Quotidian Life in the Midst of Turmoil
Or perhaps I could call this post “How does one live in a world that seems to be falling apart?”
Early in Covid, back when I had no idea just how dramatically the world would change, I stumbled on to an online reading group proposing to read War and Peace. That’s one of those (many) books I feel like I should have read, so I joined the group. I imagined a time a decade or more later, when a young child — as long as I’m spinning a fantasy, I’ll say my grandchild — would ask, “What did you do during covid?” “Why,” I’d say, “I read War and Peace.” Of course, Covid outlasted the reading of War and Peace. But while my reading of it lasted, reading it was a good way to while away some of the hours of my retired life.
I think of that now because I’m living in another time of uncertainty, this one tinged with anger and fear for the state of the world. I believed last week that the reality of Trump’s presidency would be as bad as my worst imaginings, but I find now that my imagination fell short of the reality. I find hope in the courageous responses of Episcopal Bishop Mariann Budde and Senator Bernie Sanders, but the torrent of executive orders and other actions of the new administration seems to be overwhelming. It is indeed an attempt to flood the zone, throwing so much stuff against the wall that those who would resist find it difficult to decide just where to start. Some have compared this onslaught to a distributed denial of service attack on an internet server, sending so many requests to the server that it collapses under the weight of demands on its services. And, it seems clear to me, there are those in Trump’s administration who would like nothing more than for governmental services to collapse.
Of course, some are starting to fight back, taking up the causes espoused by Budde, Sanders, and many others; we can hope – I, at least, have no choice but to hope – that at least some of those attempts will be successful. Indeed, at least one pundit suggests that Trump’s bite could fall far short of his bark (and, I would say, there’s a lot of room to fall there).
I’m doing what I can, donating to organizations fighting the good fight and raising concerns here and elsewhere. And contemplating what I might do if (when?) things get even worse. I’ve even wondered if I can still find my “Don’t blame me. I voted for McGovern” bumper sticker. Of course, I’d have to explain that to many people – how many still living remember the last time a candidate lost in a landslide only to see his opponent fall in shame a scant two or three years later? Of course, the 1972 election was a real landslide, as opposed to the fictitious one documented in some circles these days. But as long as we’re hoping, we can still hope for it to be followed by a collapse into shame.
Even as I struggle with how to respond to the turmoil in the world, I have my more quotidian concerns. Some of these are the concerns of a retired person, living with and offering support to a partner who is still working to defend human rights. I walk to the grocery store. I do the dishes. I do the laundry. I make it to the gym when I can. And I read. Lots of reading. Sometimes, when I’m reading, I think that perhaps I should be out in the streets instead. Perhaps it will come to that. But, for now at least, I have this sense that I should live as though there are intellectual questions that still matter, questions that still need to be explored. And I’m going to make room in the midst of all the turmoil to explore those questions — as best I can.