When all seems lost, control what you can
There is power in saying, 'No,' when circumstances seem to conspire against you.
We all live with the knowledge that it all could end at any moment. That we are all “here today, gone tomorrow.”
My tomorrow nearly came a few days ago in a terrifying incident that could have had devastating, irreversible effects for me and for others. Through the blessing of the Universe, I am able to recount it, reflect, and share my observations.
My car, after an impossible-to-avoid crash caused by a total failure of my car’s brakes in a heavily trafficked neighborhood.
As an activist for progressive causes, I spend my days immersed in the chaos of our political and cultural reality, offering sometimes-snarky observations and out-of-the-box ideas about how we could turn it all around. I relish the collaboration and the philosophical discussions that emerge when people with similar values come together.
But when this happened, I could count only on myself, and the only thought in my head was of survival and of managing the circumstances of the moment in the way most likely to find my lungs breathing and heart still beating at the end.
Fighting for your life does put everything in perspective. Looking back, the short-lived event plays out as a series of memories, like a film in slow motion. There is the moment of realization, followed by frantic efforts coldly calculated, the probabilities of success weighed, and finally, a surrender to the inevitability as the situation came to its crashing, yet best-case-scario end.
At the height of an experience that seemed headed toward certain catastrophe, I remember repeating a simple phrase, “no, please no.” The succinct phrase actually meant, “Please don’t let this be happening. If it is happening, please don’t let anyone else get hurt. Please don’t let this change my life or someone elses’s in a catastrophic way. Please don’t let me die.”
I focused like a laser on that sentiment. Don’t let me die. Not because I feel I have more to do (which I do). Not because I am afraid to die (which I am). Not because I think my life is more important than anyone else’s (which I don’t). It’s because of the joy I find in living.
Joy. Dictionary definition: feeling of elation, great delight caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying.
I phoned a friend after the dust settled, and we got to talking about the meaning of, and reason for, life. Coming out the other side of this type of event has a way of spurring such thoughts.
We talked about our life’s work — we first met more than 40 years ago, he a slightly more experienced reporter than I at a hyper-local newspaper in his native city, and the one I adopted where I spent the next four decades — and how fleeting in the face of history are our efforts to record both the mundane and the majestic moments in the lives of ordinary and extraordinary people.
Why do we do it, devoting the majority of our effort, our hours and days that ultimately become the bulk of our time on Earth, to something that isn’t likely to live on after us.
“What’s the point?” he asked.
This was my answer: The point is to watch the sun set at the end of the day and feel some kind of emotion that stops you in your tracks and forces you to stand there until it’s dark. To feel yourself dwarfed by the immensity of the natural world.
The point is to wake up to birds singing and to feel in your heart that you know exactly what they are saying, and why. To understand that well before we were born and well after we are gone, people are going to listen to those songs and know what we know, because we are a piece of eternity.
The point is to look at someone you love and cherish the connection, whether the relationship has brought you more pain than pleasure, because somewhere in between the laughter and the tears there was one moment where you understood what it means for two souls to be one.
As I always have done, I will continue to wake up every morning grateful for the privilege. The gratitude will be stronger and sweeter in the short term, while the realization that the next moment is not guaranteed us is still fresh. This hard-won perspective isn’t going to last, of course. While it will never be forgotten, life’s other experiences, good, bad and in between, will intervene, will soften the hard edges, and wear away some of the urgency.
Circling back to my day-to-day work, which I like to think of as giving hope to people who feel misunderstood by the universe that surrounds them:
Gay, bi, or trans kids who feel rejected by the community that’s supposed to love and support them.
Hard-working people who get up every day and go to a job they don’t love and accept an unfairly low wage and disrespectful treatment because they have a family to feed and an innate dignity they will allow no one to steal.
Men and women of a certain age, past their working years and dependent on a system that promised them financial security now afraid they won’t be able to afford the basic necessities of living.
Politically left-leaning folks who can’t understand the right, and vice-versa, in a world where political discourse has become so toxic it can turn family members against each other and neighbor to wish harm on his neighbor.
The sheer terror I felt that day has already softened into relief. And with reflection comes a certain clarity. I’d already been thinking a lot about how everything in each of our lives is connected, and how those connections ripple out, like the proverbial pebble in the water, to touch the lives of everyone who comes into contact with us, in big and small ways.
My very focused, event-specific existential crisis has given me a sense of perspective on the constant terror that people who feel they have no control over the circumstances in their lives must feel.
I don’t pretend to understand the despair that comes with that. I am lucky to have the means to live a frugal yet fulfilling life. But I do understand the low-level hum of concern that comes with knowing the things I count on are just a few legislative votes or presidential decrees away from disappearing.
What I can share is this: There is a certain strength and power that comes with deciding to act in an effort to affect the outcome. We may not be able to control the the threats facing us, but we can decide to take action in whatever ways we can to try to protect ourselves from the worst outcomes. We are certain to fail in every attempt we do not make. Resisting what seems inevitable is not futility. Giving into it, however …
I wish you the courage and the resources to take whatever steps you are able to protect yourself and those you care about from the worst possible scenario. And I wish you a community of people who are willing to help when things go south.
Most of all, I wish you peace. Peace in your home and your community. Peace of mind. And the peace of knowing you are as strong as you need to be.
(GreenWolf is a real person living with their three rescue dogs and among friends and family in a quiet northern New England community.)