To be merry, maybe for some. To be resolved for others, resigned for many more, anxious, scared, excited, grateful, the list of responses is as long and as varied as the amount of people you may ask. How do you feel about these ‘now’ times?
This morning I talked to one of my oldest friends in the world, one who has been in and through the same spiritual and meditative trenches with and alongside me, who said, with her customary wisdom and humor, “The last 50 years of my life have prepared me for this moment, which we all knew would come.”
My retort was, “Yes, indeed, but I am failing.”
I say this because the news of the day (whatever it was, take your pick, but it was political) triggered me into my worst ‘what if’ in relation to the future of this country and beyond. I wanted only to flee, to leave behind what would be too painful to witness. My girlfriend and I had a raucous back and forth as to the veracity of my failure to stay calm in the midst of the gathering storm. I won that round since by conversations end, she was indeed convinced that I had gone down the rabbit hole of my genetic triggers and worst fears.
In early November in 2016, about thirty friends were gathered for an election viewing party in Boulder, Colorado. The mood was gay, anticipating with glee, the first woman president and the thrashing of a political pretender. Only two people in that room were not surprised by the result. We were both non-American. She was Swiss and I, a non-American cultural mutt who landed on these shores almost by default rather than choice. Nonetheless, this country has been good to me and I have made a rich, meaningful career and life here. At first it was really hard to be a stranger in this strange land, as a 37-year-old single mom, but in time, we made our way towards some semblance of membership. The small town of Boulder, as it was in the mid 80s was as good a landing pad as any place I could have conjured up. They were a tolerant lot towards those whose accents and names highlighting difference, even as the color of my Caucasian skin blended well with the predominantly white college town’s population.
Having an American boyfriend helped at that time, as he patiently taught me the basics; how to apply for credit cards, drive on the wrong side of the road, use an ATM machine, negotiate a supermarket to get what you most needed, navigate big box stores, where our meager dollars stretched like the miracle of fishes and loaves. All things that were as foreign to me as television may be to someone brought up without electricity.
Why am I going on about these 40 year-ago times? Because then, I got a glimpse, the merest whiff, about what survival anxiety felt like on a day-to-day basis. It was beyond stressful. At that time, paying the rent seemed like a minor miracle, one that was enacted month after month, at a time when the price of everything in the grocery store or any store was measured against need, back burnering ‘want’ to another year or decade.
Fast forward to 2024 and my extreme anxiety from the moment Biden choose to stay in the race, as this was the moment that yet again, I was sure that we would indeed be looking at another Trump administration. I tend to be a forward worrier. Now here we are, braced, resigned, despondent, defiant, at least half the voting population who think a second Trump term will be a disaster on national, environmental and global stage.
We are on the cusp of a new year that starts with an inauguration of a new world order. The columnists and political pundits are speaking in a relatively and surprisingly unified voice as to why Trump gained and even more specifically as to why Kamala and the Democrats lost, so definitively. And I, like many, am picking myself up from the shock of what may yet come to pass. As most of us know, you can be very shocked by something you actually have anticipated would or could occur. Anyone who has attended a death can attest to this. The moment someone dies is so definitive as to be shocking, no matter how long they may have been on the verge or deathly ill.
The question that arises for me, through this long preamble is one that everyone alive has been confronted with, how to orient when ‘what is’ is not in anyway aligned to ‘what I would most prefer or want’?
I do not feel at this point, directly, personally endangered by the prospects of this new order about to be crafted by the US and the other right leaning world leaders, in spite of being Jewish in an increasingly overly antisemitic world and country. Rather I feel that ‘we’ are all endangered. The heating planet, the ever growing list of endangered creatures and critters, ecosystems and wetlands, forests and pristine places, new immigrants, trans folks, people of color and those who are different, who do not fit the present mold, whose who have few means, those who are already marginalized, not to mention the Palestinians, who are the lambs on the sacrificial alter of supporting Israel, and the Ukrainians who may not be supported to continue their war against military occupation by a superpower emboldened by the new occupant of the White House.
My white southern born American husband does not, happily, carry the same trauma triggers as I, his second gen German-Jewish wife, carry in abundance, enough for us both, with some to spare. I listen carefully to those whom I respect who suggest we concentrate our efforts more locally where we can make a difference.
I listen to my husband who as a student of history, world and the U.S., reminds me that the boomer gen has simply been the exception, having grown up in relative peace times, but now it’s our turn to live in ‘interesting times’ of political, social, environmental unrest. I listen, I concur, but still feel waves of alternating calm and trepidation. My first impulse is to want to leave, to flee. Then I realize that what is happening here is also happening there. There is no ‘there’ there anymore. Only ‘here’ here, in the lives we share with family, friends, and community, comprised of people of many stripes. How we show up for each other, how we help each other may be how we bridge the vast expanse between what we want and what actually is. How we regulate ourselves, how I regulate myself, as best I and we can, both mentally and emotionally in an increasingly deregulated climate, both socially and environmentally, is one gift we do get to give. After all, would more worry be of benefit to anyone?
It’s a tall order, to stay informed but not get swamped, to stay open but not get so blown away that I have to shut down again. To stay as centered as possible without isolating myself from all the potential slights and provocations. It’s a tall order, one I perceive to be a rather mandatory requirement for these times, if you wish to be something other than hot air or down draft depressed.
What would it mean to stay ‘regulated’ when the outer world is not? As I am writing to you on this day, I cannot say with any authenticity, that I feel regulated. But I suspect and even remember from other days and times, that it refers to feeling whatever is there, without immediately acting out from that space. So, if I’m scared for the future, it does not mean that I immediately sell my house and book the next ticket to …wherever I think I might be or feel safer, and good luck on finding that place. It’s more about allowing things to be and returning to what is actually occurring without jumping into ‘reaction’, as I spent all day yesterday doing.
Reading between the lines, hearing the cabinets choices for the upcoming administration, I feel affirmed in my concerns and considerations, which is a vindication of sorts, but not a consolation. Whatever unfolds in the future, there is the ‘here’ and ‘now’ of our lives, determining where the need is, where and how we are drawn to contribute.
For myself, looking at all manner of community needs, I have been drawn to join a woman’s group working on reproductive rights. While abortion is legal in Oregon, it can only be protected if written into the state constitution, which we will (hopefully) assist in doing, as well as raising funds to help women, who are denied an abortion in their home states, travel to Oregon. But self-care is as important as ‘other’ care, so I play pickleball which is excellent fun medicine, I mess with paper, paint and color, write and rewrite a novel that may or may not ever see the light of day, write these quarterly missives which may or may not be read, I walk every day, meditate, find ways of connecting with loved ones. I attempt to stay engaged, and also give myself full permission to zone out into Netflix land, when tuning out is as important for my mental health as tuning in. Also, I never fail to feel immense gratitude when, at days end, I get to slip into a warm dry bed with my favorite four and two legged.
Seems that everything in my lived life has actually prepared me to step into this question, this dilemma, this moment in time, this delicate balance of showing up, without shutting down or drowning.
I’ll let you go how it all goes and in turn would love to hear how you may be negotiating that dilemma, however it appears in your life.
May you find light in this season of our lengthening nights.
Tis the season.
Love,
Priya.
Here is a link to one learned man I deeply respect, which I found of great value. It may only be available to those who live in North America. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/somebodys-gonna-win-frankly-75/id1604218333?i=1000675332235
