Between panic and despair
Awhile back, I was talking to Alice Bradley about the panic that had set in with some of our friends about the current state of affairs for people who don’t think the whole “dictators ‘n’ fascism” vibe happening right now is, y’know, good. I told her that the people I’d noticed really leaning into their panic were the people that, in many ways, were disconnected from community: isolated via geography, social circumstances, availability, and/or more from being able to feel both less alone emotionally, and having impact that feels tangible. I’ve been recommending to those friends to find something small that they can do, even if it’s not “political,” something like visiting an older neighbor who doesn’t get around as much. Something that lets them know they mattered today. A little connectivity goes a long way towards staving off the panic of “I’ve got to get out of here!”
Then this week, upon reentry into the world after my first-ever staycation (I treated every day like Should-Free Saturday, it was glorious), I started feeling a creeping sense of gloom. Because of the work I do, and the various volunteering activities I’ve been contributing to, I’m someone who’s steeped in news and commentary pretty much all the time. And while I’ve got great management for that technologically (no news notifications, muting large group chats when needed, etc.), there’s just so much going on all the time that it’s become difficult to see a way out of this mess. Despair was on the horizon.
A billion years ago, I talked with Howard Rheingold while I was working on my book. I asked him what he was optimistic about for the future of tech. He told me that he was optimistic about pretty much nothing, but that he’d chosen to remain hopeful in general. The alternate choice was being a nihilist, and that’s not a great state of mind to live in. I think about that conversation a lot, still, and when I recognized the creeping despair, I thought about my willingness to have hope while recognizing that it is not lookin’ great out there. Can I hold two wildly different feelings in my heart at the same time? I dunno, but that’s what I’m going to shoot for.
That feeling of despair on the horizon also signals to me that it’s probably a good idea to take a step back from some of needs for a minute, and the thought of that is making me nauseous as I type. Who am I, with my whiteness and my middle-class-ness and my whatever-ness, to walk away from the work?
But wait: are we walking away from the work if we take a break from it? That sounds a little like my old frenemy All or Nothing, and it also sounds like the opposite of what I tell everyone else: this is a baton race, not a single-runner marathon. Pass the baton and come back in when you can. There will always be more work. Tikkun olam. We all have a role to play (hello again, Deepa Iyer) and we need to pace ourselves.
I’m going to work on that with myself for a minute. In the meantime, if you’re struggling right now, too, I found this post from movement genius Ash-Lee Woodard Henderson to be extremely helpful in navigating this space between panic and despair. (Click through to see all the slides, it’s a multi-parter.)
How are you doing?
xoxox
dz
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PS— As fall starts to ramp up, I’m looking to fill in some freelancing gaps I have arising. Here’s what I’ve been working on with my clients lately; I’m available for one-off projects or ongoing retainer work.
“Pass the baton and come back in when you can. There will always be more work.” I needed this today. Thank you. 💛