If you’re anything like Mark and I, you’re probably feeling a bit lost at sea right now. Our new Administration here in the US has turned everything upside down – black is White, Zelensky is Putin, and all the lies are now true. Or at least they will be once they finish beating us over the head with them.
The weather here in Northern California is vacillating between super cold and rainy and too warm for February, suggesting a hot summer to come.
I’ve now been looking for a job now for sixteen months. I interview, they love me, they hire some other guy. Wash, rinse, repeat. It turns out that spending twenty seven years running your own successful business doesn’t look all that great to an employer who only wants folks who have already been doing exactly the job they are advertising, for at least five years. Oh, and it helps if they are young enough that the company can pay them next to nothing:
Wanted: Caterpillar. Must have five years experience as a butterfly.
Oh, and then there’s my writing. Normally, it’s one of the things that centers me, that gives me something to hold onto in the midst of the raging storms. But even that has failed me of late, as I’ve gotten swept up in unplanned emergencies, the unrelenting hot and fetid wind of change from the White House, and my own insecurities, leaving me with little to show for my writing.
Do you ever feel like everything is broken, and it’s all too much to fix? Where do you even begin?
* deep breath *
They say that every journey begins with a single step. I’m going to throw in a little AA wisdom here too (no, not a member, but I’ve known a few, and always considered this to be sage advice).
Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.
Right now, I can’t change politics. It is what it is. Sure, I can call or email my representatives, but they are all Democrats and are nearly as powerless as I am. I can tell them how important their own voices are, and ask that they keep showing up, even when it feels useless. I can attend a rally. And I can stay in the fight. Keep myself appraised of what’s going on, but don’t let it run my life.
I can’t change the weather. But I can choose to get out when it’s good for a walk with Mark, stretching our legs and managing a bit of exercise. And remind myself, when it’s bad, that we really do need the rain.
I can’t do much about the job hunt beyond slogging on, continuing to look for unexpected possibilities, and showing up as my best self when those opportunities arise. Although it’s exhausting to have to do it over and over again, I can keep researching the jobs I really want and show up prepared. Sooner or later, someone has to hire me. Right?
And then there’s my writing.
Part of my trouble in this arena stems from the fact that it seems like everything is in turmoil. I like to have a regular, steady time to write. That used to be late at night, or sometimes in the afternoon before dinner, or in the morning when I first got up. But now my rhythms are thrown off by stress and chaos. Half the nights, I toss and turn for three or four hours, and then can’t get up early to write, can’t stay up late without falling asleep at my desk, and even the afternoons are dicey, because I can hardly keep my eyes open. Maybe if I rethink my writing, fitting it into the gaps whenever possible instead of waiting for my schedule to clear, I can make some headway.
It’s easy to feel beaten down right now. Believe me, I know. So many things in the world are not right. But if there’s a common theme here, maybe it’s this.
We need to show up.
In the last US election, 19 million folks didn’t show up because they were sick of Biden, or politics, or inflation, or whatever, and look where that got us.
Maybe the secret is turning that around. Showing up to support our leaders out there, trying to do the right thing. Showing up when the weather is good to take care of ourselves. Showing up for interviews and putting my best foot forward. And showing up for my writing, whenever and wherever I can, without beating myself up for failing to find the perfect time.
The world is adrift. We can all sense it. But if you put your oars down into the water, you can feel the deep movements below. Anger is building, and change is bubbling underneath us. The waters are stirring, and if we all row together, we can grow the current into a flood tide.
So let’s all show up. Grab your oars, whatever they might be, and let’s get these boats moving.