I’m on a semi-hiatus from Facebook. I check in a few times a week, but I’ve deleted the app from both my phone and tablet so I don’t start doom scrolling. See, some of my friends are getting way too doom-and-gloom. They’re all “collapse of society” this, “global climate collapse” that, sharing every horrific news article that comes along. And I just can’t immerse myself in that energy at this juncture. I’m not burying my head in the sand, or remaining neutral in situations of injustice, I’m not becoming some kind of CoViD denier or climate change denier or anything like that. But, as I’ve said before, I’m naturally prone to anxiety, depression, and existential dread. It is a daily fight for me to not completely succumb to them. I’ve started to learn, over the past few years, some ways to deal with those tendencies. There’s art and music, of course, and physical activity. There’s also the question I ask myself before I read any news article: “Can I do something, even something small, to deal with this problem in a constructive way right now?” If the answer is ‘no,’ I simply don’t read it until I’m in a headspace in which I can handle it, which is sometimes never. And there’s temporarily distancing myself from friends and acquaintances when they get too gloom-and-doom, or too bitter. I don’t expect people to be relentlessly positive all the time, but I also can’t subject myself to excessive negativity all the time. And I don’t know. A lot of my friends who are falling into that constant negativity and doom don’t have kids. And I feel like…having kids, I don’t have the luxury to let myself fall into total despair. No matter what’s happening, I’ve still gotta keep my kids safe and healthy, and it’s a lot harder to do that if I’m too depressed to get out of bed.
So I do what I can: I participate in letter-writing campaigns and phone banks for various causes, I help plan and cook community meals, I modify and mend my old clothes, I repurpose other old things for art projects, I plan what I will grow in my garden this year (and I teach myself more about sustainable gardening). I remind myself of that Tumblr post that was floating around a while back, about not thinking too much about the end of the world because there are dishes to wash and people to love. I remind myself of Brother Curtis Almquist saying: If you are anxious just now, you are almost already hopeful. And of Rebecca Solnit saying: To hope is to gamble. It’s to bet on the future, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty is better than gloom and safety. And I remind myself of Richard Brautigan’s poem “Calendula:”
My friends worry and they tell me
about it. They talk of the world
ending of darkness and disaster.
I always listen gently and then
say: No, it’s not going to end. This
is only the beginning, as this book
is only a beginning.
