All It Takes Is A Little Love

There are all kinds of stories these days about an of epidemic of depression and anxiety creeping into every corner of the world. For various reasons more and more people are feeling isolated and lonely, leading to feelings of alienation from the rest of society. Mental health experts tell us that relationships outside of the home are critical for our wellbeing. Sadly polls indicate that more and more people have a sense that nobody really cares about them, leading to hopelessness, anger, thoughts of suicide or violence. 

While most of us have a sense that something is going very wrong in the world of today, we have been unable to agree on how to address the mounting suffering of individuals who feel broken and unnoticed. Because most of us are untrained in the science of counseling and treating people with chronic mental health problems we all too often only offer platitudes and prayers for those suffering from an overwhelming sense of darkness. We push them to get out of the house or make suggestions that only touch the surface of their feelings. They need professional help and for the most part it is not easy to find. 

As a society we celebrate constantly on social media and in public giving the impression that life really is a bowl of cherries and cheerfulness. For someone whose mental state is deteriorating it can feel as though the whole world is happy while they only feel a sense of darkness and sorrow. To a certain extent the very modern resources that bring information into our homes can wind up being a purveyor of doom for a person who is not the recipient of the magnificent lifestyles that we boast about in our photos and commentaries. All those happy faces and descriptions of trips and celebrations can bear down on those whose lives are complicated by mental difficulties. Their loneliness punctuates their anxiety and a dangerous cycle of distorted feelings cycles over and over in their heads. 

Complicating the issues of depression is the reality that it is difficult to be around someone in that state of mind. Depressed individuals are often avoided, left alone because we don’t know how to react to the darkness that seems to follow them. It is hard to sit in a room with someone who has gone so deeply inward that they can’t see joy or light and yet the very act of avoiding them only lends credence to their feelings of loneliness and sorrow. 

As a general rule we humans tend to push away people who steal our joy. We often avoid confronting problems in favor of artificially creating good times. When someone confesses to being depressed we really don’t know how to act when most of the time all we need to do is allow that person to talk about the very real feelings that are bringing them down without attempting to persuade them to stay calm and carry on. We might do better if we help them to legitimize their feelings of the moment. We all have times when we are so grief stricken that we want to curse the universe. When people suggest that we push those feelings away and count our blessing we feel deficient and even crazy. The cycle of darkness increases as others try to talk us out of the pain that grips us. 

Someone I know recently spoke of how depressed she is. She has been experiencing an illness that has drastically limited what she is able to do. She is normally an energetic soul who spends her days completing many tasks that she enjoys. She doesn’t like crowds of people but nonetheless has fun being part of the world as an appreciative spectator. Because she has been sick she is now mostly confined to her home. She is unable to do most of the things that make her the happiest. Her doctors tell her that she may or may not return to her healthy self once again. She is in the process of attempting to adjust to her new reality and she is frightened and angry which makes her sad most of the time. She does not want pity and she is determined to get better but right now she just desires that people will understand how and why she is feeling so despondent. Unwanted advice only makes her situation worse. 

I sat with her and listened. I hugged her and held her hand. I did not try to argue her out of her doldrums. I gave her a moment to justify her feelings because I saw that she was wrestling mentally with herself. It was difficult to see her in such a state but I knew that she needed an ally, a person who would help her to see that her feelings were a normal reaction to the illness that is stealing so much from her. She did not want to be told how to make things better. She only needed to describe the horror of how she was feeling. I in turn needed to really hear what she had to say and to decide how important it will be for me to stay in touch with her no matter how difficult it will be to hear about her unhappiness. 

We often adopt what I call the Disneyland way of living. When troubles arise we move into a pretend kind of world. We ratchet up the fun and escape mechanism that keep us from facing reality. We avoid any form of unpleasantness to convince ourselves that all is well when it really is not. We leave people to be isolated and alienated. 

We all know someone who is having a difficult time. We know how hard it will be to embrace them in their moment of darkness, but we have to try. They may need deeper professional help but our attention to what they have to say might be just the beginning they need to end the suffering from isolation and alienation that stalks them.  All we need do is to be present in their lives.

