The Inside Job
As I write this, fires are still burning in California. My heart has been heavy from the onslaught of devastating images and footage. Lives have been lost, and people are still missing. Entire neighborhoods have vanished, as people return home to find apocalyptic scenes of destruction. In some areas, communities have already begun the process of rebuilding. Stories of communal support, of unextinguished hope, have pierced through the darkness like stars.
On the other side of the country (where I live), we’ve endured snowstorms, white-outs, and record cold temperatures. I basically lived inside Narnia at the moment, a world away from raging fires. Still, a distant tragedy breathes close. Thanks to modern technology, we’ve never been more connected to one another’s ordinary moments, especially to the monumental tragedies that uproot our lives.
My son, his pink face peeking out from between his puffy coat and hat, asked if the sunset blazing behind the bare branches was “the fire”. It’s here! I can see it! He thought the grey snow clouds were smoke. After I’d explained that the fires were far away, he asked more questions. Such big questions from such a tiny person. I found myself leaning on Mr. Rogers advice, to “look for the helpers.”
More firefighters just arrived from Mexico! And Canada! People are giving away food, water, and clothing! People are rescuing stray dogs! There are so many helpers, more helpers than we can count.
At bedtime, he told me he was still sad. I realized then that maybe I shouldn’t try to talk him out of his own empathy. Moreover, he’s right. The situation is very, very sad. Part of growing up is recognizing which actions are within our power to take. We can control some things, but not everything. And while there are many powerful ways to help from far away - from financial support to raising awareness to imploring elected officials to help - we remain at a distance.
Though not entirely.
I’ve found that other people’s words can bridge the gap, drawing us closer where our minds might draw a blank - or we might succumb to the temptation to numb out and look away. Words can be the connective tissue between your story and mine.
Some of the words I’ve found most potent in the past week speak to a love story. Locals love California, and those who lived there once speak of now it like lovestruck expatriates. They try to articulate why they’ve given their hearts to a landscape that can turn on them. I love reading their stories, listening to them speak, and with their insight, learning about what it is to be tethered to a place unconditionally.
Of course, starting over needs so much than a narrative. When the smoke clears, rebuilding will require sustained cooperative efforts, funding, community, and an innovative plan for deterring such losses going forward. (Assuming a plan that like that in a world like ours can be made.) It’s the laborious work of remaking an environment: clearing land and erecting structures. It’s protecting those who have lost have everything.
But there’s an inside job to be done, too. Locals have endured an unimaginable traumatic event, requiring survivors to find the resilience to begin again in the face of devastating losses. Those praying for them around the world have spent the week watching another unimaginable traumatic event, trapped in the quagmire of distance and deep empathy. As my son said, it’s so, so sad.
I’m a writer, so I always fall back on words. They’ve been my lifelong anchor. When I’m stressed, I find it empowering to journal my way into a clear head. Studies suggest that journaling that can be an important tool in healing, with measurable reductions in depression, anxiety, and hostility. Putting a pen to paper can also boost our immune systems. From a practical standpoint, journaling allows us to notice our own patterns and plan for the future.
I’m certainly not suggesting that “writing it down” can solve every problem - not even close. However, if you’re inclined to write some words right now and aren’t sure where to begin, you’re in good company. We’re are all riding a wave of uncertainty together. My advice?
Begin with a love story.
