Don't Panic (If Not Panicking is an Available Option)

(I know sometimes we can't help it)

Yesterday, I heard Margaret Atwood interviewed by Sam Fragoso on his podcast, Talk Easy. Right near the top of the conversation, Sam reads to Atwood from the pages of her own book, Burning Questions. In the passage, she describes a feeling she had back in 2012 that, “we were pretending things were normal but whiffs of a change for the worse were already in the air.”

Sam asks her, “Now that we’ve had an overwhelming catastrophe —”

Atwood interrupts him, “— a couple of them!”

Sam agrees, then pushes ahead to ask her if she thinks that “We” are any more focused now, and/or if it feels like we are still “pretending things are normal.”

Listening, I braced myself for her answer.

“We’ve become more focused. But you have to pretend things are normal to a certain extent just to get through daily life. So, running and screaming in all directions isn’t actually that helpful.”

I knew immediately that this was what I wanted to share here today. I’d been thinking all week about a passing reference I made in last week’s letter to my friend Cole¹ where I referred to myself as “plagued by the pressure of ‘carpe diem’,” ever since my mother’s death (and perhaps some other too-early deaths I’ve grieved). I thought perhaps I’d elaborate on what I meant by that. But the more I mulled it over, the more I realized that my relationship with the concept of seizing the day has evolved so much over the past few decades that I didn’t know where to start. I wasn’t even sure that my interest in carpe diem didn’t predate my mother’s death — I vividly recall being moved by the carpe diem scene in Dead Poet’s Society, and surely I must’ve seen that before I turned 15. I think. Right?

In any case, Margaret Atwood’s sentiments about getting through daily life feel a lot closer to what those early lessons in grief actually taught me. No matter how much it feels like the world should stop spinning, it stubbornly refuses. So, we have a choice, once we regain control of our minds and bodies: we can try to live, or we can stop trying. And I guess stopping just never made any sense to me. Because: to what end?

As I see it, these lessons extend to our broken world and our place within it. We live in a world where there is much unfairness and suffering. When has it ever been different? Today, though, it’s easier than ever to get constant updates about all that suffering (it’s actually easier to GET them than to not get them, in my experience). War, injustice, natural disaster, inhumanity — if you’re prone to panic, there are a whole host of options to panic over. Speaking as someone who has had chunks of her life swallowed up with feeling extreme panic over absolutely nothing, I can tell you that it’s only good for one thing: projecting you out of immediate danger. Once that’s happened, panic is a total waste of time and energy, both physical and mental.

The alternative to panic, however, cannot be denial. The phrase “pretending everything is fine,” I think, suggests more active denial than I am recommending (and I feel like Ms. Atwood would agree with me). Luckily, the flip side of living in an age where we can immediately learn about bombings, shootings, earthquakes, and terrible house bills is that it’s easier than ever to be able to help out in some way, large or small. You can send a donation, sign a petition, text a friend. You can do it all on the same device that tells you all the bad news.

Actions are helpful. Guilt-ridden paralysis, or a stubborn refusal to enjoy whatever bounty our own lives offer us…what good does it do anyone? When I feel myself slumped over, reluctant to feel joy because others on earth are feeling pain, I have to remind myself that it’s not an either/or proposition. It is possible — at times, even very necessary — to hold grief in one hand and joy in the other. Instead of running and screaming in the face of it all, to acknowledge, with gratitude, the many ways in which we are blessed; to allow that gratitude to recharge us; and then, to take our charged souls into action however we are able.

1. Thank you for your kind words about that; much to my surprise, it is now my most-read entry by a wide margin, which I think Cole would get a kick out of.