“Writing is thinking on paper. Thoughts grow into words, sentences and pictures. Memories become stories. Ideas are transformed into projects. Notes inspire insight. We write and understand, learn, see and think.”

I found these words written on the packaging of a ruled notebook that my husband purchased at a Barnes and Noble bookstore, a place we often frequent just to unwind. I was instantly enchanted by the message that seemed to encapsulate the essence of who I am and how important thoughts, words, understanding, learning and thinking are to me. I find great comfort in the simple act of using words to express the many ideas that exist in my mind. The beauty of words fascinates me. 

When I am feeling anxious I resort to words. I solve word puzzles or list new ways of using words. I play with differing patterns of words and read the brilliant combinations of words from great authors whose stories, poems and sentences are akin to symphonies. I write to calm my spirit which is always alert and thinking. I see possibilities everywhere that I go and I record them with words. 

I recall the vocabulary lessons of my youth. They were generally a kind of hated drudgery for me because they consisted of rewriting definitions of words nakedly out of context. It was only when I began to discover words used in oratory, novels and great tracts of history that I became insatiably interested in them. Strung together words are so powerful. Choosing the right one or wrong one in a sentence or a moment can change the world, end a friendship, or inspire others forevermore. There is a grandeur in perfectly connected words that elevate humans to a higher state. There is also danger in words that feed on fear and frenzy. Words once spoken or written down can be a gift or a curse. 

I am a person who uses words to reflect on my past, present and future. It is a selfish act in many ways because it makes me feel so good, but what I have to say is sometimes disarming to others. My attempts to help them understand me only prove to confuse them. I all too often think out of the box of society and such a thing feels dangerous to more cautious people. I make myself vulnerable with my words. I show my scars and worries rather than pretending to be always upbeat. Such ideas are anathema to those who keep their thoughts inside for nobody to see. To me they are a release that makes me gloriously and happily human. 

Just as I am unafraid to use my words to tell my truths, I am also unafraid to hear new or even shocking insights from others. Gifted philosophers and writers give ideas, stories, memories that may be shocking but tell us that our own flaws and dreams and questions are part of the grand human experience. Just as words may have a variety of meanings, so too humans come in many different modes of belief. It is exciting and sometimes mind blowing to parse the words of others who offer experiences and thought provoking inspirations without holding back. Their words stay with me and lead me to discoveries I might never have otherwise imagined. 

I am a creature who surrounds myself with books. I write down words and ideas to consider in future attempts at writing. I find solace in learning when I am feeling anxious. I look for words that calm me and help me to realize that even in ancient times people have been much like me. While we certainly use words to explain how to build and how to heal and how to invent, the words of poetry lift us up beyond the constraints of gravity. 

Life’s questions rattle inside my mind. I attempt to answer them with the written word. I am a feeble amateur. Compared to the greats I am an artist painting by the numbers, but still doing my best to create something worthy and beautiful. This is what writing means to me. It is so much more than just babbling. It is my hopeful journey into a proper reckoning with all that is good and all that is bad about living. It is my way of dealing with the ups and downs that we all encounter. It is a tribute to my father who taught me to love the written word and to my mother who showed me the emotional power of words. It is a nod to the teachers who opened the world to me with books and magazines and newspapers. It is a tiny gift that I wrap for anyone who chooses to read whatever I have to say. It is my daily hope that I might spark something wonderful in even one person. If any of my words manage to do that then I have succeeded. If that never happens I still feel quite good because words written down make me feel alive. 

Words blow me away every single day whether they are mine or those of others. I reflect on them, embrace them, store them in my mind with wonder. I observe and I record with words, words, words. It is my passion.  

I suppose that Americans have always had a number of different ideas about how things should run. In fact, I’m fairly sure that humans everywhere in the world have encountered contrasting points of view. People look at the world around them differently which can actually be a very good way of keeping a society vital and interesting. It would be a dull and dangerous development indeed if we all walked around like programmed robots. Our best moments as humans have always been those in which we actually encourage and cherish a multitude of differing voices. 

Even as people have sometimes disagreed with each other they have mostly managed to get along. Now and then the issues seem so incompatible that we descend into wars, but most of the time we manage to at least stay civil with one another when our disagreements loom large. People with extremely different political views have been known to be friends. It’s generally been considered the American way for friends and family to respect differences, but in the last few years voicing one’s beliefs has become a risky thing to do. People take politics so seriously in today’s polarized environment that there seems to be little room or acceptance for disagreement. There is a tribal feel to the politics of the moment.  

