This is a hard one to write.
There have been some very difficult conversations being had over the past few days. Come to think of it, it's been a big year for tough conversations: The presidential election was one of the most exhausting "conversations" I can recall, and brought up all kinds of broiling, touchy subjects. You know, everything we're "not supposed to talk about" - religion, politics, personal health, the works. And right after the election, our reps launched into "fiscal cliff negotiations," if you can call them negotiations. From where I'm sitting there doesn't seem to be much negotiating going on at all.
But I'm not talking about those kinds of difficult conversations, as you might have guessed. Since last Friday, December 14, 2012, I don't know many people who have really been able to erase that sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs. I feel sadness settling heavily into my diaphragm, my intestines, the nape of my neck.
There is nothing I can say that will make this better. Nothing anyone can say. But still, I think it's important to talk about what happened in Newtown, Conn., and to talk about what is happening to the greater community that we all share with them.
On Friday, when I heard about the shooting, I texted my sisters. Not to talk about anything. All I sent was:
My mind was blank for most of that day. I wanted to share space silently with other people, since the air felt too heavy for any words to penetrate anyway. I wanted to be around people I love, people I would rather take a bullet for than live without.
On Saturday I called a friend from college and we talked for a few minutes, not wanting to speak aloud what had happened 24 hours before, but unable to avoid that void weighing down our minds and our hearts. (Incidentally, she was the one who told me that the Hebrew word for mind and heart is the same. I don't remember the word, but I understand why it is the same.) She said she is having a hard time accepting all the horrible things that happen to people. For her, this year, the biggest blow has been cancer. It has sprung up around her over and over and over again, too close to be coincidence. To me, this has seemed a year of suicides. A colleague of mine has been particularly struck by the endless chain of shootings and violence in our area. And then, of course, there are the Hurricane Sandys and Bopha typhoons of our meteorological present. All of these things and others hammer away at us, merciless.
In high school I got really into Dead Poets' Society and from there I fell in love with a few of the dead poets, Thoreau in particular. He wrote about the personal responsibility to exist fully on this earth, and in society where possible. Back then I had memorized a quote from Walden about sucking the marrow out of life... But the one that has stuck with me more through thick and thin is one I didn't memorize, and it's from Civil Disobedience:
I wish I had an answer to this cry. I wish it could be soothed with something as relatively simple as better gun control or a perfect balance of revenue with expenses. I wish I thought there was an answer that is within our power to find, but I can't help but feel right now some kind of apocalpyse closing in on us. I can't say yet if it is a self-fulfilling prophecy, as I suspect, or if our imperfect reality is finally caving in on itself; but it sure feels like something pretty dark is happening. And I hope, as many newscasters have been saying, that we are finally ready to recognize that there are some serious conversations that need to be had.
And let them start with "I love you." Let those be the first ones we have. Whether the world is about to end or just the year, let us say the things we have been afraid to say to the people we care most deeply about. And let this remind us what power comes from community and from working for its good.
A friend told me about a text her mother sent: "I'm sorry for bringing you children into a world where such terrible things happen." I know she's not the only one who thinks this. But my response, after a pang of guilty empathy, was to repeat a conversation from the last episode of Castle where Esposito says to Ryan,
There have been a few events this year that tore the words from my tongue and even from my chest. I know that I am one of the lucky ones who has covers to burrow under and people who will let me bury my face in their necks, but the fact that this is any comfort at all - the fact that moments of pain and moments of beauty follow so quickly after one another - give me hope that there is an answer, somewhere, if we can work long and steady enough to find it.
While you and I put our minds/hearts to the question, know that we are not alone. People everywhere are working on it as we speak - on NPR, for example, which played a beautiful story called Would A Good God Allow Such Evil? Because I am my father's daughter, I latched onto the section called "A World Both Beautiful and Shattered," which finishes with the following quote:
I'm doing my best, but the beautiful/shattering thing about it is that no matter how close we come to getting it right, it's still incomplete. But maybe that's the point.
There have been some very difficult conversations being had over the past few days. Come to think of it, it's been a big year for tough conversations: The presidential election was one of the most exhausting "conversations" I can recall, and brought up all kinds of broiling, touchy subjects. You know, everything we're "not supposed to talk about" - religion, politics, personal health, the works. And right after the election, our reps launched into "fiscal cliff negotiations," if you can call them negotiations. From where I'm sitting there doesn't seem to be much negotiating going on at all.
