#25 (read this one!): what to say when you aren't sure what to say; on working in times of world-on-fire
Dudes. Sisters. Brothers. Friends. Found fam. Probably no noblemen or women here, just as well.
Writing these letters is a sort of way I work out what I've been mulling in between them. Sure, they're a chronicle of what I've been doing or things that have happened, but I always find it most useful when they further sort out my thoughts. I hate math, but it's like I'm walking around doing a math problem in the back of my mind and it's slightly different every week/month/year and here's where I share an answer. Or answers. Never forget I was the teen whose math writing portfolio item was an essay about why I hated math due to its reductive nature. But really because I was never very good at it. In truth, I love math. I just hate doing math. Mathemagicians, rock on. I will be over here with words.
But there are times when it's very hard to figure out an answer, because maybe the answer is changing daily. Maybe the question is changing daily. When it's hard to put into words whatever answer you have. When the questions feel too enormous to even have answer(s).
So.
At least some portion of every conversation I've had lately with friends--and especially fellow writers--has revolved around: What do we do to try to stop dangerous or just plain evil acts happening now? And, if we figure that part out, then how do we balance the fight with regular life? How do we quiet our brains from the constant stress of the world feeling like it's on fire and fearing that our health care will be lost and our friends from other places might leave the country and not be allowed back in because of where they were born andseeing those haunted faces of Syrian families that our government is now saying 'no, you're not allowed here' to when it is so obviously wrong wrong wrong? When it feels like everything good is in peril. When the truth is challenged--the truth. Even the truth, the indisputable truth, is being disputed.
How do we do our work when everything is threatened? Everything we want to believe in. Everything we want to be true. Everything we get up in the morning for.
When we are gathering and fighting, but we still need to also sit down and not read the news every hour and panic again and make words because otherwise no money. But we also feel like we can't stop. How can we stop? We can't stop looking. We can't. That would be just as wrong.
Sometimes it gets funny for a few hours, funny/sad because you have to laugh. Because mockery is what they deserve, in addition to the fight. THE PRESIDENT PHOTOSHOPPED HIS HAND TO APPEAR LARGER IN A PHOTOGRAPH. They deserve jokes and being made fun of.
And then something like the immigration and refugee orders come down. And you just think of people in pain.
I'm working on what is my most overtly political book to date. It's relevant. So it's not that keeping me from clocking the words. It's not the feeling that it doesn't matter. I know it matters. I have something to say and I want to say it. I want to figure out what it is exactly and writing that book is the only way I will.
And I know, oh do I know, that being able to type this, to wrestle with these questions, is an indication of my privilege. I'm not sitting in an airport where I was finally maybe about to start a new life, not of my own choice, but because my country became a horror show, one far too dangerous to live in.
But there are people doing that right now. Tonight. People who don't have any idea what's next. Who do not have the luxury of this anxiety, expressed sitting at my desk in my warm house surrounded by my pets and husband, because they have far, far worse anxiety to deal with. I am always keenly aware of my own luck. As I have to be. It's partly that and also common decency and humanity that prevents us from siding with the monsters. So many who wave the flag in support of things like the Muslim ban, I have to think, do so because they can't imagine anyone else's life. They can't do it.
Which is why it's essential. Those stories are more important than mine and most of yours probably and I owe it to those people to read them, to think of them, to be aware of them (even as I tell my own)--and I owe the reporters telling them my attention and support too.
Because I believe in the power and importance of stories. And I believe in the importance of doing the work. MY work. Of YOU doing YOUR work.
It's just so freaking hard to find the mental space right now. We've been through tough times, terrifying things, rage-inducing politicians. But I've never, ever--we've never, most of us--had to deal with the kind of unpredictable tinderbox reality that's playing out right now. In our name. Done by our nation's leader.
I want to flail. I want to punch Nazis. I want to scream. I want to call my reps, again, always, repeat. I want to walk the streets so they can't deny I'm here, we're all here and we aren't going anywhere.
I don't want to turn a blind eye. None of us can afford to do that. None of us with a conscience want to.
And yet. We have to figure out a way to balance the world-is-burning with we-have-to-do-our-work. And when the work requires mental space and focus and your brain is on fire because the world is on fire that can be so. very. difficult.
And yet.
Even typing these rambling words, trying to figure out what I think about how to do it helps a little. I always forget that putting one word in front of another does help quiet the mind, of this writer at least. And so, today, this is my answer. Finally. It's the best I can come up with for the moment.
We watch or read as much as we can stand. We do what we can do to resist, because we must fight. But we also prioritize time for the things that help quiet our minds, so that we can do our work. This other work that is as important as ever, whether it feels that way on the daily or not. Stories help defeat tyrants. Stories help define what is possible. Stories make the world, and they remake it.
And all of us heartsick, rage-fueled, anxious people are the ones they want to be quiet. Never be quiet. If the story you're telling doesn't feel important enough to turn away for a few hours a day...then make one that is.
Our minds and hearts have room for all of it. Not comfortably--because none of this should be happening and we all know that. But it'll fit. People have survived worse. We have to make sure they never have to survive that worse again. People have not survived worse. We especially have to make sure that never happens again.
We will fight. We will do our work. And we, friends, sisters, brothers, and found family, will help each other do both those things
I have newsy links to include, but they'll wait. Go hug someone you love. Go call your reps or send them an email even though it's the weekend. Find the refugee center in your town and see what they need.
Tell the capital t Them we will not shut up. And then don't.