I vividly remember my father and grandfather discussing political issues with fiery arguments and then embracing each other and laughing about their differences. My brothers have launched into endless debates with one another that always ended with the certainty that they still loved and accepted each other. I grew up believing that deep discussions from differing points of view were the spice of life. I have always believed that expressing pros and cons and launching rebuttals was a worthy undertaking among friends, a kind of Socratic exercise that leads to clearer thoughts rather than bruised feelings. 

My husband and I used to sit around on Saturday nights with our friends Bill and Pat or Egon and Marita challenging one another. We would talk for hours and never end up angry. Instead we enjoyed hearing our differing insights of life. We learned from those gatherings and become closer, not estranged. I used to joke that if someone had filmed our discourse it would have made for quite entertaining and enlightening television programming.

Sadly the wonderful friends with whom we had such amazing conversations have all died and we honestly feel that there is a big hole in our lives that is impossible to repair. In an effort to find the kind of intellectual dialogue that we once enjoyed we have been taking continuing studies classes in which all of the participants freely express themselves without growing tense or worrying that whatever they say will be wrongly interpreted. We have good healthy interchanges with one another just as my father and grandfather once did, just as my brothers still do. True freedom is not so much about what we may or may not do as it is a guarantee that each person be entitled to personal beliefs without fear. A healthy democracy allows for discussions and compromises. It operates in an environment in which everyone feels safe to express themselves. 

I can’t put my finger on the exact moment when our political climate changed so dramatically but I know that it is one wrought with a very real fear that saying the wrong thing will result in damaging family relationships and friendships and reputations. Publicly asserting one’s opinions can often feel as dangerous as walking across the Grand Canyon on a tightrope. One misstep, one choice of the wrong words can be so misunderstood that it provides the impetus for the death of a friendship or family relationship. It did not used to be that way. 

I grew up in the Cold War days. We Boomers were the kids who heard about the Iron Curtain that was tightly drawn around Russia and much of Central and Eastern Europe. We learned about the oppression of thoughts in countries controlled by dictators. We tried to imagine what it would be like to be subjected to propaganda only to learn that efforts to influence people’s thinking have been a reality in virtually every society throughout history.

The difference in modern times has been the ability to instantly spread ideas through mass media using all of the tricks in the propaganda book. Because of this, we should all be alert and willing to actively discuss what we are seeing and hearing to determine the validity or dishonesty of appeals for our support. It is only when we take the time to differentiate between truth and lies that we can accurately assess any situation. That’s why good old fashioned friendly debates among friends are actually quite healthy and necessary as long as there is an understood agreement that the relationships will remain intact even as the people disagree. 

I actually believe that it is possible to think very differently about many things and still manage to get along. I have done so with a number of friends and family members. In the end I always circle back to the one truth that we are all attempting to navigate through the world in the ways that make the most sense to us. I love my country of the United States of America because it has allowed me to be me. I am as patriotic as the person who shows their colors everyday even though mine is a more circumspect and quiet way of honoring my nation. I do not feel a need to force others to think or be or act like me, but I ask that they at least allow me to make my own choices without insulting or restricting me. 

I am deeply religious, but do not proselytize or think that my faith is necessarily better than that of others. I like the idea of keeping my church away from state issues. How I view God is very private and important for me but I am perfectly willing to learn about other people’s spirituality. It does not damage my faith when I hear from them. In fact, it may even enhance my relationship with my God. 

I suspect that we have all grown weary of the rifts that grow wider each day. I love the die hard classmate from my youth in spite of his ideas that confound me. I would like to think that my affection for him will be reciprocated without efforts to change me. I fear that if we keep removing ourselves from people with ideas that we do not share our circle of friends and family will become an echo chamber that leaves us ignorant and boring. I don’t want to be a member of a cult. I like feeling safe to ask, “Why?”  I am longing for honest discourse among friends.  

