Feeding the beast
We are what we let in
Before we begin…
What are you reading this week and how is it making you feel?
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What to let in?
It is now ten after two on Friday afternoon. Normally, my regular post would be written and scheduled. I would be walking with the dogs somewhere in the sunshine. They are in my office with me right now, restless and eyeing me the way they do when their schedule is violated. To them, it is just another day in a week that was just another week. The post I planned and all but completed will have to wait.
I’m thinking now about what to let in and what to keep out. I’m thinking about what I can offer. I’m wondering why I am not as gripped by terror as I was in 2016. I’m wondering where this sense of detachment is coming from and how long I can make it last. I feel the need to maintain this space for as long as possible, to try to think clearly and behave as well as I can for as long as I can.
I told a friend this morning it was as if there was an animal inside me, prowling, growing fat and mean on my fear and anger and hungry for more of it. It snarled with anticipation when I passed a neighbor’s house with a new big Trump sign placed there after the election in what felt like a gesture of pure hatred. But then, it stilled. That neighbor has been good to us. He is struggling with many of the same issues I struggle with: aging parents, emotional exhaustion, trying to make sense of things in his life. My anger would have obliterated all that. And to what end?
I did not want to feed the beast. For now, it’s working. We’ll see how it goes. Throughout this post, I’m sharing the bits of nourishing food that I have found or sought out because they’ve helped me before.
I've been feeding the animal inside me with wisdom from people who have lived and suffered before. I am feeding it thoughtful, wise, hopeful essays like “There’s Still The Moon” from
, the first draft of a plan from and this thread of comments from . There was also this one from shared by .My two dogs, of course, are correct. The lives of most of those who voted in this week’s election are the same today as they were before it. They got up because they had to. They went to work, fed their kids, walked their dogs, called their friends. A man I passed on my way to the store yesterday, stood shirtless by his tent on a side street, surrounded by his belongings, holding a mirror in one hand and a razor in the other while attempting to shave and clean himself for the day. If I stopped to ask, I’m not sure he would prioritize the outcome of the election as the most important issue he was facing in his life. And he would be right. Perspective is key.
The future is rosy for some and full of terror for others but the future is not right now. Now, the bills must be paid, family tended to, all of the things that give a day its structure and, often, meaning. The future is long and uncertain. It will happen with or without me. All I can do is focus on the day in front of me, do the best I can, and give what I can give.
“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living.” - Annie Dillard, The Writing Life
The sun rises. The moon appears. The stars come out. All of them shine with complete indifference to the humans scrabbling around on the surface of the planet, loving each other, hurting each other, building things, tearing them apart. Fires have been raging again in California, people are still digging out from the floods in North Carolina, a world away children cringe as drones appear overhead. There are people in our history, in our country today, and in places far from where we live who have suffered the cruelties that only humans can dish out. If they can persist, then I certainly can, surrounded as I am with people I love, relative safety (for now), in a home that shelters me.
And this, from Howard Zinn, has long helped me to understand that it will never be about fairness or what the future will bring but about how I choose to live.
“TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.
And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.” - Howard Zinn
That’s all I’ve got this week. It’s choppy and, I sense, barely holds together as a coherent series of thoughts. I would love for you to offer your thoughts and reflections. What matters most to you now? What are you reading or doing that is helping you move towards the future?
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Ciao for now!
Gratefully yours,
Betsy
P.S. And now, your moment of Zen…Viktor E. Frankl
Calling for Your Contribution to “Moment of Zen”:
What is YOUR moment of Zen? Send me your photos, a video, a drawing, a song, a poem, or anything with a visual that moved you, thrilled you, calmed you. Or just cracked you up. This feature is wide open for your own personal interpretation.
Come on, go through your photos, your memories or just keep your eyes and ears to the ground and then share. Send your photos/links, etc. to me by replying to this email or simply by sending to: elizabethmarro@substack.com. The main guidelines are probably already obvious: don’t hurt anyone -- don’t send anything that violates the privacy of someone you love or even someone you hate, don’t send anything divisive, or aimed at disparaging others. Our Zen moments are to help us connect, to bond, to learn, to wonder, to share -- to escape the world for a little bit and return refreshed.
I can’t wait to see what you send!
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I'm living my life a day at a time. Who knows what the new regime holds for older people, LGBTQIA+2S people? For poor people? I am in all three categories, as are my friends and many of my family members. I read James by Percival Everett this week. (Most of it the night of the election when I couldn't sleep). A great book about a character who lived enslaved, seeking freedom for himself and his family. Last night I read Margaret Atwood's essay about why and how she wrote The Handmaid's Tale. Like many others, I'm having all the feelings, and I am going about the business of living.
I'm struck by how similar this post is, in its essence, to what I came up with yesterday on my own substack. We must deal with the world as it is, while looking forward to the work that needs doing. I'm so glad to be part of the Spark community. Glad you're you.