A cartoon in the New Yorker last decades showed two prisoners chained to the wall of wrists and ankles, well above the ground, in a prison cell, in a cave. A man turns to the other and says: “Okay, here is my plan….”
I thought about it after reading the news with my coffee. Outside a thick, blur and gray sky is looming. The ridge was almost obscured. Panic seemed to sit on my chest and admire her polished nails. All my older friends express this anxious despair. We feel older in recent months as chaos and cruelty degenerate. We are more tired and forgetful, noting an increase in food stains on our shirts, strange streaks on our good pants.
We blame Elon Musk.
The covert time reflected my current state, which is, let's say, concerned, usual random pockets of happiness, and hope in the goodness of people and this old silly constitution. I always feel life as a great gift, in a mixed way. Once Carrie Fisher was in a long period of sobriety, an interviewer asked her if she was happy now, and she replied: “Happy is one of the things that I am most of the time.”
Where is our northern star, pointing from the house? We have never lived in a country where men behave like that. While we are waiting to see if Musk and President Trump challenge the orders of the coming court, while we are waiting for the mass protest marches and the general strikes begin, my friends and I are busy with each other and our families. We give to the aclu and the oxfam. We register with each other: the system works because we are not all panicked on the same day. Someone always has hope about the future. It's me, quite often. I know that in the heart of my Sunday teacher, that goodness surrounds us, that Grace Batts lasts and that things will not end well for these guys. Yay, Karma.
Millions of people are damaged. Direct action is necessary, occurs, begins to grow. We look and hope.
We savor everything that still works, beauty all around us, small moments. Of course, in my grumpy case, some are avenging: watch The little boy muscles rumbles Trump in the oval office gave me a new lease on life. I laughed for days in Trump, like someone trying to be polite during a bad first appointment. While Musk delirious on the press, you can see Trump wanting to support this strange little billionaire. You could see him think: “For what I accepted this; And who should I shoot?
Certain moments are practical: clean sheets clear on the bed as often as possible, being between them as a delicious sandwich garnish.
Some are cultural. Edward Norton as Pete Seeger in “A complete unknown”. Paul Simon and Sabrina Carpenter singing a duo of “Homeward Bound”, the old genius and the new Green Sprout who broke concrete.
A recent morning in the dark, I called a friend who can sometimes offer hope, but he refused to talk about the latest news: the day before, Trump had accidentally pulled nuclear weapons staff – too bad. It was the final straw for my friend. “You are a big baby,” I said. “Pick Pick Pick.” I asked what his plans were for the day. He said, languidly, “I think I'm just going to sit down and try to enjoy the fascist paradise.” I burst out laughing, a little hysterically, maybe like Blanche Dubois on the crack.
He imagined it lying near the swimming pool on a lounge chair with a frosted lime rickey and a long cigarette medium went up my mind all morning.
My friends and I are looking for hope, answers and perhaps a prophet or two. We look like worried children. The author Barry Lopez wrote: “We are looking for all the boats that we forget to build.”
My great friend, the writer Mark Yaconelli, visited a work community in one of the most devoid areas of Glasgow, called Gal Gael, of lost young people, recovering drug addicts, homeless and war veterans, building a sailboat in the ancients. They chipped and sculpted and scratched with old tools, and no nails. They stuck wooden slabs together, slipped them perfectly. They were happy. They had a goal and from each other. Their creation of boats concerned cultural pride and reconnection with the lost roots.
Mark asked the director, “What will you do with this boat?” After a minute, the man replied: “We are going to navigate.”
Maybe we have to build a bunch of small boats. We can start or join projects to feed and protect those who are most in danger now, meals and community organization, get to know each other. My friends and I remember having gone to demonstrations in Vietnam in the 1960s where 12 people showed up, but ultimately we arrested the war. Will large and small demonstrations make a difference? They are good for the soul. We must continue to act on our understanding of what is right. We must perform compassionate acts that are missing in the current unpleasant public sphere.
When someone sees people like reacting us in a human and compassionate way, it is a control against the wild thing that we all carry inside.
When I became sober in 1986, a man told me that at the end of his consumption, he deteriorated faster than he could lower his standards, and it was me exactly. I honestly and deeply think that it happens now in the Capitol. We hit the bottom, where there is nothing to do except give in to what you cannot control. It is time for confidence and discount. The tight muscles let go because there is nothing left to have fun. Letting go gives a taste of peace, long awaited, and this is where the change occurs, perhaps not at the beginning in the frightening situation, but internally.
Usually, a story that starts with a dark weather and a heavy heart ends with the sun projecting, but something better happened on the day of the blurred gray morning. A beautiful curtain of rain drops started to fall, and it made me so happy. We are all dried up for humidity, inside and outside. The puddles of water and the first white paper are worth the cold.
Anne Lamott, a fiction and non-friction author, lives in the county of Marin. His latest book is “in a way: thoughts on love”. X: @Annelamot