I think of the courageous women that I have known over and over again. I think of a neighbor who bravely rescued children from their father who had just murdered their mother. That same woman raised her family alone after her husband died unexpectedly. She talked her way out of a carjacking incident that left her with a broken arm but still alive. She was and always will be a hero to me. I loved her courage to say and be whatever she thought was right. 

I do my best to honor the women who have been steadfast in standing up for themselves and others. I think of a former student who confronted her peers when they were hiding the misdeeds of a student who had stolen a test and distributed it thinking that he would be protected by a wall of silence. The brave young woman who begged her classmates to be honest was diminutive, quiet and usually shy, but on one glorious day she proved to be stronger than anyone in her class. 

I remember a brash woman from upstate New York who had startled me with her colorful language and her bravado. When the need arouse she was the one who rescued little ones from a father who was mercilessly beating his wife. I witnessed her charging up the stairs to their apartment like a woman possessed. She was a Joan of Arc in her ferociousness and lack of concern for her own safety. 

I think of an older woman who defied the silliness of a boss consumed with himself. She calmly did so in front of the entire organization, voicing opinions and complaints that we all had been stealthily whispering while on breaks. With truth on her side she was unafraid to tell him how we were all feeling and her confidence won the day. 

Women have come a very long way from the times when my grandmother was pulled out of school before she even learned how to read and write so that she might help her mother care for her younger siblings. Back then women had few ways of controlling the number of pregnancies they might have and so my great grandmother had a very large family that she could not handle alone. So it was that my grandmother fulfilled one of the most common roles of women in that time, helping to keep the household running smoothly rather than learning in school. 

In spite of her illiteracy my grandmother developed a folksy knowledge of animals and agriculture that was quite amazing. She kept her family afloat during the hardest of times with her willingness to cook and sew and cultivate crops to keep food on the table and generate extra funds for my father’s education. She was yet another hero of mine.

I think of a young woman who has traveled to an island in Alaska, into a kind of wild place in order to provide better medical care to those living in a medical desert. She is a trailblazer who does what she tells others they should think of doing. I admire her with every fiber of my being and follow her new adventure with great interest. 

I could go on and on and on about remarkable women who overcame the limitations that were placed upon them by a society that seemed to think that they knew what women really need. I was thrilled when the subjugation of women began to change dramatically. I was the recipient of a world in which I got to decide how to live my life. I was able to choose how many children to have. I earned two college degrees. I worked at a job that I loved. It was glorious to be able to be free to be me and I did my best to help my own daughters to understand that they need not be inhibited in following whatever dreams they desired for themselves. 

Now I have a granddaughter who seems to be a culmination of all of the courage of so many women before her. She is brave and strong and willing to assert herself to build a better future for others. She is unafraid to talk with strangers and move across the country to learn about other places and opportunities. She knows what she wants and what she believes and is willing to try to understand and steadfastly fight for those who have few allies. 

There are at this moment attempts to co opt the freedoms that woman have received over time. No longer does a woman have to wish that she could earn a college degree without making her spouse feel badly for not having one. We are past the days when women cried because they were exhausted and ill from having children year after year. Our world has seen the magnificent contributions that women bring to the table. Like me, we have all seen the courage of women fighting for a person or a cause. We can’t go back! 

You must never be fearful about what you are doing when it is right!—-Rosa Parks

My granddaughter asked me and my husband what we did during the Civil Rights Movement of the nineteen sixties. I had to admit to mostly being involved from the sidelines. I was still in high school when most of the important protests and events took place. It was not until I was a student at the University of Houston that I participated in some rather small on campus marches. I knew with all of my heart and mind and soul that the quest for equality for all represented by that movement was right and just. It is not been quite as clear nor as easy to choose sides regarding other issues that have arisen during my lifetime.  

I spent a great deal of time protesting the war in Vietnam whose goal was not particularly clear to me. To this day I regret how the message that the anti-war movement delivered became so muddy and unclear. Along the way it divided a whole generation in our country in ways that have never been totally mended. I know that for myself it was not about making villains of the young men who fought in that conflict, but rather about how questionable our nation’s involvement was. To this very day there is a spectrum of thinking that often tends to place those present in the debate along a continuum of cowards to brave patriots depending on who is remembering what those disagreements were about. it was much harder to know that I chose the absolutely right side during the Vietnam War era, therefore I have always been a bit fearful that I may have been hindering more than helping the cause even as I believed that continuing that war and losing more young men was fruitless.

