 It's hard to cope with the insanity of living at the start of the 21st century, perhaps civilization's last century, knowing what lies ahead. Like everyone but fools and fanatics, I worry a lot
about the future: The coming Great Depression, and what will happen
when our savings are wiped out and our pension plans go bankrupt; The
End of Oil and Water, and what it means for those whose substantial
incomes are yet barely enough to make ends meet now, and for those
already struggling to eke out a living on desolated soil, or in the
vast and fragile economic pyramid that ultimately depends,
precariously, on that soil; Global Warming, and the misery and
suffering it will inevitably inflict especially on those least
resilient; and Pandemic Disease (to us or our foods), the fourth
horseman, the one we are least prepared for, and which threatens to
hollow out our civilization and bring out the very worst in our brave,
fierce and terribly intelligent species.
I worry too about the other dominoes -- species extinction,
deforestation, poisoned food, air, soil and water, nuclear war,
chemical sabotage and bioterrorism, that the above crises could so
easily precipitate and cascade, and the bankrupted and corrupted
political and economic systems that will be at best useless in the face
of these long emergencies, and at worst exacerbating forces.
Most of all I worry about the fate of my granddaughters, now age 6 and
16, who will inherit the dreadful legacy we are recklessly and
thoughtlessly leaving for them, and who will I fear face the full brunt
of these cascading miseries as the second half of this century unfolds
with an exhausted groan.
The more I learn, the more I worry and the more pessimistic I become.
But learning brings its own solace -- somehow it is still better to
know, I think, even if one cannot hope to begin to prepare before it is time to belatedly react. At least we will know what to expect. I'm now reading Pierre Berton's epic The Great Depression, so I'll know even more. Knowledge may not be power, after all, but it has its value in providing perspective, and as therapy.
What other therapies are there? I described one yesterday -- spending time out of time
in nature with creatures too wise to worry about what they cannot
control (though I know they sense it, the way you can smell trouble
brewing, read it in the lines on people's faces), creatures showing us
how to live in the moment, the eternal Now, effectively, lightly,
fearlessly, without waste or harm to others. Such creatures include, to
some extent, human children.
One of my ways of disarming stress, dread and anger is to itemize its sources -- write down all the things you think you have to do, and then decide not to do, ever,
the ones that are not important, but only urgent (when you let others
dictate your life's agenda and play on your learned helplessness). And
then, write down all the things that are causing you distress, from the
global stresses like the ones in the first paragraphs of this essay to
the local, temporary annoyances like the irresponsible behaviour of a
bad neighbour, the dirty tricks of a schadenfreude-afflicted
co-worker, the customer, recruiter or partner who doesn't return your
urgent call, and the belittling spitefulness of that relative, in-law
or friend-of-friend -- and one by one, let go
of them. Will these things really matter ten years from now in
hindsight? And even if they will, is there something you can do to
resolve them now? If not, then these things don't matter now -- let them go, clear your mind of them, move beyond their stranglehold.
And another therapy -- doing something useful or helpful for others, or
for the Earth, every day, making the world a tiny bit better, no matter
how small that something is, is the greatest gift you can give yourself.
Learning, spending time in nature, 'calling out' and letting go of
unimportant things beyond your immediate control, and being of use to
others -- I know it is presumptuous of me to suggest these things as
salves for personal anguish, especially since half the time I can't
even bring myself to do these
things. I think 'self-help' books and programs are mostly useless,
especially when they are devised by someone else, but I do believe the
first step to coping, to being happy and effective as a human being, is
helping yourself, or perhaps more accurately knowing yourself well enough to be able to 'see' what to do, and be at peace with that.
Articles like this, one-sided conversations, are the writer's way of saying:
| I sympathize with you, I don't claim to really understand but I care
anyway, and just in case it may be helpful or of use to you, this is
what I think is happening here, what I think it means, and what has
worked for me (or promises to work for me) in my possibly-similar
situation. |
When I listen, every night these days, to the chorus of thumbnail-sized spring peeper frogs
on our pond, I think they too are saying this, at the top of their tiny
lungs, to anyone who will listen. We're not so different, after all.
|
MADE IN CANADA
trust your
instincts 
