Wake up to Your Life, Babe

re: handling the news

source unknown, sent via text via my buddy Will

Some housekeeping: The time has come to turn on paid subscriptions. Mostly because I need to be able to discuss some sensitive things. This privacy fence will be erected slowly—over a couple of weeks—but I didn’t want anyone to be surprised.

I was having some success tuning out the other day when my six-year-old daughter said something like “well if the earth is only around for seven more years—.” My head snapped up from my puzzle to ask where she got that information. She said she and her brother watched a science video about an asteroid that might be big enough to wipe us out.

The kids and I had a long conversation about getting to know the difference between facts—things that actually happen—and a “maybe.” That asteroid thing? A Maybe! Opinions, anything with “could” or “might,” anything that ends in a question mark? Also a Maybe. We talked about reputable sources. We talked about how anything you click on is trying to lure you in with an emotional response. We talked about the wily nature of the “tricky” internet.

And it reminded me of conversations with (adult) friends who are currently tormented by their relationship to the news, who are afraid the world is ending while seeking comfort from me that the world is not ending. Here I must acknowledge how bad things are, and they’re objectively the worst we’ve ever seen. I won’t argue with that. And also, what’s the playbook here, for getting through our waking hours with a spot of grace and joy, as the happenings are continuing to happen, with no end in sight? I ask them the barrage of questions that semi-enables me to ride the extreme dissonance of this moment:

Do you feel guilty that you’re relatively OK, and that others are not? Does this guilt lead you to some kind of hysterical need to let everyone know 1. that you’re well-informed and 2. actually, you’re not OK? Why is that? Is it helpful? Is it a good use of your energy? What would happen if you acknowledged the privilege of your position? Are you reading the news more than once a day? Is it from a reputable source? Does anyone who read the news or spend any time online already know the information you are forwarding? Is there an action item to be executed after it is seen? Is there a call to be made or link to be signed or money to be donated or favor to be done? Or did you just read something that evoked a panic response, and you’re passing it forward like an emotional game of hot potato, because it makes you feel like you’re doing something?

Nobody likes these questions. I annoy them. But I think it helps.

I was trying to explain to a normal friend today that to be a war baby of two war babies (of generations of war babies) is to be eerily calm when it feels like the world is ending. In fact, when it’s not ending, I’m a little worried because it feels too good. To live in a country going through something like this is to learn to tell stories in metaphor, and not overt statements. To rebuild a relationship with language. To prioritize effectiveness over debate. To make your point with an oblique slice, not a direct jab. And to take in a reasonable amount of news, do what we can about it, and beyond that, learn to view each day as precious and filled with wonders.

That last one surprises some people, but they might hear my daughter’s seven-year-meteor prediction as sad. I don’t. I remember being a kid who was matter-of-fact about these things—no part of me thought I’d make it to 21—and it gave me my voracious appetite for life. Of course I, like any parent, had sought to protect them from the uncertainty I grew up with, but they’re starting to be old enough to see what the newspaper brings in. And you can attribute it to mania or experience, but as the humdrum normalcy of our days feels at risk, the urge to gulp down the breadth of human experience only grows. My parents couldn’t control the geopolitics that affected us as children. But they did an elegant, exceptional job of warding off despair, focusing on our actual lives instead of big-picture conflict, and teaching us to appreciate every moment we were given. To enjoy the company of friends and family, to seek out real, deep human connection, to read and talk about it, to ask questions, to strive, to laugh heartily and eat well, and remember that this was the stuff worth preserving and passing down.

If there’s an actual, scary emergency—if anything is about to fall out of the sky, anything like that, we will know, I tell my kids. Like the fires, says the 6yo. Or kidnappings says the 11 year old. I think about the unsettling news of this week. Like a kidnapping, I say. I hope. I turned my attention back to the minutiae of home life. “Well, have you gathered any clear evidence that the world will end soon?” I asked them. They agreed they hadn’t, and helped me gather a pile of old magazines and the good glue stick, to cut up for crafts.

xo