Stuck in the Middle With You
Recently I’ve been thinking about moderation and apathy. For weeks I've been writing about burnout and trying to find balance. The solution is always 'do less', but at what point does less become not enough?
It’s hard sometimes to see the difference between lessening and numbing. Taking a news break, for example, is dancing between self care and being disengaged. Politically everything has become a war of extremes. We’re ignited by the causes we think are just, and the other side is just as aggressive. No one wants to step away from the screen less something happens that you need to be outraged about.
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That said, in many philosophies seeking the path of least resistance is seen as the best way to live. And, here I am, just trying to relax enough to manage my anxiety.
How do you lead a moderate life when we’re constantly being asked to scream our allegiances on our instagram stories? Being neutral isn’t an option when your neighbour is on the brink of civil war, and finding balance is made tougher by chaos.
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Well, well, well….
Moderation is, inherently, restrictive. By definition it's showing self-restraint in the face of extremes. In our personal lives we use moderation to avoid bingeing on cookies, but not all extremes are harmful.
I’m reading The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, a small book filled with poetic advice. On Joy and Sorrow he has this to say: The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. You can look at it like an emotional well - the deeper it goes, the more water it will hold.
Also, the more likely you are to die if you fall in...
I often allude to my busyness a distraction. I create space from my darker thoughts by filling my head with to-do lists. Piece by piece, I fill up my well with projects, hobbies, and appointments believing that a smaller well indicates a softer landing. Evidently, restricting those hard moments can limit the happy ones too. The issue with repression is that it's non-discriminatory. You either feel it all, or you feel nothing.
Emotional self-restraint doesn't come easy. Mine is a perfected behaviour from years of avoiding extreme feeling. I don’t dig into my well because, in a life of moderation, we are told not to dwell. Moreover, in a Catholic upbringing we have to atone for our very existence. How could you possibly nurture your own sadness when you are doused in original sin? Your happiness can be found through the grace of a vengeful God.
To be fair, I didn't have an ultra-religious upbringing. Maybe I was just more sensitive to these ideas than most. Or, maybe I figured out that being sad doesn't feel good, and I coped the simplest way I could: ignoring it.
The question now is how to deepen my ability for joy. By not digging into my sorrow, I'm worried about living a shallow existence. To be honest, anytime I try to go a little deeper, it feels like digging my own grave. It takes gumption to pick up a shovel in the hopes that you can fill that hole with something happier later.
It would be a lot easier to pick up a laptop and learn a new skill instead. At the very least, it would be less manual labour.
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Body Break
I was diagnosed with myofascial pain syndrome at age 14. I pushed my body to the brink (surprise, surprise) doing competitive gymnastics and had ganglions in my wrists, feeble ankles, and back pain before I hit tenth grade.
When he diagnosed the chronic pain, my doctor told me there was a good chance I’d get depressed. He put me on anti-depressants as an anti-inflammatory, but also as a preemptive measure. At least that's how I remember it. In retrospect, that seems extremely irresponsible....
Either way I was medicated before I got sad, and the pills wore me down. I stopped taking them shortly after, resolving that they were causing more depression than the pain ever could. I convinced myself any sadness could flip darker instantly, and that I was predisposed to get depressed. To 14-year-old me it seemed inevitable.
Similarly a fear of pain keeps me regulated. The biggest cure for my body turns out to be moderation. It's a balance between too much exercise and not enough. A change in routine can mess with my pain levels, and is that really worth staying up the extra hour?
Of course, fear often makes things worse. In trying to prevent depression, I taught myself how to control all feeling. I'm reminded of one of my favourite childhood stories, Lars Farf, excessively fearful father and husband by George Saunders. It's a quirky story where Farf moves his whole family into separate pods thinking it's the best way to keep them safe. He acts on fear over love, desperately trying to calm his own anxieties by dissociating from his loved ones:
Soon, entire days passed where he didn’t worry about his family at all. For the first time since his marriage, Farf felt almost completely free from fear. Then, one morning, the verification specialist rushed in to report that Gwen was dying.
Who? said Farf. Who’s dying?
Gwen, said the verification specialist. Pod No. 4.
I don’t know any Gwen, said Farf.
But the verification specialist saw that Farf’s eyes were full of tears.
Yikes.
Oddly, Lars Farf's story sounds like the basic plot of Covid. We’ve left friends and families in their own pods for the greater good of fixing the pandemic. Lots of people now have to die alone.
More to the point, quarantine is a forced moderation. Our personal lives have become drenched in monotony and meaningless routine. It’s restraining simply because we are restrained.
Coming out of this pandemic I wonder how gruelling it will feel to leave the house. I've grown accustomed to the creature comforts staying home affords, and I feel complacent in never leaving. Gibran touches on this too;
Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.
In fear of pain, I've given myself incredible structure. In fear of emotions, I've learnt control. In fear of the pandemic, we've all become hermits.
Being paralyzed in fear is the same as being stagnant in comfort. Moderation can quickly become apathy if we aren't careful. While we're stuck at home, let's try to shed our fears, deepen our wells, and emerge from quarantine ready to find a truer balance.
Also let's avoid giving unnecessary anti-depressants to children...
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American Horror Story
Americans, en masse, have shown what it looks like to dive into sorrow. Their world is one of two extremes, and moderation is no longer an option.
They've also shown that fear can cause extreme action, though it doesn't necessarily incite change. In Trump's wake we're left with two sides screaming at each other from either edge of a widening canyon.
Most religions concede that good needs evil. Balance can only be found when you have opposing forces on either side. In Catholicism, the devil tries to tempt you away from perfection at every turn. Your job is to stay perfect. There’s no middle road, there’s only right and wrong.
American politics works in much the same way - every democrat has a republican. We have to wonder if this is the inevitable fate of a two party system, or if the physical separation created a cavern for the hostility to grow. Either way, it seems a little late for balance.
As a Canadian watching the attack on the Capitol, there’s a sense of dread and helplessness. We seem moments away from a civil war, and we’re peering over the fence watching our neighbours get into a domestic dispute.
It’s not even a metaphor that the fighting is lead by an abuser...
In this bleak moment, my solace comes from a belief that these lows are deepening a well for more joy. Maybe these dark days are about to yield the most positive ones yet. I guess that's just a fancy way of saying "it can't get much worse". Really, I have to have this outlook as an exercise in finding my own balance. I can't shut it out, and I'm trying to dive a little deeper. Maybe that starts with acknowledging pain as necessary - whether political, muscular, or emotional.
