I’m a glass at least half full, if not overflowing, kind of guy. That’s how most people see me. That’s what I like to see in the mirror. It works most of the time. I just know I’m likely to find a parking spot when I need it. I trust that with a bit of intention and attention and a dose of serendipity and good fortune, things will align and, at least much of the time, yield a happy result. As the Stones song goes, even if I can’t always get what I want, I’ll get what I need. That’s just how I’m wired.
But there are times, often – but not always - in the dark of night, when the glass is shattered, the water dried up, when I’m feeling chills from a very cold place, wallowing in the hell of multiple catastrophes (real or imagined), in a scary place with many dimly-lit chambers and no exit.
I can get fixated on the bad things that happen to good people. A dear friend died after a 14 year battle with cancer. Two men I love have Parkinson’s, staring down an increasingly disconcerting and debilitating existence. They face, too, becoming ever-more reliant on the caretaking of those closest to them, the last people they’d want to so burden. I dread and can’t escape the horrible thoughts of their fate and of the prospect of taking a similar journey and the toll I know it would take on my family.
I’m a parent. I can never be completely free of worry about my children’s – and their children’s – wellbeing. A sports injury? Not eating enough or healthfully? Medical challenges? Their emotional state? Thankfully they’re all fine, but that doesn’t stop my worry brain.
As a husband, nothing matters more than Cathy’s health and happiness. The ups are a joy to observe and share. The downs my mind can conjure up in the darkness are as painful as anything I know.
As I age, my own health invites fear. My heart required surgery last year. My prostate needs it now. What lies ahead and what challenges might I need to face?
As a teacher, public speaker, or writer, communicating effectively has always mattered to me – a lot! What if I’m not heard or read? What if I have no ideas, no words, no choice phrases? What if the well of creativity is drained and dry?
And then there’s the world. What toxins are in the air we breathe, what carcinogens in the food we eat? We face water shortages, raging fires, rising seas, threatened shores, and interrupted food supplies. How will we react to the disruption? Do our fears and uncertainty account, at least in part, for the rise in totalitarianism across the globe? Divisions – political, social, and economic – are not new, yet the weight of them does seem new and so very threatening to our democracy and safety.
So, what do I do when I’m going through these dark places? At times, I find myself given to denial or depression, shutting down, wanting a nap, or just watching like a disconnected, unfeeling observer. When I can be more engaged, I remember that Winston Churchill offered advice for such times: “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” When I can muster a bit of humor, I borrow from Rene Descartes and come up with “I fret, therefore I am,” and detach just a bit from the weight of the fretting.
And when I can reflect, neither deny nor empower thoughts and feelings of uncertainty, fear, and despair, it dawns on me that I am the author of all those worries, even as I’m the author of the happy face I like to see in the mirror. I’m the author of dark journeys and the author of the elation, gratitude and hope I feel, of the stories I write, and of the nightmares and dreams I have.
As the author, I can choose the narrative. I can lie in bed and fret, or interrupt the flow of fears, break the spell, take an off ramp from the travels with darkness. As the old adage teaches, when you’re in a hole, stop digging. I can get up, drink some water, make tea, listen to music, sit in my favorite chair, or write. On a good night, fears, once committed to paper, are that much less overwhelming and even grist for the writing mill, like much of this paragraph and the title of this essay. They came to light in the darkness.
In my experience, it matters less which off ramp from travels with darkness I choose, than that I take one. I fret and I dream, therefore I am. And I get to choose and own it all.
I really enjoy and appreciate your writing, Jay.
Thanks, Jay, for sharing these thoughts. You give me inspiration--I'm the author, after all.