This Can’t Be The New Normal

This morning, I went to an appointment with my dentist. I listened to world news on the way. Iran is retaliating. Of course they are. I walked across the parking lot and into the building, taking deep breaths. I walked into the waiting area where there were several people sitting and reading magazines with smiling celebrities on the cover, or watching a movie stream on the large TV screen on the wall. The cheerful receptionist greeted me, and the dental assistant led me down the hall. She asked how I was, and I wanted to say, “Well, I am wondering how I adjust to living in a country where the government no longer fights terrorists. The government is now the terrorist.” But I just say I am doing the best I can. 

How is it that people are still going about their day? Why are people going to work, running errands, acting like this is a normal day? This president spent huge amounts of money, against advisors’ information, without any oversight or constitutional process, and bombed another nation. Then he boasted about it and all but dared Iran to retaliate. Then, his loyalist cabinet and legislators changed what they had said only hours before, and expressed support and admiration for actions that put us all at risk, and could lead to another forever war. 

Just over a week ago, the military parade this president insisted on having on his birthday, had opened with the playing of “Fortunate Son.” Maybe most of the attendees did not realize the irony, but I think the message from some reluctant military personal was clear. 

“Some folks are born made to wave the flag
Hoo, they’re red, white and blue
And when the band plays “Hail to the chief”
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord

It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no senator’s son, son
It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no furtunate one, no

Some folks are born silver spoon in hand
Lord, don’t they help themselves, Lord?
But when the taxman come to the door
Lord, the house lookin’ like a rummage sale, yeah

It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no millionaire’s son, no, no
It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no fortunate one, no

Yeah-yeah, some folks inherit star-spangled eyes
Hoo, they send you down to war, Lord
And when you ask ’em, “How much should we give?”
Hoo, they only answer, “More, more, more, more”

It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no military son, son, Lord
It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no fortunate one, one

It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no fortunate one, no, no, no
It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no fortunate son, no, no, no…”

I tried to complete the blog post I have been working on, but I can’t do that today. Today can’t be normal. 

I don’t find it worthwhile to expend much energy on hate. I try to practice that. But there are two things I hate. 

I hate cancer. I have had to constantly recreate my life, my body, my daily new normal, because of cancer. But it has taken from me too many that I love more than my life. I really hate cancer.

And I hate war. People intentionally shooting, bombing, killing children, destroying lands, committing genocide, all over ideology. The ones making the decisions, sending the flesh-shredding explosives and soldiers are never the ones who pay the price. Especially now. These are the ones who will become even more obscenely wealthy, arrogant in their certainty that they are right, and will continue to eliminate anyone who doesn’t agree. 

WAR is an acronym for We Are Right. But war does not determine who is right. Only who is left. 

This keeps happening. But it can’t be the new normal.

When I first heard the news about the attack, Mike and I were driving home to Salt Lake City from California. We were crossing through the Salt Flats is very high winds. I saw strange patterns of dust and salt rising up from the ground, creating huge, moving silhouettes in the severe winds, all the way to the horizon. As I listened to the reports, I felt I was in a disaster movie, surrounded by CGI special effects, creating monstrous creatures rising from the earth to consume us. But this wasn’t a movie. I couldn’t walk out of the theater and put this behind me. All of the activism, all of the protests, all of the calls and advocacy, had not stopped this.

I refuse to let this be the new normal. It seems as though too many in power are determined to constantly function in reactionary mode. Everything is done in reaction to someone or something they don’t like, don’t agree with, don’t understand. There is no careful or cautious research, or listening to understand. Power and authority is used to deny, remove, and demand submission. Rhetoric is used to demonize any who don’t conform and submit. Loyalists have now taken this on, and are joining in the effort to remove opposition. War is now being waged in the homes of murder victims, by self-appointed soldiers. 

I will not allow them to make me default to a reactionary mode. I will not allow someone else’s actions and ideology determine who I am, and how I live. I acknowledge that the actions of others impact me, and harm me. But I have worked too long to become someone who is an agent to act, and not an object to be acted upon. 

I am committed to a world where all can live a fulfilled life, all can breathe deeper, and have a say in making a difference in the world. 

I realize I am dealing with this in a place of privilege, even in a world where very few can feel secure. 

What do I do now? 

Two weeks ago, we went and celebrated our daughter’s PhD graduation in California. Every day, I made calls to my Federal and State representatives, with specific information and items of concern. I also emailed them. I limit the concerns to no more than two items per call or letter. There are many to cover. 

