Still Living

How are we surviving these times?

I’m Tired. Just tired of it all.

• The impossibility of witnessing people who see violence as a creative outlet

• Living with obvious wrongs and being told they are right

• Low-to-mid-level anxiety always humming just under my breath

• Living in a population purposefully tied in fear and hostility

And yet, still living.

Still feeding birds and worrying about how hard their lives are sleeping in ice trees. They are still living too, also with anxiety and hostility. It’s a battle for food and shelter everyday in their frozen scarcity.

I’ve read general advice online about ignoring or letting go of stress. All the usual solutions are offered, like limiting your screen time, meditating, breathing, exercising, walking in nature, practicing hobbies. Blah, blah. Ignoring is too small for these times. Trying to escape our collective suffering is like running from the truth.

My normal life still goes on. Food and water and household and love. Daily life is basically the same. It’s astounding how strong the terrifying events happening elsewhere can feel inside this calm shelter. We never know if and when our cocoons will falter, but that is not the source of the stress invading us now. That comes from our awareness of the wrongs happening to so many innocent people.

Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

This is not news I’m telling you, and that’s not my point. I am surprised at the level of suffering we can feel simply by knowing about the suffering of others. To those who look away or say they can’t take it, imagine how much worse it is for those who have no choice. If it’s this hard for me just to look, imagine how horrible is it for those subjected to the reality of their suffering. It feels like a duty to look. To know. To share with each other the shrill juxtapositions of ordinary life against this pointless violence.

Frozen In and Out

Even the weather is in on it. Like so many, we are hardened in by an icy covering over the outside world. The dogs walk across it like they’re in some kind of clumsy ballet. The activities of normal life are restricted by Mother Nature. I will not just flit to the store to replace my empty bottle of Tart Cherry Juice. My jaw aches in the morning from doing its own kind of clumsy dance while I sleep. The ache reminds me I probably won’t get to the crown I need at the dentist tomorrow. Usually in a winter like this, we would start thinking of spring and the ease it brings. I don’t know how many of my frozen birds will survive this winter, though. Or how many people. How much culture and life will remain after the thaw that’s surely coming?

We humans live with a lot of grief. There’s so much loss and change we exchange like pay for our existence. Our presence here is curious. Did we ask to be alive? Were we willed here? Is it some kind of long challenge with or without a purpose? Too soon to know.

In my old grief, I eventually reached the other side of it. Returning to my more normal self felt like something I’d earned after the long journey through pain. It feels like that’s where humanity is now too. We’re down in the holler where we can’t see the land above us. We just trust that it’s there and take steps as we’re able to climb back up.

Not everyone makes it out of that pit. Some grievers don’t. Some good people don’t. Bad people get caught there too. As long as we’re in this life experience together, we are living side by side with all of it. Find your own spot of air and breathe it in as deeply as you can. Help the one frozen bird you find outside your door. Stretch your jaw when you notice it’s clenched.

Yes, I sound like one of the stress gurus now, but it’s all I know. It’s what we’ve got. Because as much as we didn’t ask to be born, we have no idea when we’re finished with this world. We live well by seeing it as a kind of duty to do the best we can and that includes finding our own personal strength.

This morning as I read over more terrible news, not noticing my jaw clenching and anger rising, I came to a story with a different effect. It was from a woman living in Minnesota through this period of domestic invasion. She made a bulleted list of all the warmhearted things that people in her community were doing for each other. Donating meals and fundraising monies for families in need. Taking in abandoned pets and children after their families were disappeared. Cleaning up messes that others have left in an effort to make their communities look more normal. This is the story that raised my tears. Not the big bad scary official tactics, but the kindheartedness of one neighbor to another. One human to another.

Our bluebells in the woods

During the pandemic, I walked with my husband and our dogs through the woods in our community toward the river. There was a winding path, and I’d heard that as you approached the water, you’d find a large patch of bluebells in early spring. After a long brown walk, I felt a rush of joy at the surprise of a large blue patch of nature’s beauty. A few steps more brought us to a racing river that made the most beautiful sound as it traveled over rocks along its path. Scenes like this make me think we’ve been given little gifts to ease our journey. Take them in when you find them. Let them remind you there is good in the world and it’s here for you too.

Thank you for being here. Remember it’s all temporary. May we have peace.