Well, hello! It’s been a while, but I am still on this side of the veil. I’m in the throes of change, (my health is fine, no worries), but I have been feeling the need to reconnect over the past few months, and could resist the urge no longer. I finally have a few minutes to spare, so I decided to try to get something of what’s in my head written down at last.

I’ve been away from writing for quite some time. First because I was enjoying being a new Nonni, then in the midst of immense changes in my life, including preparing for a move. But since the beginning of the year I’ve been somewhat paralyzed due to a profound sadness and sense of loss of my home, my refuge, my sense of safety and a deep mourning for what our beautiful country used to be, and a suffocating feeling, partly imposed by the progressive community of which I consider myself a part, that it was somehow my responsibility to fix it.

I was taught, along with others who grew up in the 1960’s, that the United States of America was the greatest country in the world. Of course, it wasn’t even close at that time, but as a child who was white, and had a traditional lifestyle and mainstream beliefs, I didn’t know any different. Many of our fellow citizens were terribly mistreated and discriminated against (hasn’t changed that much, really), but in many parts of the country, folks minded their own business – “to each his own, live and let live.” As a kid, I began to really see the glaring problems of unfairness in the early and mid-70s.

In the 80’s, we really started being divided into “us” and “them.” We began to be suspicious of one another. Politicians, Ronald Reagan being principal among them, told us that not all of us were equal. That some people were freeloading on the rest of us. That they didn’t deserve the financial help they so desperately needed due to poverty or disability or lack of education or addiction. That they should learn to stand on their own two feet – “real men don’t ask for help;” “welfare queens are scamming the system.”

Another twenty years of this elapsed, and at the turn of the century we had a crisis to pull through together – an unexpected attack on American soil from people from another country – and we learned the word “terrorist.” We pulled together in a way that we hadn’t since the World Wars. We became suspicious of “foreigners,” especially those who didn’t look, talk, or believe like us. We wanted to work to keep “others” out of “our” country. They were taking what was rightfully ours, at our expense, we were told. But we did find a renewed sense of community in our horror and existential dread.

It didn’t take another twenty years for us to forget that community, though – just a sociopathic narcissist whose followers believed that not only “foreigners” were terrorists, but anyone who didn’t believe as he/they did – the “enemy within.” A television entertainment conglomerate posing as a news outlet, vitriolic, hate-mongering radio talk show hosts, and the rise of social media and targeted, insidious and systematic disinformation solidified the biggest change in the history of our country – we have been polarized, separated, tribalized – “us vs. them.” We’re no longer one community, one nation under whatever you believe is supreme (even if that’s nothing). We’re many factions, mostly pitted against one another rather than a threat from outside our borders. Why? So that a handful of super wealthy individuals could amass even more money and power and rule the country and then the world. Now once reasonable folks terrorize their neighbors via social media posts, viral videos, doxxing, swatting – any anonymous way that’s now available to them to do harm from afar, for revenge, or to assert dominance and a sense of power (“owning the libs”) or because the outlets where they get their information or their supreme leader tells them to, or just for kicks. All while the rich white men steal our money and laugh all the way to the bank while the rest of our citizens slip ever deeper into divisiveness, poverty, ignorance, illness and despair.

I have felt from the beginning that it was my responsibility to DO something about the destruction of our country. I wrote and called my Congresspersons, posted on social media, forwarded information, planned to go to rallies, and commiserated with friends. I also lost a lot of sleep, cried frequently (I’m not a crier, in general), developed illnesses from stress and tension, and spent some time curled up in a ball unable to function. The depression that I have held mostly at bay for the past ten years or so was back with a vengeance. Then I remembered my Spiritual practice and meditated, set intentions, visualized change. I read and listened to the mindfulness teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh and the soothing comforting teachings of Pema Chodron. I started praying to Catholic saints, though I haven’t been Catholic for over 40 years. I felt overwhelmed with all sorts of painful emotions. I mourned. I – personally – needed to fix this, to heal our nation, somehow.

As a mother, I was always expected to “do something” to fix difficult situations my kids were going through. Whether that was kissing boo-boos to make them better, taking them to doctors (and emergency departments), talking with teachers, soothing hurt feelings and desperation, forking over money, or whatever else that was necessary, I was expected to know the answer to the problem and do something to make it better. The jobs that I had and have likewise require me to gather information, either to answer a question from a student or offer advice to a client, and fix others’ issues to help them navigate difficult or challenging situations. I listen, I formulate, I respond. If my advice or solution didn’t “work,” I felt as if I had failed at my job. And I was taught from childhood that failure made me “bad,” or worthless. The responsibility can be crippling at times.

But with the current situation, and the wisdom of having lived for over 6 decades, I’m learning that there are some things I just can’t fix. I can try my best, of course, but there are some things over which I have no control. I’m going to say that again:

THERE ARE SOME THINGS OVER WHICH I HAVE NO CONTROL

And that inability to make a difference isn’t a reflection on my skills as a mother, a grandmother, a partner, an instructor, a mediator, a lightworker, a healer, a community member, a citizen – it’s just a condition of being human. So every day now, feeling so helpless, hopeless and deeply sorrowful for what’s happening, I remind myself…

Things I can’t fix:

• Other people, including my family members
• Other people’s decisions
• Other people’s opinions, including about me
• Other people’s relationships with me
• Other people’s relationships with each other
• Other people’s beliefs, even when based on misconceptions, misperceptions, misinterpretations, misinformation
• Other people’s lack of civility, education, compassion and empathy
• The community in which I live
• The state in which I live
• The country in which I live
• The world in which I live

Sure, I can still write the letters, make the calls, attend the rallies, share facts I know to be true. But I can also work on myself, which trickles down to the people around me and my community and by extension the multiverse. I can send out good intentions and positive thoughts and spiritual blessings. I can improve the space around me to give people a lift with the color, fragrance, peace of their surroundings. I can try to make uplifting and inspiring art to help people look outside of their own worries for a while, or art whose darkness and despair is a reflection when they feel no one understands their pain. I can look strangers in the eyes and smile, put away shopping carts (even those left by others), let someone cut in front of me in line or on the road, give a compliment, make a joke, give the benefit of the doubt, ignore unkind words, gestures and actions. I can listen. I can play with my pets and grandkids and let them know that they are loved and safe around me. I can welcome those who are different from me into my safe space, and try to understand things from their point of view. I can love and accept unconditionally. I can teach by example.

But in this time and place, when everything I’ve ever known is crumbling to the ground around me, and all hope of “normalcy” and “the way things were” seems forever lost, I can’t fix what’s happening, and I give myself permission to stop trying. I give myself permission to safeguard my mental health, my sanity, my personhood, and that of my family. I give myself permission to let others think I’m not doing enough, saying enough, giving enough. Because I’m here to be me, just as I am, in this time and place, and, right now, that’s enough.