But I'm not talking about those kinds of difficult conversations, as you might have guessed. Since last Friday, December 14, 2012, I don't know many people who have really been able to erase that sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs. I feel sadness settling heavily into my diaphragm, my intestines, the nape of my neck.
There is nothing I can say that will make this better. Nothing anyone can say. But still, I think it's important to talk about what happened in Newtown, Conn., and to talk about what is happening to the greater community that we all share with them.
On Friday, when I heard about the shooting, I texted my sisters. Not to talk about anything. All I sent was:
<3
My mind was blank for most of that day. I wanted to share space silently with other people, since the air felt too heavy for any words to penetrate anyway. I wanted to be around people I love, people I would rather take a bullet for than live without.
On Saturday I called a friend from college and we talked for a few minutes, not wanting to speak aloud what had happened 24 hours before, but unable to avoid that void weighing down our minds and our hearts. (Incidentally, she was the one who told me that the Hebrew word for mind and heart is the same. I don't remember the word, but I understand why it is the same.) She said she is having a hard time accepting all the horrible things that happen to people. For her, this year, the biggest blow has been cancer. It has sprung up around her over and over and over again, too close to be coincidence. To me, this has seemed a year of suicides. A colleague of mine has been particularly struck by the endless chain of shootings and violence in our area. And then, of course, there are the Hurricane Sandys and Bopha typhoons of our meteorological present. All of these things and others hammer away at us, merciless.
In high school I got really into Dead Poets' Society and from there I fell in love with a few of the dead poets, Thoreau in particular. He wrote about the personal responsibility to exist fully on this earth, and in society where possible. Back then I had memorized a quote from Walden about sucking the marrow out of life... But the one that has stuck with me more through thick and thin is one I didn't memorize, and it's from Civil Disobedience:
To me the incessant hammering of tragedy these days is the cry that comes from a growing inability to contain this desperation. Although we try to silence it by increasing our standard of living, by buying new gadgets and suing everyone who blinks in our direction and medicating ourselves into oblivion, our desperation is not quiet anymore. And I think the earth is crying too."Most men lead lives of quiet desperation."
I wish I had an answer to this cry. I wish it could be soothed with something as relatively simple as better gun control or a perfect balance of revenue with expenses. I wish I thought there was an answer that is within our power to find, but I can't help but feel right now some kind of apocalpyse closing in on us. I can't say yet if it is a self-fulfilling prophecy, as I suspect, or if our imperfect reality is finally caving in on itself; but it sure feels like something pretty dark is happening. And I hope, as many newscasters have been saying, that we are finally ready to recognize that there are some serious conversations that need to be had.
And let them start with "I love you." Let those be the first ones we have. Whether the world is about to end or just the year, let us say the things we have been afraid to say to the people we care most deeply about. And let this remind us what power comes from community and from working for its good.
A friend told me about a text her mother sent: "I'm sorry for bringing you children into a world where such terrible things happen." I know she's not the only one who thinks this. But my response, after a pang of guilty empathy, was to repeat a conversation from the last episode of Castle where Esposito says to Ryan,
"The world's always falling apart, bro. Since the beginning of time.
But having kids, making a family - that's what keeps it together."
There have been a few events this year that tore the words from my tongue and even from my chest. I know that I am one of the lucky ones who has covers to burrow under and people who will let me bury my face in their necks, but the fact that this is any comfort at all - the fact that moments of pain and moments of beauty follow so quickly after one another - give me hope that there is an answer, somewhere, if we can work long and steady enough to find it.
While you and I put our minds/hearts to the question, know that we are not alone. People everywhere are working on it as we speak - on NPR, for example, which played a beautiful story called Would A Good God Allow Such Evil? Because I am my father's daughter, I latched onto the section called "A World Both Beautiful and Shattered," which finishes with the following quote:
"I have a responsibility as a human being...to look at what's
broken in the world, to mend it and then...to be a partner with
God in completing the work of creation which is incomplete."
I'm doing my best, but the beautiful/shattering thing about it is that no matter how close we come to getting it right, it's still incomplete. But maybe that's the point.
2012 in review, the good, the bad, and the...whatever
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