On Wednesday, January 6th, I woke up early-ish, ate breakfast, and sat down to write. I had read an article about the link between narcissistic mothers and complex PTSD in their daughters/children. I was engaged to a woman who suffered from something close to complex PTSD and had a difficult relationship with her mother. I was writing about gender and mother-daughter relationships – not that I know much about either of those subjects – just my observations of some women I’ve known. I was coming to the conclusion that these deeply rooted gender issues stem from eons of narcissistic male behaviors (aggressive providers, womanizers, ages of patriarchy).
That blog post is still sitting in the draft folder, unfinished. I got up, walked around, started to get ready for work. My friend Stacy texted, I replied, and then didn’t hear back for a bit. This always gets under my skin – it’s as if the person walks in to a room, asks how you are, and then leaves before you can answer. I thought about that for a minute – perhaps I have unrealistic expectations of my text conversations. Expectations (desires) are the root of suffering – they breed disappointment. Ehhh… I accepted that it was more on me, my flawed expectations of a particular outcome, than her. I sat down to write some more. I was thinking about how we each define “home” differently. That place, thing, feeling that is a mirror for everything else. A safe space from which to reflect. I asked myself what is the one thing that capital M matters to me – the thing that shapes my perspective on just about everything else. What would I be willing to sacrifice just about everything else for? I didn’t get far with that. I thought about this search for meaning and how we might spend our entire lives searching. I re-read the short story, “The Library of Babel.” Then switched gears and dove in to work.
At some point in the morning, or maybe it was the day before, I read a short interview with George Saunders – an author whose work I like. Saunders is Buddhist. He talks about the world being a construct of the mind (that’s probably what prompted me to read the short story). He believes in finding points of agreement with others, showing compassion. From the interview I jotted down “I know it’s way too dreamy to say: ‘Hey, everybody read Anna Karenina‘, but just that idea that people are multiple and I might hate this aspect of a person but we actually could be quite friendly on another axis – I think literature reminds us of that.” What really matters? How we treat each other, right? How we treat those closest to us, and also the strangers around us…
That morning, January 6, Trump supporters were gathering in Washington. A group had stopped in front a National Geographic Black Lives Matter billboard and gave it the finger. It’s hard to imagine hating black lives so much – deeming them and their demand for equality less than worthy. I asked myself how do we, how do I, show compassion and understanding to those who preach and practice hate? An acquaintance (I hesitate to say a friend or even a Facebook friend because while I believe in hearing differing opinions, more and more I feel I need to distance myself from such people) posted on her Facebook page: “Get it done Pence! Praying for you! You have lots of patriots who have your back today… physically” followed by an American flag emoji. I want to unfriend her. There’s not much subtlety in have your back… physically. These are bullies making threats.
During lunch I opened up twitter and began to watch the live-stream of the debate in the senate and in congress. I don’t normally watch these things. I was watching PBS News Hour and was a little aggravated that the host was talking over / providing context while Senator Toomey was speaking – I felt this plays into the narrative of left-wing media. I switched to other live-streams, bounced around. I watched as Vice President Pence was whisked out of the room. The sound cut out. There was confusion.
We all know what happened next. I couldn’t stop watching. This felt like 9-11. Our country was once again under attack.
I’ve been at a loss for words these past few days. I’m disappointed. We keep saying we’re better than this and we keep showing that we’re not. Biden has come on and said this isn’t who we are…. but what if this is exactly who we are? I don’t know how to process what I’ve seen. That night, I wanted off the ride. I joke with Stacy that I’m gonna buy a van and live near the ocean. Read, write, feel the warm sun on my face, maybe enjoy a good cup of coffee. I can’t tell if “fantasies” like that are a complete giving up or a complete embracing of the notion that desire leads to suffering – a reduction of desire to the most basic elements. Want little or nothing.
Here, in the midst of a pandemic, in the midst of civil unrest, in the midst of a climate crisis, it is both difficult to see what capital M matters and also crystal clear what matters. Decency, kindness, companionship, fellowship, fairness, love. And with all of those things, there must exist their opposites: cruelty, hatred, indecency, unfairness… and everything in between.