The last week, I started thinking about the future. Do we know what is going to happen? We speculate, preparing for the worst–hoping we will be pleasantly surprised when it’s “not that bad.” But what if we thought that in the big picture, this election had to happen in order for something better to come about? I don’t know exactly what that is. Again, we can speculate. Maybe the election means some other positive plan gets put into motion. Because this moment is just that—a moment. I want to believe something positive is the end game.
After the 2016 election, I need a new approach to dealing with the election results. Then I scrolled social media with anxious abandon, trying to prove I was not alone in my dread. I felt better knowing others were as disappointed as me, but worse when I started to unfollow and unfriend people I thought would agree with me. I gave up looking at social media for weeks, avoided the news, and tried not to think about it—which made me think about it more.
This year, I returned to my finger curls. And it’s not making me feel better. It’s kind of making everything worse. There were far fewer people to cut ties with, but seeing the collective anger, fear, pain, and apathy made the current state of optimism in the US seem impossible.
What can I do differently? I am realizing just how much I hate social media. But I am using it to promote my book. Can I abandon it? The news is everywhere. I have almost too much access to it.—the computer, TV, and my phone. It’s too easy to get sucked into.
The fact is, he who shall not be named, is living rent-free in my brain, and I hate it. My time and heart are more precious than that. The energy we give him by worry seems counterproductive in some ways. They say what you resist, persists. Yet, at the same time, not paying attention seems irresponsible.
So what do we do? I don’t know. Could we convince news outlets to stop giving him the publicity he so desperately wants? If only.
I am reminded of how I felt after I discovered Friedreich’s ataxia meant I would one day use a wheelchair. I was 17 and I plummeted into a teary, fearful mess. There seemed to be no hope–no confidence in the future. Disability meant my life would be completely devoid of joy and fulfillment. Although it took years for my perspective to change, it did. I discovered I didn’t need to be fixed or cured. I had value as I was. Disability is not a bad word and my journey has been incredible. Things can change, even when it seems impossible.
None of us can predict the future. But the possibilities are endless. Let’s not give up hope.–
Until the next. . .
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