Navigating Life’s Turmoil: A Call for Connection and Action

When we add up all of the chaos, only exacerbated by the perpetual news cycle, the burden of trying to find truth when no one gives us everything, it is entirely reasonable to feel paralyzed, to feel as though all hope is lost, to not know where to turn. Whenever I turn on the news, I am bombarded by the different events, by rhetoric and opinions, by shocking videos, by big changes to systems we rely upon. It feels so big, it feels so chaotic, it feels overwhelming.

I find it hard to look away, I find it hard to keep looking. I look at my husband, I look at my kids, I look at my life and it feels surreal to watch what is happening to our neighbors to the north, to the neighbors down the block, to our fellow humans. I find it so very hard to know what to say, to know what to do, and how even to find the words to describe how it feels to watch all of it happening in real time while being told it’s not and yet, I can offer something many others cannot: a glimpse into pain, grief, terror, rage, and devastation too large to capture in mere words.

In 2017, I was told that cells inside my body had created a situation that would end my life. No warning, no control, no real ability to change the inevitable outcome. I was (and am) at the mercy of strangers working inside a broken system. This system that consistently, continually, and cruelly devalues me as a person. I’ve had nearly nine (9) years of railing against this system while struggling simply to stay alive. People who love me (and many that don’t) have, at times, counseled me to give in, to be nicer, to make myself small in the face of experiences that are tearing me apart and swallow more and more pieces of my soul.

And so I know a little about feeling helpless and hopeless; like an elaborate system that has power over me is in charge. I know a little about how dehumanizing it is to be caught in a place where I feel the desperate need for help from a system that does not see me as a human, but an entity that generates income. I know a little about the struggle to maintain just a little autonomy, just a little dignity, just a little of who I am. I know a little about the anxiety about the effect on my family keeping me up at night. I know a little about watching dear friends getting substandard care; negligence and outright cruelty ending their precious lives. I know a little about watching this happen from afar, only able to offer words to their families. I know a little about the micro-aggressions, the looks, the facial expressions, the glances, the refusal to actually respond to real, human concerns.

I know a little of how hard it is to remain whole and human inside these experiences. I know a little of the tyranny of chaos, the tyranny of dependence and the tyranny of hope.

My best and only advice (which I am trying to follow myself) is this — focus first on right now, on who and what is in front of you, and keep your heart open. When we bring our focus home, on the people whose faces we see every day and put our energy there, priorities come into focus. When we look into the eyeballs of people in our orbit, our choices become more clear. When we apply a situation to our own lives, our own bodies, our own values, the way forward is illuminated. It is hard, it is demoralizing, it is devastating, but it is worth it.

Anne Lamott, a person I’ve long admired from afar said this: “My brilliant priest friend, the late Father Terry Richie, always told us, when we felt beyond hope, “Do the next sensible thing for a person in your shape.” That’s the plan. That’s all I need to remember.”

I hope we can all remember and do the next sensible thing because it’s always time to do the right thing.