turns out 95 is not all that bad

Sitting down to write this morning, I was paralyzed with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

I wanted to write about being middle-aged and teaching an old dog like me new tricks, but I was finding it challenging to dive into a comical, joyful piece and ignore what is happening in the Ukraine.

Back and forth, I journeyed my cursor across the computer screen coming to terms with the idea that if I was to proceed as planned, I might appear completely tone deaf. And yet, what did I have to say about an invasion on the other side of the world that could be both thought-provoking and valuable?

Like many I am watching the news incessantly and processing the stories and pictures. I imagine what it might feel like to be invaded, and what it might be like to flee my home, not knowing if I’d ever see it again. Or to have my own children wrested from my arms to be taken to a safer place, not knowing when – or if – I’d see them again. Or to stand up, weapon in hand, and fight for my country and fellow citizen.

I rummaged within, searching for any degree of similar experience of my own that could inform me, but came up short.

A few thoughts took me back to 9/11. The attacks felt invasive; our sense of security and safety was shaken. I heard the planes overhead protecting our coastline. It was chilling.

I remembered other types of invasions, too - being robbed in college, when our apartment was invaded by two men who fled down a fire escape with pieces of our jewelry they had swiped from a bureau, leaving us feeling frightened and vulnerable. And a friend who was personally invaded - violated really - when she was sexually assaulted in New York City in her twenties. Horrific and traumatizing.

And as I tried to comprehend what it might feel like to be a Ukrainian today, I struggled with something else.

How can we feel happy when there is so much strife in this world? How do we come to terms with the fact that the human experience can be so vastly different?

Certainly not new questions and - spoiler alert - I have no adequate answers, but the current situation in the Ukraine has unearthed them, and brought them into the forefront where they are difficult to ignore, and make our everyday, ordinary ups and downs seem rather silly and trivial in comparison.

It’s baffling to me that we can hold onto such opposing feelings at the exact same time; that our soul can be a catch-all not that dissimilar to my unwieldy, large canvas tote that transports my books, a yellow legal pad, a wallet, lip gloss, a doggie poop bag, keys, a coupon, mints, mail, a charger, and protein bars in and out of my house every day.

That we can feel elated by the texts from our children declaring a new job or a good test grade, while at the same time being frustrated by the traffic on 95, heartbroken by a friend’s loss of a parent, amused by a TikTok, and anxious, scared, and saddened by the news out of the Ukraine.

Which brings me back to this piece. Can I write about joy, when the pain of the invasion - or COVID or genocide or death or any other calamity - is just outside our door?

The truth is I do it all of the time. I not only write that way, but I live that way.

I allow myself to visit temporarily the harshness in our world - I take a good, hard look - and then I come running back into my own universe, one that feels safe and familiar. One where most of the time, the biggest problems are really not that big.

I try to understand the harsh reality of another. I may fall short, but I try.

I get inspired by the human spirit that crisis inevitably ignites, and I hold onto that because that is where I see the hope.

And I am grateful – for my lot in life, for the privilege I have been afforded, for the fact that I live in a country that has mostly avoided war on our own soil.

When I can, I give something of myself, some small gesture to ease the pain of others with the knowledge that whatever I give, is probably not enough.

I pray.

I do my best to not make things worse.

And I celebrate the joyful moments in life even amidst the suffering, because I know that that joy will give me strength for the times in my own life that will be harder, harsher.

Waking up this morning, the sun is rising over a calm Long Island Sound. Nothing about the view outside my window alerts my senses to the invasion of Ukraine, to the sights of Russian soldiers as they move in on Kyiv, to the smell of the underground subway tunnels protecting the women and children, to the taste of the gunpowder, to the sound of explosions. It would be so easy to stay in the calm.

And yet the news and pictures from across the globe invade the ordinarily idyllic scene, staking claim to our soul right alongside our own frustration caused by traffic on 95 and the joy we feel as a result of a text from one of our children.

We hold onto those contrasting emotions, aware that we are the lucky ones, thousands of miles away from danger, and let the ripple that forms on the water’s edge push us to look beyond our own existence and stay there just a little longer and embrace a world that is suffering on this cold winter morning.