In times of uncertainty, I like to forget. I like to forget about the submissions, the emails, the decisions that might make or break my next move. I focus on things I can do: I clean, I cook, and I read and write in ways that continue enriching my life without whatever it is that I'm hoping to hear word from.
In these kinds of uncertainty, this tactic is not quite as useful. How can one forget about certain death if not of myself then of people who easily could have been me? More than one friend shared with me last night a description of their bodies: given in to numbness, the psychic retreat that prepares one for harm.
Yet, moving the body continues to work. The freeze we experience, as I wrote on some weeks ago, is a real trauma response. I liken it to sleep paralysis, the terror of having open eyes in a world one can't move in.
So it's become important to move in the world. To remember what freedoms are still possible. To look to possibilities of growth rather than staring at the walls of psychic dead-ends. I can't think my way through this. My body is in the present. I must remember it.
Hey Yanyi! I am thinking of all of you in the States right now, and I hope you guys are okay.
Watching what’s happening now reminds me a lot of what’s been happening here in Malaysia for the last three years: a roiling mess of uncertain change, one that feels consuming and unendurable at times. I think here we are used to never having the certainty of knowing what will happen: we’ve never had the luxury of a fixed idea of what it means to be of our country, to be apart and Othered but also undeniably borne of this place.
I think for me, amidst uncertainty, I keep ahold of the feeling that this is a driver of connection between myself and others. Friendships have anchored me against uncertainty and when stuff has gotten difficult, we gather. Which is of course hard to do now, but we’ve been making time to check in regularly; we do a rotation of activities online or (safely) in small numbers. Things like watching films together on Discord, or writing notes to each other on set days of the week. We’ve learned that literally nothing is given but each other (out of a continual choice to keep giving ourselves to each other) so we call, and send cake and touch base. I know this is very cheesy and maybe not the most Concrete of things but it’s weathered me through the worst of times.
Hi Samantha. Thank you for your perspective here. This is not cheesy! It's speaking to a need that we see in so many grieving rituals. In being together, we can hold each other up, give mutual aid when any of us need it, share resources. The reasons are often incidental: it's about the spontaneous ability for all of us to create communities where our voices are heard and our opinions actionable. That these are possible without the outcomes of states or empires.
Good question, Yanyi. As the others have mentioned, connecting with friends and keeping grounded in your current environment help a lot. I've gotten a lot of comfort out of washing dishes, putting together a decent meal, and walking around the neighborhood. I've also been appreciating my partner, remembering how amazing it is to live with someone you love, even to see them. What gives me hope beyond the present is this strange sense of freedom from some expectations. Like, in a world this messed up, who can tell you what your life should look like, or what success looks like? The metrics of it seem absurd and irrelevant, and I feel more validated in living however I like and being who I want to be. Of course, there are material constraints and cultural norms that I need to observe, but I still feel like I can trust my own feelings and conscience a bit more than others' expectations. What also helps is fantasies of how I'd like to celebrate once day when it's safe enough to go dancing...
Hi Ani. I love the observation that a part of this is liberating, even a little. The stories you and I grew up believing are going to feel less and less real. Which gives us space to fill them in with what we want to begin.
I want to echo what others have said--I am trying to ground myself in routines that care for my body and my brain (taking a walk every day, making sure I read a little bit of fiction and poetry, etc.), and in small daily connections with people I love. And I've been reminding myself that the work will still be the work, no matter what happens. Today, trying to get my head around what that work should look like, I picked up Rebecca Solnit's book Hope in the Dark, which I bought after the 2016 election but never actually read, and found this lovely, relevant sentence: "Hope locates itself in the premises that we don't know what will happen and that in the spaciousness of uncertainty is room to act."
Hi Valerie! I got up this morning with the same feeling about work being still work—all kinds of work. The work of our lives, the work of our futures, the work of staying grateful for a present that's still here. Thank you for the Solnit quote.
I build routines, and set myself challenges. Like: read 50 pages of a book a night. Learn to cook a loaf of bread with big holes in it. Drink a cup of coffee in the same place every day, write a journal entry that starts with the same formulation for a month. (And I have a lot of baths.)
Mostly all of this works as a survival strategy, but there's a point where it stops bringing joy and becomes somewhere between a chore and an addiction. I'm not very good at recognising that, and not good at changing up when it does.
Hi Tom! I agree, I find rituals like this very grounding. Even the simple gesture of eating three square meals a day are a daily pleasure, a way of breaking time up, that helps one feel in control. It helps progress feel achievable, especially if you are alone.
