writing for self-discovery

The nightmare that unfolded at the U.S. Capitol on the afternoon of January 6th was almost a relief in the grimmest of ways. I’ve been holding my breath for four years wondering when something unspeakable – more unspeakable than everything that’s already transpired – would happen.

Because of the time difference in Bali, I awoke early the morning of the 7th, clicked on the news, and caught my breath. There it was. That forbidden thing, so dark that even my Pluto soul was horrified.

Since then, I’ve only been able to watch the news through the lens of late show hosts. Those born comedians handled their reporting of the insurrection brilliantly – there were no jokes that night. Seth Meyers’ scathing rebuke gave me chills. Stephen Colbert’s outrage mirrored my own. Even Jimmy Fallon, that spotlight-loving, delectable hunk of eye-candy, delivered a compassionate message that went straight to my heart. James Cordon and Jimmy Kimmel – all of them dropped the funny-man persona and rose to the occasion.

In the days following that one-time needful deviation from their norms, the news delivered by those comedic commentators has come through more solemnly than usual but with a sprinkle of humor. It’s just enough to make me – not laugh, not yet. But I’ve managed a grunt of appreciation.

I confess I watch all of them. Every night. Sometimes in the morning too, if clouds threaten a rainy day. It’s that season in Bali – wet, wet, and wetter.

We cope with the devastating events of 2020 that have now spilled over into 2021 in our own ways. For me, the process has evolved from numbing with food and alcohol, to making myself feel the fear, grief, loss, uncertainty, and loneliness, acknowledging the pain of those emotions, and allowing them to pass through me.

I don’t do it perfectly. I don’t even do it well. It’s sloppy and prone to sinkholes. Sometimes I feel like I’m caught in one of those cartoon scenes where I’m dangling over the side of a cliff, clinging to a rope that is fraying strand by strand. But there are good days too.

What I’m finding is this:

There’s no right way to manage the un-imagine-able. There’s no guidebook. Nothing before prepared us for now. We’re all flying by the seat of our pants trying as best we can to simply survive. But the more we can tune in to what our bodies need and (safely) give ourselves that, the more loving and gentle we can be with our nervous systems, the more space and acceptance we can offer our emotions while grabbing every opportunity we can to laugh – that’s what will get us through.

Oh! And meanwhile…or quarantinewhile as Stephen Colbert would say…if you haven’t tried the lighter approach to the news, maybe give it a go. There’s nothing much to lose.