I had ideas for this newsletter. I have notes about so much. Things in the world are shouting for attention, normal things, like the giant garish irises in the yard or my first experience with Mrs. Dalloway. I’d like to talk about it. But catastrophic things — vile, monstrous, out-of-my-control headlines — are getting in the way.
I’m not going to write about those things. What could I say that hasn’t been said? What could I say that helps anyone, at all? The screaming is inside our hearts and maybe that’s why we’re unwell. Our hearts can only take so much of the madness that is America.
Speaking of American madness, I have fallen straight into the Depp/Heard rabbit hole and am appropriately ashamed of myself. Celebrity watching has never been my thing and I’m not into reality TV (unless there’s baking involved). I love gossip as much as the next person, but the rich and famous are so often dull and shallow. I can’t explain why this trial has captured my attention. It’s all so toxic and destructive, not to mention none of our business. They publicly tear each other to pieces and we gawp like Romans at the Coliseum. I feel dirty. Why are we interested in her pain? His brutality? Why are people taking sides? Why celebrities? I mean, really, what are celebrities? People just like the rest of us who, for some minor performative reason, have been elevated to the status of gods. Oracles. Perhaps they mirror the culture - the brutal, ugly, sordid culture. Why am I in this hole?
We seek distractions from our own pain, filling our voids with the pain of others. Muffling the screaming heart with the cries of others. At least my life is not that bad. But how to distract from the pain of humanity? How to escape the ugly nature of a whole society, the endless headlines? America is truly broken, in so many flagrant ways. America is literally killing us.
The body knows the score.
Today I’m meeting two friends who, like me, are suffering a constellation of odd and worrisome things. I’m looking forward to it. We’ll sit on my porch and discuss our various maladies. It’s come to this. Midlife and menopause has dumped me on the shores of commiseration, seeking comfort in shared misery. I had envisioned my 50s with palazzo pants, high-minded talk of art, history, and literature. Good friends, good food and wine, some dirty jokes for balance. I doubt Virginia ever compared cortisol notes with friends, after waking weary and shaky (though I bet she woke weary and shaky on occasion and we all know how that ended).
I think we need to make things. It may be the way through, to use our hands, our minds, and our poor beleaguered hearts to create. Art is critical, especially in tough times. Make something — a letter, a cake, a picture on a phone. Write, paint, bang on a piano. Make noise, make good trouble. To create in a destructive world is radical and necessary.
I want to write but it’s been so hard. I want to write about beach nights and big mistakes. Mad strangers and unhinged loved ones. I want to write about the pieces of a life that, when locked together, build a picture. Like a jigsaw. I want to write the dinners and the stargazing, the weeping and the victory. I want to see through this wall of pain and chaos, built by a system that cares nothing for us. I want to make something that feels like life and hope.
In a perfectly timed attempt at distraction, I’ll be doing Jamie Attenberg’s 1000 words of summer, which starts June 4. I did it for the first time in 2018 and wrote about it here. If you want to write anything at all, you should try it. The community alone is worth the leap.
If you sign up (it’s free), you’ll get a brilliant bit of daily motivation from Jamie for two weeks. There’s a message from a different writer (one you’ve probably read!) each morning, encouraging you to do your thing. And if you Twitter, there’s a hashtag community cheering you on, crowing or complaining about progress (or lack thereof). It’s like having a great group of writer friends, without changing clothes or leaving home.
How are you all coping? What are you making?
Things to share:
I’ve been a Wordle nerd since it started, but now I’ve discovered Artle and it has awakened the long-buried art history nerd inside me. I start each day now with coffee, Wordle and Artle.
Mary Oliver’s poem, “Lilies,” is a lovely little ode to nature, but Faith Hill finds more: “… this poem makes me feel a funny kind of pride to be part of our ever-suffering species. The most human qualities, the ones that can make us feel so lonely, also drive us to think and create.”
“Reading each other helps us imagine each other. And empathy seems like something we are in great need of, as a species, in order to survive.” Sharon Olds
Cheers!
Lisa
Jam-packed with some goodies...and it seems I have another item on my to-do list. Writing 1000 words per day, beginning June 4. Thanks for this hot take. Now, the narrowing of ideas should begin...