In times of stress or extreme emotion in my life, I tend to
do one of two things. I either write or I play computer Solitaire compulsively.
My writing allows me to get the thoughts
that won't stop dancing in my head down on paper. It isn't even that I want to write. I know that I have to. Even when I know that right now, my writing is not going to be
meaningful, poignant, or unique. I don't have a story to tell because I'm not a
part of this story, I'm just reacting to
it.
Because I don't think my words are important, I turn to
Solitaire. It gives me something to do
instead of think and I play it in kind of a stupor. I've used my ritual in odd
ways as well, giving it more power than it obviously holds. I remember sitting at the computer with my big
pregnant belly resting in my lap, telling myself during a particularly volatile
time of my life "If I win this game,
my husband will come back," like it
was a mystical Magic 8 ball that predicted the future by wins and losses.
I'm writing now. That's because I've already played
Solitaire. And it hasn't worked as well as it has in the past. I'm in sensory
overload after hearing and reading several straight hours of news coverage on a
horrific terror attack. Part of me wants
to read/hear/learn more, but most of me needs to stop imagining the horror of
it all. I know there is nothing unique about my reaction. All of America is
reacting the way I am right now. They want to do something, they want to understand
why, they want to react in a meaningful way. An event like this tends to bring
us all together in a weird united way. We tend to cling to that feeling,
because it is something.
Like everyone else I know, I posted earlier on Facebook. We
seem to seek connection in times like these, rushing to interact with our loved
ones, acquaintances, or even internet strangers. I posted about how affected I was by the runners who
just finished a marathon running (running!!) to the hospital to donate blood
for the victims. Why this is the image that brings me to tears out of all the
other images is unknown. I want to see
good. I do see good. And that's what I choose to focus on. But is that what I
should be focusing on? Those that selflessly ran to help others? Or should I focus on those that are maimed or
even killed and their families? That seems harder than focusing on the heroes.
I think about my faith and how I rely on it in times like
this. It isn't a time to wrestle with where God is in this tragedy for me,
although I know it probably is for others. It is a time for me to look for the good that
God can bring from it. But do I do that because again, seeing good is easier
than dealing with other, harder issues like evil? It is also a time to seek
comfort from my God. But I feel guilty in that comfort, because people in
Boston may not be feeling that right now.
I am wondering how to deal with this issue in my
professional life. I teach teachers. I will be teaching future high school teachers
tomorrow, and I think they will ask me
how to handle things like this with their students. I don't know the answer
because there isn't one right answer. I think I will tell them to take the lead
from their students. If they need to talk about it, let them talk about it. If
they need to write about it, let them write about it. If they need to ignore it
and play Solitaire compulsively, then let them do that. I might encourage them to ask their students
what they need, what they do, to deal with awful stuff.
I can't end this in a way that ties my writing together
beautifully because the words that have been struggling to get out are out, and
as I suspected, they are not earth shattering. But they served their purpose.
I've begun processing what I'm feeling and I'm ready, able actually, to do
something besides write or play Solitaire.
