Reacting

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.