As I sit here in New York City and type on my keyboard, the sky is orange-grey. The windows are shut and the air purifier is on. It’s dark in our apartment, despite it being mid-day. The cat peers out the window, with interest and a touch of what I think to be fear. We can both feel it: something isn’t right.
In despair, I scroll Instagram, and see this post:
I just got back from a friend’s house, where we talked about the situation we find ourselves in: forest fire smoke from Canada blankets New York City.
A few years ago, I spent time in New Dehli. During the days there, I could not see the sky. When I came back to New York, I was amazed that the sky was blue! This seemed like a miracle.
Now, the gray smoke-sky has come to New York City. The smoke from the wildfires doesn’t care about borders. It doesn’t care about whether we live in a rich neighborhood or a poor one. We all share the same air.
I talked about my feelings with my friend. Here’s a bulleted list of them:
Anger (that humanity has gotten into this pickle)
Compassion (for others around the world that have to deal with bad air quality, and everyone else dealing with this now, some of whom may have respiratory issues, have to evacuate, etc...)
Despair (that this issue is so big and I don't have the power to directly change it)
Hope (that this will push humanity to act)
Peace (the flipside of despair, that because this issue is so big and I am so small, it isn’t in my power, as an individual, to “fix it")
Joy and gratitude (that I get to connect with community around this, that there are still beautiful things in the world)
I told my friend about how I was lost in a new city a few weeks ago, and was trying not to use my phone. I wanted to ask a few folks for directions, but then I thought: “They will probably think I’m weird. They will probably say: ‘Why don’t you look up the directions on your phone?’ And so, I didn’t ask.
The technology of AI-based maps, which seems to be so unequivocally good, has made the behavior of asking for directions a rarity these days. Asking for / giving directions fosters connection between people. And between people and the land.
How did we get ourselves into this environmental pickle? I think a big part of the answer is that we’ve adopted technologies and ways of living that have disconnected us from each other, from the land, all in the name of speed and convenience.
How do we find our way back? By building communities of joy, connection, and action.
I read my friend the poem A Brief for the Defense, by Jack Gilbert:
A Brief For The Defense
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.Britt Wray has said that it’s important to embrace multiple truths. To apply practices that allow us to be with suffering and face reality. And then to get curious.
There is the reality that I’m angry. There’s also the reality that my cat (the local Bengal tiger!) is fashioned miraculously well. There’s the reality is that I’m grateful to have a friend to process these feelings with. It’s all true.
My friend said that you can both “enjoy your cocktails AND protest.” As Gilbert says, “To make injustice the only measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.”
We must risk delight. We must cultivate stubborn gladness “in the ruthless furnace of the world.”
So, if you are affected by these wildfires, or any other environmental disaster, I pray that you can compassionately embrace all of your feelings.
For me, writing, being in community and doing concrete actions (e.g. composting, protesting, gardening, volunteering) are all meaningful ways to express my values. But I’m not emotionally ready to take to the streets today. After I publish this, I’m going to clean the apartment, eat dinner and relax. This is my way of cultivating my mental health. It’s my stubborn gladness.
And.
And.
And.