Noisy January
Last week I took down the Christmas decorations. Did you do the same? There is always an exercise in cleaning, going behind, all of it. Needles left behind from the greens. Vases and containers to be washed and stored. Objects to be weeded out and given away. The decked halls give way to sparser ones. The house takes a minute to breathe quietly again.
Last week was a noisy one in the news. Did you feel it, too? Anger, disappointment, protest, and fact-checking pierced the daily conversation again, online and in the news. Accusations and absolutism prevailed, some correct, some not correct, but all extremely self-assured and confident.
Regardless of how you’re reading the news every week, there are times when it can seem overwhelming and loud. Life feels heavier than ever before.
When these heavy things happen in our world, we can become paralyzed. The temptation to doomscroll and “find things out” overtakes. We trick ourselves into thinking that knowing more is the same as doing something about the circumstances.
In reality, there is often little we can do to address the events that occur; what we can control is how we respond to them. After the headlines, after the events, we are left with a mess behind to attempt to sweep up. What remains? What actions can we take? And how can we let our own internal places start to breathe again? We might attend an event to voice our thoughts; we might call a representative; we may change our vote in a certain way in response; we should all be praying. But then what? When is it OK to breathe again?
Part of this is disordered thinking from the influence of the twenty-four-hour news cycle and the readiness of the internet to feed us “information.” We end up feeling that there is always more to know, more to read, more to see, more to hear, more to understand. The problem is that last bit. At the end of all the chatter, have we understood anything more? Or are we in the place where we started—just with higher blood pressure?
In case you need this reminder, the internet doesn’t have a last page. You’ll never find it. And even if you did, it would not provide you with any sort of closure. You wouldn’t feel able to breathe in a way never before possible.
Informed thinking isn’t the same as wise thinking. And wisdom doesn’t free us from the heaviness of current events; instead, wisdom reminds us of our proper (small but important) place in them. Sometimes this place is more critical to the issue at hand than we thought before. Most of the time, it’s not.
What we can wisely do is look right in front of us, at the humans we’re next to. Who are they? How can we serve them? In serving those closest to us, we mount our own protest in the form of properly-ordered love, valuing those often undervalued, be they the friendless ones in our communities or our own vulnerable children under our own roofs. Setting one foot in front of the other and setting a bowl of warm soup in front of a hungry person is an expression of generosity, justice, and grace.
It is quiet, but it is mighty.
The above essay was originally published in the Story Warren Weekly newsletter. If you’re not subscribed, you can do so right here. You’ll get a free gift just for signing up!
When she’s not behind her laptop, Kelly enjoys live music, baseball, reading great books, and traveling with her husband, David. Kelly hails from beautiful snowy New England, but after nearly two decades in North Carolina, she feels right at home.
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