There are days that I feel like a little Indian girl posing as Atlas. The weight of the world rests on my scrawny shoulders, causing me to slump and touch my chin to my chest in agony as I exhale. It is on these days that I should avoid the news and even looking at the faces of the public as I walk by. It is on these days I feel awash with grief, defeat, despair. My own version of survivor’s guilt for living such a rich life.
There are people hurting at every turn. Animals abused and left for road kill. Kids…oh the kids. I can’t even bring myself to think about the range of atrocities that people commit against children.
Famine. Drought. Abuse. Hate. Greed. Fear. Hubris. Disease. Pain. War.
The coach who sexually abused his students.
The stepmother indicted in the slaying of her 10 year old stepdaughter who had cancer and was also physically disabled.
The doctor who killed a ballerina in a drunken high speed crash.
The woman hijacked by Somali pirates.
Wildfires.
Sexual assault of a 9 year old.
Homicide.
And that’s just the home page of a local news site.
In so many ways the world seems damaged, its brittle peaks cracked and umber earth crumpled. The debris of mayhem marking a path of irreparable damage. People relegated to walk the path single file instead of hand in hand. There are times I want to weep and wallow. I wonder where to look for the proverbial silver lining. I sometimes forget that the glass is indeed half full. I forget too to be thankful for having a cup that runneth over. I forget what it feels like to be graced with the life I have, instead feeling shame, pity, sadness, and that consumer’s version of survivor’s guilt.
How can I possibly want for something when I have everything?
And then I peer out the glass French doors that lead to the backyard and I see my sons engaged in makeshift game of soccer involving some orange cones and a wrought iron garden bench. They switch to football, punting and tackling and practicing their spirals. I hear them count layups as they take turns shooting hoops in the driveway. I watch them toss in bits of this and that to make mud soup. They dunk chunks of sidewalk chalk into pails of water to enhance the color as they decorate the patio with drawing of kites, flags, and clouds. I see them doused in dirt after digging in the garden during an afternoon outside on this, the gift of a spring day in February. Their hands and cheeks a mosaic of tree sap, purple chalk, grass stains, and ketchup. I hear the sounds of innocence, curiosity, glee. It is impossible to wallow when you hear little boys screeching like banshees on a secret agent mission that takes place in the future at an undisclosed farmstead or whatever their extraordinary imaginations conjure up. I find myself listening and watching and feel the corners of my mouth wrinkle upwards into a full fledged grin. I put down the paper, grab a few handfuls of chocolate and run outside. A little chocolate added to the grime of a surprise summer day won’t hurt them.
I look at my sons and see all that is right with the world.
I couldn’t agree with you more. There is so much tragedy in the world but we need only look around to find joy that will balance it out. This very reason is why we’re moving back to Kentucky. I can’t look in my grandchildren’s faces without feeling extreme joy. Love to both your boys.
I’m feeling the same way lately about the world. And then feeling of hope when I see my own kids and their happiness. It’s hard not to carry so much stress and anxiety on our shoulders.
Let’s make a date with you, me and a lot of wine and chocolate and forget a little bit of that weight for just an evening. What do you say?
How do you do it? You manage to blog what I’m thinking on a regular basis. Thanks Ilina. You rock. That is all.