather than a candidate we could fully endorse and support. When the dust settled and the votes were counted, I felt sucker-punched, the wind had been violently ripped out of me. It was hard for me to wrap my head around so many people voting for someone who I viewed as actively opposing the things I valued most. 

But here's the thing. Many of those people who voted differently than I, were ones I dearly loved. More than that, several of them were people I greatly respected. So, while it was tempting for me to feel personally victimized, to create a narrative of 'if you are not for me, you are against me,' I had a choice to make. I could allow our varied convictions to drive a wedge in our connection. I could dismiss an entire group of intelligent, interesting, valuable and worthwhile human beings solely because what informs them, does not inform me. I could paint them in my mind as caricatures and pat myself on the back for my self-righteous superiority. 

Or...

Or I could seek to understand what at first seems incomprehensible. I could set aside my hurt at an institution and remember the kindness an individual showed to me. I could ask questions and have challenging conversations that don't get wrapped in tidy bows at the end. I could realize that part of  what makes democracy great, is that not one of us is the same. 

Over my life, I have had my fair share of people leave. Time does that. Divorce definitely does that. What matters most to me, is connection and the ability to love another for who they are. I decided to value those things over politics, over religious convictions, and over ever-changing societal norms. Because if we don't love each other well, none of it really matters. This is my daily goal and my daily struggle. 

What does any of this have to do with guns, you ask? Now that I've typed all this, I'm asking myself the same thing. Honestly, I don't know and the irony is not lost on me. Handling a loaded gun, aiming it at the paper dummy dangling ahead, it felt complex and layered. Not simply the mechanism of the weapon (loading the ammunition, chambering a round, sighting the target, squeezing the trigger) or the responsibility to handle it safely (pointing the muzzle only towards the target, keeping my finger off the trigger until ready to fire, table-ing the weapon when not in use), but also the weight of the potential destruction I wielded. 

I felt the anxious responsibility of a single woman caring for the safety of her children in an increasingly dangerous world. I felt the fear of living in the current climate where our society is quick to cancel and our humanity is a liability. I felt reverence for the police officers I know, broad-brushed by the media as trigger-happy racists, but who are in actuality brave, fair and exceptionally excellent at a job I am not built for and who continue to show up for the greater good despite the inherent risk. I thought of the black community and I wondered what place a middle-class white girl has in the discussion of pain and restoration. 

I am not a proponent for guns, nor am I against them. The fact of the matter is, they exist. They are not going away. I am a proponent for safety and educating yourself on things that make you uncomfortable. I'm glad I learned the basics. And, at least according to Andrew, turns out I'm fairly deadly...in a well-controlled environment, at close range.