Then we spent time exploring and hiking through old growth Redwood forests. I focused on fact checking the proposed sale of public lands, made calls and posts about that. I grew up among these giant trees. They still stand because of generations of preservation effort. The need to take action, or be willing to stand in from of bulldozers, is still something to prepare for.

I spend time with my family, and in my garden. I teach my little nieces about growing things, and eating what you grow. I practice what to say when standing up to agents that deny due process.

I make things. I practice art. I write. I gather. I make food and share meals. I listen. I celebrate people who create, in any and every medium. Especially creations with time, space, wisdom, courage, love. I talk with Gods, and often rage at Them. They are there with me, weeping.

I was going to end this here, but I just read a post by Anne Lamott which finds words to describe what I cannot, and offer something more. 

“I said to the kitty as we were getting up this morning, “I wish I had better news for you.” I didn’t want to get out of bed, but I had to let the dog out. And I turned on the news: Shock and awe again, same old same old; here we are. possible end of the world, or at the very least, horror. Sigh. Panic. Numbness. Rage. Hopelessness.

So now what? Well, again, same old same old. We do what we’ve always done after unfathomable brutality, from going to war on Iraq to the shootings at Sandy Hook to Uvalde. 

After the election last year, feeling complete defeat and fear, I asked myself what I could possibly do to help. After a second cup of coffee, I smote my forehead and remembered I can write.

This morning, feeling complete terror about what bombing Iran will unleash, on what it will be like for America to live in a pariah nation, I dug out some posts I wrote on earlier mornings after, and have cobbled together this inadequate response: 

At some point we will get back to marches and registering voters, but today? Today we can unleash waves of love on each other, our families and communities and even our extremely disappointing selves, because love is bigger than any bleak shit and barbarity that the world throws at us. We will have hope again, because of this love, because we always do again, eventually. We have to remember that today. Susan B Anthony’s great niece said in times of horror and hopeless, “We remember to remember.” We remember having come through the apparent end of the world other times, and of having resurrected.

What is helpful right away is to stick together in our horror, grief, anxiety and cluelessness. We cry or shut down, we blame, despair, rage, pray; gather in community, or isolate. I recommend that we do this today. Some of us won’t be able to eat at all, some of us will eat our body weight in ice cream and fries; some of us can’t turn off the TV, some of us can’t turn it on. These are all appropriate. Today we just keep the patient comfortable.

If you don’t know what else to do right do, do love: take a big bag of food over to the local food pantry. Don’t forget Oreos for the kids and Ensure for the elderly. Walk around the neighborhood and wave or hug everyone and pick up litter. My husband Neal said that everything true and beautiful can be discovered in a ten minute walk. Love and beauty are truth.

Talking and sticking together is usually the answer. We become gentler, more patient and kind with each other, and that’s a small miracle. It means something of the spirit is at work. For me, it is grace made visible. It doesn’t come immediately, or by bumper sticker, and it doesn’t come naturally. What comes naturally is rage and blame. Blame R Us. But Grace bats last.

We never gave up on peace and love before, and we won’t now. We’ve always even danced again eventually, with limps. But it’s the “eventually” that feels so defeating. It takes time for life to get itself sorted out. I so hate this and do not agree to this, but have no alternative, because it is Truth: healing and peace will take time. And in the meantime, always always always always, we take care of the poor. This will help you more than anyone else, and put you in Jesus and Buddha’s good graces. 

After an appropriate time of being stunned, terrified and in despair, we sigh and help each other back to our feet. Maybe we ask God for help, or Gus, the great universal spirit. We do the next right thing. We buy or cook or serve a bunch of food for the local homeless. We give a few dollars to the vets and mothers begging at busy intersections, no matter our tiny opinions on their hygiene or enterprise. We return phone calls, library books, smiles. We donate money as we are able. We practice radical self-care and say hello gently to everyone, even strange people who scare us. We go to the market and flirt with lonely old people In the express line with their coupons. It can’t be enough but it will be. 

I have no answers but do know one last thing that is true: Figure it out is a bad slogan. We won’t be able to. Life is much wilder, complex, heartbreaking, weirder, richer, more insane, awful, beautiful and profound than we were prepared for as children, or that I am comfortable with. The paradox is that in the face of this, we discover that in the smallest moments of taking in beauty, in actively being people of goodness and mercy, we are saved.” By Anne Lamott

May we be the saviors we desperately need.