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... or Ruger, or any other piece of machinery.
I read through the forums that people get a sense of well-being from carrying a loaded gun. Some feel better with a larger gun. Been there; done that. Something is wrong with putting my faith in a man-made object.
I'm not proselytizing or preaching. I am declaring that there is both a rational sense of being prepared with objects which removes anxiety (having some savings in the bank, a fire extinguisher in the kitchen, spare batteries for hurricane season, a shotgun by the bed at night, a .45 IWB at the mall) and there is also an irrational sense of emotional dependence on weapons, especially concealed guns, to provide a sense well-being. Irrational is not bad per se, but I sense a mild pathology in some posts; those posts are the reason for this thread.
I like the guns I have (especially blackpowder, which is as close as I've yet come to reloading). The engineering, craftsmanship, and utility are (to varying degrees) a source of delight and wonder. I enjoy handling them, as I do handling my bow or a well-made knife. The same feeling occurs when I finish setting up a treestand and scale its sturdiness for a test-view. But that sense of wonder at craftsmanship pales to transparent when compared to the sensation of watching sunrise from that stand, watching squirrels climb out of the nest at dawn, or seeing a fawn trail a doe through the brush.
But there was a time, years ago, when my guns meant more to me. They then provided a sense of well-being which was lost when separated from them. To be unarmed was to lack confidence in myself, to feel vulnerable in the very world which nurtured me to adulthood. That was wrong!
It is one thing to perceive a threatening situation and feel vulnerable. It is something else altogether to let the mere absence of a handy machine take away the peaceful relaxation of lying on a beach, swimming in a pool, or just walking down the street to church.
So let me exhort those who share my fascination with firearms, my proud exercise of fundamental and constitutionally assured rights, and my desire to encourage others to join in these pursuits. There is a point beyond good sense where the machines become idols, where they act as talismans against fears which do not otherwise exist, where we devote so much of our confidence to hardware that it becomes an article of faith rather than a reasoned decision.
Perhaps, perchance, there is even a bit of foolishness in letting the easy access to arms lead one to enter or stay in a threatening environment when exit is both possible and honorable... to let the option of fight or flight be driven by armament rather than preservation.
I have a strong and living faith which works without any machinery, a faith which may even prefer martyrdom to self-defense. My faith is not in Glock.
I read through the forums that people get a sense of well-being from carrying a loaded gun. Some feel better with a larger gun. Been there; done that. Something is wrong with putting my faith in a man-made object.
I'm not proselytizing or preaching. I am declaring that there is both a rational sense of being prepared with objects which removes anxiety (having some savings in the bank, a fire extinguisher in the kitchen, spare batteries for hurricane season, a shotgun by the bed at night, a .45 IWB at the mall) and there is also an irrational sense of emotional dependence on weapons, especially concealed guns, to provide a sense well-being. Irrational is not bad per se, but I sense a mild pathology in some posts; those posts are the reason for this thread.
I like the guns I have (especially blackpowder, which is as close as I've yet come to reloading). The engineering, craftsmanship, and utility are (to varying degrees) a source of delight and wonder. I enjoy handling them, as I do handling my bow or a well-made knife. The same feeling occurs when I finish setting up a treestand and scale its sturdiness for a test-view. But that sense of wonder at craftsmanship pales to transparent when compared to the sensation of watching sunrise from that stand, watching squirrels climb out of the nest at dawn, or seeing a fawn trail a doe through the brush.
But there was a time, years ago, when my guns meant more to me. They then provided a sense of well-being which was lost when separated from them. To be unarmed was to lack confidence in myself, to feel vulnerable in the very world which nurtured me to adulthood. That was wrong!
It is one thing to perceive a threatening situation and feel vulnerable. It is something else altogether to let the mere absence of a handy machine take away the peaceful relaxation of lying on a beach, swimming in a pool, or just walking down the street to church.
So let me exhort those who share my fascination with firearms, my proud exercise of fundamental and constitutionally assured rights, and my desire to encourage others to join in these pursuits. There is a point beyond good sense where the machines become idols, where they act as talismans against fears which do not otherwise exist, where we devote so much of our confidence to hardware that it becomes an article of faith rather than a reasoned decision.
Perhaps, perchance, there is even a bit of foolishness in letting the easy access to arms lead one to enter or stay in a threatening environment when exit is both possible and honorable... to let the option of fight or flight be driven by armament rather than preservation.
I have a strong and living faith which works without any machinery, a faith which may even prefer martyrdom to self-defense. My faith is not in Glock.