In times of uncertainty, I like to forget. I like to forget about the submissions, the emails, the decisions that might make or break my next move. I focus on things I can do: I clean, I cook, and I read and write in ways that continue enriching my life without whatever it is that I'm hoping to hear word from.
In these kinds of uncertainty, this tactic is not quite as useful. How can one forget about certain death if not of myself then of people who easily could have been me? More than one friend shared with me last night a description of their bodies: given in to numbness, the psychic retreat that prepares one for harm.
Yet, moving the body continues to work. The freeze we experience, as I wrote on some weeks ago, is a real trauma response. I liken it to sleep paralysis, the terror of having open eyes in a world one can't move in.
So it's become important to move in the world. To remember what freedoms are still possible. To look to possibilities of growth rather than staring at the walls of psychic dead-ends. I can't think my way through this. My body is in the present. I must remember it.
Hey Yanyi! I am thinking of all of you in the States right now, and I hope you guys are okay.
Watching what’s happening now reminds me a lot of what’s been happening here in Malaysia for the last three years: a roiling mess of uncertain change, one that feels consuming and unendurable at times. I think here we are used to never having the certainty of knowing what will happen: we’ve never had the luxury of a fixed idea of what it means to be of our country, to be apart and Othered but also undeniably borne of this place.
I think for me, amidst uncertainty, I keep ahold of the feeling that this is a driver of connection between myself and others. Friendships have anchored me against uncertainty and when stuff has gotten difficult, we gather. Which is of course hard to do now, but we’ve been making time to check in regularly; we do a rotation of activities online or (safely) in small numbers. Things like watching films together on Discord, or writing notes to each other on set days of the week. We’ve learned that literally nothing is given but each other (out of a continual choice to keep giving ourselves to each other) so we call, and send cake and touch base. I know this is very cheesy and maybe not the most Concrete of things but it’s weathered me through the worst of times.
Hi Samantha. Thank you for your perspective here. This is not cheesy! It's speaking to a need that we see in so many grieving rituals. In being together, we can hold each other up, give mutual aid when any of us need it, share resources. The reasons are often incidental: it's about the spontaneous ability for all of us to create communities where our voices are heard and our opinions actionable. That these are possible without the outcomes of states or empires.
Good question, Yanyi. As the others have mentioned, connecting with friends and keeping grounded in your current environment help a lot. I've gotten a lot of comfort out of washing dishes, putting together a decent meal, and walking around the neighborhood. I've also been appreciating my partner, remembering how amazing it is to live with someone you love, even to see them. What gives me hope beyond the present is this strange sense of freedom from some expectations. Like, in a world this messed up, who can tell you what your life should look like, or what success looks like? The metrics of it seem absurd and irrelevant, and I feel more validated in living however I like and being who I want to be. Of course, there are material constraints and cultural norms that I need to observe, but I still feel like I can trust my own feelings and conscience a bit more than others' expectations. What also helps is fantasies of how I'd like to celebrate once day when it's safe enough to go dancing...
Hi Ani. I love the observation that a part of this is liberating, even a little. The stories you and I grew up believing are going to feel less and less real. Which gives us space to fill them in with what we want to begin.
Thank you, Yanyi. You're making it a little easier for me to feel like I'm allowed to try and be free, and I can do it, and I'm not alone in that.
I want to echo what others have said--I am trying to ground myself in routines that care for my body and my brain (taking a walk every day, making sure I read a little bit of fiction and poetry, etc.), and in small daily connections with people I love. And I've been reminding myself that the work will still be the work, no matter what happens. Today, trying to get my head around what that work should look like, I picked up Rebecca Solnit's book Hope in the Dark, which I bought after the 2016 election but never actually read, and found this lovely, relevant sentence: "Hope locates itself in the premises that we don't know what will happen and that in the spaciousness of uncertainty is room to act."
Hi Valerie! I got up this morning with the same feeling about work being still work—all kinds of work. The work of our lives, the work of our futures, the work of staying grateful for a present that's still here. Thank you for the Solnit quote.
I build routines, and set myself challenges. Like: read 50 pages of a book a night. Learn to cook a loaf of bread with big holes in it. Drink a cup of coffee in the same place every day, write a journal entry that starts with the same formulation for a month. (And I have a lot of baths.)
Mostly all of this works as a survival strategy, but there's a point where it stops bringing joy and becomes somewhere between a chore and an addiction. I'm not very good at recognising that, and not good at changing up when it does.
Hi Tom! I agree, I find rituals like this very grounding. Even the simple gesture of eating three square meals a day are a daily pleasure, a way of breaking time up, that helps one feel in control. It helps progress feel achievable, especially if you are alone.