Writing in a Time of Turmoil
Maybe you're a person who isn't easily upset by the tides of change or the rapid-fire pace of unfolding news, who does not feel frantic about saving democracy, who is not imagining End of Days by 2018. Or maybe you're a member of the super-rich and you've already secured your underground bunker in Kansas. If that's you, you can probably skip this one and carry on as you are, and god bless.
Many of the rest of us have been wondering how we do our work in the midst of the mental and actual chaos. After you've caught up with the news of the day (hour, minute) and called your senator and perhaps marched in a protest, you may, as I sometimes do, continue reading news as filtered through your twitter feed and let your cells fill with anxiety until something or someone finally compels you to stop.
So you sit down to work. One more glance at the news, just in case, leads you to ask: where can it all go from here? You imagine all the possibilities until--if you're in an anxious mood, and you are, because you've been absorbing anxiety all morning--you've followed enough choose-your-own-adventure mental threads to wind up at at a scenario involving a world without the arts or freedom of expression, of military in the streets, and no access to what you need to survive, let alone thrive.
Well! Where does this leave you and your YA novel about a messy but loving family dealing with unremarkable challenges like divorce and depression? What does it matter? By the time the scheduled publication date rolls around, will there be any such thing as leisure reading, or will people be too busy avoiding imprisonment for dissent and standing in line for food?
Maybe I'm doing more catastrophizing than you are. Maybe I'm doing less. My own anxiety varies from day to day in quality and quantity. I haven't written in three weeks, in part because of these anxieties, and in part from a tenacious upper respiratory infection that has given me a handy excuse to do nothing but worry. I'm feeling better now, physically, so this excuse is gone, and also I am generally recognizing it as a kind of luxury to have the time and mental space to stare at the wall and ponder doom all day.
I'm now trying to employ a tool that served me well when I went through a big personal crisis and transformation a few years ago. I call it: Living in Reality.
Living in Reality means setting limits on my flights of fear and fancy about times and events that do not yet exist. It means acknowledging, not denying, real problems in the real world today that could create real problems in the future. At the same time, it means not letting my brain camp out abstractly in the unknowns while my body, only semi-attached, does nothing more than take up space in the present. I ask myself if I'm doing what I can in regards to these problems and if my actions line up with my beliefs, and if not, what else could I do? Then make intentional choices about what more I will do, given whatever limitations there are, and do it.
Living in Reality means acknowledging that I'm well into this writing project. Meaning: it's not going to change from a family dramedy into a manifesto about democratic freedoms. It's due not too long from now, and I need the money it will bring and I am responsible for paying the bills in my house.
Living in Reality means letting in the sunshine, because sunshine is also reality and good things are still happening, and there is still joy and beauty and rest and meaning and fun in my life. I'm lucky and privileged to be able to say that--reality is also that not everyone can--but rejecting joy and good things is not a path to being a better citizen or human. I can look for, acknowledge, and welcome good things even when a scared, cynical part of my brain whispers not to bother.
Living in Reality is that writing is my job, another thing I'm lucky and privileged to be able to claim as true. I've never been big on comparing writing to ditch digging or dentistry, but maybe this is a time when the comparison will be helpful for me. It is indeed a job, and I'm currently the breadwinner in my household, so, like doing my work will help keep me equipped to participate in society by taking care of those foundational items in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Doing my work means sustaining the flexible kind of job I have--a flexible job that allows me the time to do things like call lawmakers and volunteer during weekday hours.
Earlier today I was on the phone with my insurer's pharmacy department, finding out about medical supplies. The woman helping me was there to be on the phone and make sure I keep getting the stuff that keeps me alive and healthy. When I go buy groceries, the cashier is there with a smile, asking me about my day like he always does. People all over the country are showing up for their jobs, even when they are in line to be much more affected by the new President's policies than I am. I can show up to my job, too.
Maybe. I think? Today, I'm going to try.
And May I Recommend
For being moved: A Mess You'd Wear with Pride, author Carrie Mesrobian's TinyLetter
For getting mad and, maybe, if you're a billionaire, inspired to philanthropy: Doomsday Prep for the Super-Rich by Evan Osnos
For comfort and spiritual uplift: any Mavis Staples album
For nostalgic escape: Netflix added a bunch of my personal favorites in January, including the 1978 Superman, the original Parent Trap, and E.T.