I console myself in knowing that my intentions were always on the side of peace and fairness but I see from the distance of aging that all of the situations and questions were far more nuanced than I had considered. Perhaps the same can be said of those who were gung-ho supporters of the war. Maybe they never really understood why people like me were working to end the violence and bring our soldiers back home. I suspect that they instead believed that most of the protestors despised them for bravely carrying out their duty to our nation and thus they may still harbor bad feelings for those of us who marched with signs condemning the whole thing. 

So many issues in life are like balls of thread that have become knotted and tangled. Undoing the mess is difficult and time consuming and in the end one wonders if it was even worth the effort. I accept that the vast majority of humans do indeed want to be on the right side of goodness and to do what is truly right. The fear that we have in doing such things comes when we worry that we may somehow be choosing wrong. 

Just as it was rather easy for me to know that supporting the Civil Rights movement was a moral imperative, so it was for those who fought in Europe and the Pacific during World War II. Things become messy, however when we consider the atom bombs dropped on civilian populations in Japan. Even Oppenheimer, one of the creators of that horrific weapon of mass destruction, came to worry that he had opened up an evil can of worms in building it. To this day there are convincing reasons for condemning that horrific bombing even as it is supported by assertions that many more may have died if we had not ended the fighting so dramatically. 

The war that is raging in the Middle East between Israel and Gaza is one of those situations that is so complex that it is quite difficult to determine how to react. On the one hand Israel was attacked by members of Hamas in October when citizens were killed and taken hostage. On the other hand, the devastation inflicted on the Palestinian citizens of Gaza since then has been ferocious and deadly in a way that seems to be a gross overreaction to the initial incident. Furthermore the fighting does not appear to be leading to the stated issue of freeing the hostages, while imposing many of the deadliest consequences on innocent Palestinians whose homes, schools and hospitals have been destroyed. A debate reminiscent of the one during the Vietnam War is raging across the world. 

I know young people who are earnestly questioning the decimation and death of Palestinians and wondering if the ultimate goal of Israel is no longer simply to keep them in line, but rather to rid them from the area forever. Skirmishes between Israel and Palestine have been common since land was first carved out in the for the Israelis in 1948 by Britain, France and the United States. A seeming act of kindness intended to give them a land of their own did not take into account how the people already living there might view about the situation. As Israel claimed more and more territory over the ensuing years the tension has built and built with Israel demonstrating its might in quelling any uprisings. This time things feel very different to all sides. It seems as though a true fair and equitable peace must be brokered with everyone’s needs in mind if life is ever again to be safe and secure for either group of people. This peace cannot come unless both sides enjoy freedom rather than dominance of one side over the other. 

It is difficult to choose when both groups of ordinary citizens are suffering and it feels as though the real disagreement is between politicians thinking they can simply wave magic wands to make things happen their way. The people become mere pawns in struggles for power. Nobody wins and so choosing one side over another becomes murky and difficult, especially for those of us who are not directly impacted by it all. We are judging from afar rather than living the nightmare. 

On the surface it seems as though terrible mistakes have been made for the last seventy years leading to fear and hatred between the two groups of people that will make it ever more difficult to solve the multiple issues. It will take decades to rebuild the infrastructure in Gaza and more time for any of the people to trust each other. A deadly Pandora’s box has been opened and somebody has to be willing to put the genie back in the bottle, but who will that be? 

I am fearful about the situation because I think that right now determining what is right is like untying a gordian knot. Nonetheless, both sides need to try and the rest of us must stop sending weapons that keep the fighting going for who knows how long. Then we must find a Solomon capable of repairing the damage of decades and finding ways to insure that both sides begin to live in a state of freedom, respect and peace as good neighbors rather than sworn enemies. That’s a tall order and in the meantime we all might want to consider making our discussions about the issues calm and focused on determining what might work rather than creating our own little battles of differing opinions. Emotions are not going to end this, nor will more fighting or name calling or destroying property or putting people in jail . This is going to take some very hard work. I want to believe that we humans are up to the task even as the evidence worries me.