I was going to tell you the story of a flag. One of those disgusting political flags. Those in-your-face, middle-finger-to-the-constitution flags you see around town, you know?
I even drove back around the block to take a picture of it, because what I thought I would be writing about here is how the flag is falling. How one wind storm twisted its staff and half-toppled its cement base. How its flaccid affect can be seen from a quarter mile in either direction. How wide that made me smile.
But then I went for a walk. On this glorious, blustery Winnie-the-Pooh kind of day. I was enchanted by the blue sky and the crisp cold air. I was pushed along by the wind, and even laughed out loud a few times.
It was like the wind blew all of that angsty stuff right out of me. Replaced it with Joy!
And as if to underscore the moment, there was wide and wild wind that roared through the forest, and I watched as these hundreds-of-years old pine trees swayed in the wind. SANG in the wind.
Their roots were deep enough. Their community was supportive enough. And they were strong enough.
They didn’t twist or bend or fall. They resisted. And they sang!
These days, I wake up with a thin veil of hope. Before the All of it sets in. Again. Then I breathe and stretch. Light incense. Beseech saints and gods. And settle into the morning routine of cat feeding and coffee making — this is the Grounding.
When I am fortified enough, I glance at the headlines and subject lines. Read Jessica Craven’s latest Chop Wood, Carry Water to talk me off the ledge. Remind myself about Chaos Theory, and This Too Shall Pass. Recite the Serenity Prayer: serenity, courage, wisdom. Breathe.
I relay inspiring quotes about Resistance and Creativity and Hope on social media. Call and email my Senators and Representatives. Take small actions of Revolution before I settle into my day, which, for now, is same and sane and familiar.
Familiar enough that at some point, I shake off the Big World things and muck about in my own for a while. The usual: the house repairs, the bills, the client rubbing me the wrong way, that one thing that one person said that irritated the piss out of me, my mother’s caregiving, the impending knee surgery, on and on…
And on…while the world fucking burns outside my window. Literally. Figuratively. Absolutely.
Every time I find myself marinating about my Small World things, I hear Julia Roberts/Liz Gilbert in the opening monologue of the movie Eat, Pray, Love:
“l have a friend, Deborah, a psychologist, who was asked if she could offer psychological counseling to Cambodian refugees — boat people, who had recently arrived in the city. Deborah was daunted by the task. These Cambodians had suffered genocide, starvation, relatives murdered before their eyes, years in refugee camps, harrowing boat trips to the West. How could she relate to their suffering? How could she help these people? So guess what all these people wanted to talk about with my friend Deborah, the psychologist. lt was all, “l met this guy in the refugee camp. I thought he really loved me, but when we got separated, he took up with my cousin. Now he says he loves me, and keeps calling me. They’re married now. What should l do?” This is how we are.”
This is how we are, in part, because we are susceptible to what is called “Crisis Fatigue” — that feeling of overwhelm, lack of control, or the urgency of the next crisis.
And goodness knows, we’re like a Russian doll of crises these days! Everywhere you look, it’s crisis stacked upon crisis upon crisis.
So where is the fulcrum? How do we find a balance between staying informed and hiding under covers? Between revolutioning and resting?
Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. You need to make time to drink water, slow down a little, pace yourself.
In her article “When tragedy becomes banal: Why news consumers experience crisis fatigue,” Rebecca Rozelle-Stone , Professor of Philosophy, University of North Dakota asks, “How might we recover a capacity for meaningful attention and responses amid incessant, disjointed and overwhelming news?” and suggests, beyond reining in digital device usage, that we consider:
“Limiting the daily intake of news can help people become more attentive to particular issues of concern without feeling overwhelmed. Cultural theorist Yves Citton, in his book The Ecology of Attention, urges readers to “extract” themselves “from the hold of the alertness media regime.” According to him, the current media creates a state of “permanent alertness” through “crisis discourses, images of catastrophes, political scandals, and violent news items.” At the same time, reading long-form articles and essays can actually be a practice that helps with cultivating attentiveness.”
She also recommends a focus on “more solutions-based stories that capture the possibility of change. Avenues for action can be offered to readers to counteract paralysis in the face of tragedy. Amanda Ripley, a former Time magazine journalist, notes that “stories that offer hope, agency, and dignity feel like breaking news right now, because we are so overwhelmed with the opposite.”
So do that.
But remember…it’s OK to take a day off — from work, from social media, from headlines, from the Resistance.
It’s OK to eat ice cream or take a nap or laugh out loud. It’s OK to make plans, to look forward to things.
Do the things that keep you sane and keep you grounded. Revolution requires Resilience.
In Eat, Pray, Love, the medicine man Ketut suggests to Julia Roberts/Liz Gilbert:
Keep grounded so it’s like you have four legs. That way, you can stay in this world. Also, no looking at world through your head. Look through your heart instead. That way, you will know God.
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