Against urgency
In times of chaos, one must learn to move with the flow.
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“There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumbs: activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace. It destroys our own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our own work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful.”
― Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
On the day the indoor mask mandate was reinstated in San Francisco, I awoke to a bright blue sky.
This is the time of year when San Franciscans remember all that we love about this city after having spent the majority of summer simmering in jealousy toward everyone else in bathing suits and shorts while we’ve sat huddled around space heaters and bundled up in scarves.
Yes, I’m being hyperbolic and maybe I’m speaking only for myself. But this is my favorite time of year, when the monotony of the fog finally lifts and overnight we are sprung into summer, and the clouds press up against the stratosphere, wisps of gauze that turn pink and orange at sunset, and the ocean’s breeze is more friendly than furious, and you can see the moon and also the stars and maybe go out into the night with nothing more to keep you warm than a sensible sweater at most (heaven).
There I was, happily clacking away at my workspace when the reports rolled in that our mayor, London Breed, was about to announce that the indoor mask mandate would be reinstated. After the past six weeks spent feeling as close to carefree as I’ve felt in almost eighteen months—working out without a mask, having friends visit my new home, smiling shyly at strangers on the street—and even though I knew it was coming, oof, the grief hit hard. Another pivot, bleh, I’m sick of that word. I’m exhausted by this reality.
Joy and grief, in the span of a few hours.
And between these omnipresent extremes, the anxiety of the unknown has its own heartbeat. I feel it pulse in that holy space between sternum and navel as I doomscroll through data, as I linger too long on Twitter, as I project forward into yet another horizonless season, as I stress out about the longterm implications and impact, as I contend with the concurrent angst of witnessing the devolution of democracy and the horror of global warming.
I lay down on the sunny spot on the rug, feel the warmth on my face. How do we (continue to) do this?
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Lately as I sit down to write this newsletter I start by revisiting the post from this time last year. Interestingly, what’s on my mind this week is akin to what I was working through on August 4, 2020. The same themes return and return, you know? I am heading toward year five of sobriety, and while much of the dusty mess of my twenties and early thirties has settled, certain conundrums persist, and what is most front-of-mind for me—yet again, always!—and what I hear people sharing about inside the calls I facilitate and the work I do with people 1:1, is the matter of urgency. You know, that relentless inner thrum that is always ever at the ready to remind us that we are not doing enough; that, in moments of sacred downtime, releases the squirrels into our cerebellums; that has us seeking solace from the cult of busyness and doing everything we can to avoid quiet moments alone with ourselves.
The persistence of certain themes is exhausting. I want to understand, I want to be curious about whether or not it’s possible to not feel at the mercy of inner urgency. And, when the same thing shows up again and again, it makes me wonder if I’m asking the right question. Sometimes it’s precisely the train of thought I’m scraping away at for answers that keeps me stuck in the very loop from which I seek to free myself.
I know that I want to go deep into myself. I want to go deep into my relationships, I want to go deep into my community. I do not want to commit to anymore violence within myself. I seek to work for peace inside of myself and inside of my relationships and inside of my community. I no longer seek fame or fortune nor am I expecting to be saved by anyone but myself. So: now what? Is meditation really the answer? Possibly. The longest I’ve gone is forty days straight - is this yet another place I need to try harder? Commit further? Alternatively, can I think myself out of this? Again, possibly, though the thoughtwork models as pushed by every single life coach on Instagram and the world at large only leave me feeling stubborn and bored. The idea (the thought?) of minimizing Life’s Great Questions into a simple model I can sketch out on the back of a napkin and practice repeating to myself in all my zillion moments alone until one day someday they actually ring true leave me suspicious at best, and at worse, send my eyes rolling all the way back to my brain stem.
If I seek freedom from this urgency, I must face the urgency. Some of it I have a say over. Like, when I put things off at work; when I leave things for later. I have a say over the effects of internalized capitalism alive and grinding away within me. Having a say in this regard looks like setting boundaries with my time, with my mind, and saying no a lot even though I’m a people pleaser and I want nothing more than for everyone to adore me.
It’s helpful to remember that there are certain things still within my control.
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But what about the urgency of things we don’t have a say over?
The other day in the comments section of an Instagram post over at the Conspirituality podcast account (highly, highly recommend this podcast), someone left a comment about embracing chaos. I don’t remember the post nor the details of the comment (typical) except for that it stopped me and I’ve been sitting with this idea ever since.
Chaos has its connotations, I know. And, I’ve been practicing making friends with chaos for a while now. That Instagram comment returned me into my inquiry: if chaos is the water we are swimming in—and will continue to swim in for the foreseeable future, perhaps for as long as any of us currently living are alive—how do we engage with it, rather than do whatever we can to flee it, or numb from it, or make it wrong? How do we move with the flow of chaos?
“Go with the flow” has its connotations, too. So let me be clear: I do not mean ignore, or tune out, or pretend we are not in dire collective straits. If anything, this is an invitation to engage more authentically and honestly than ever.
To engage with reality with clear eyes is to acknowledge that my grasping for horizons is based on a past reality. What is required now if I am to be a person who engages with reality is to accept and learn to be with chaos. Inside of my community work, and my inner work, I show up inside the day-to-day tasks, to-do lists, and routines, and I do my best to hold a bird’s eye view. In practice, this is a recommitment to myself, my community and my relationships. In practice, this is a focusing of my attention deeper, rather than wider, it is pooling my attention back to those three aforementioned places, particularly when I catch myself spending tedious and stressful—and let’s never forget, precious—hours online feeling furious toward people who refuse to acknowledge our interdependence and collective humanity.
What I mean is that we must learn to protect “the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful.” We must not kill this part. We must not let it die.
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What I’m seeing is that I have indeed been asking the wrong question. The question is not about erasing or figuring out how to not feel at the mercy of inner urgency. The question is about how to interact with it in such a way that I stay engaged.
That urgency I feel is aliveness. It is commitment, it is care. It is kinetic, if I let it.
Do you know what becomes possible—and not just possible, inevitable—when we deepen into ourselves, our relationships and our communities?
Love.
Recommended:
Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander
adrienne maree brown, Emergent Strategy
SELF MADE is a newsletter for fellow 🌺late bloomers🌺 with a focus on recovery, creativity and community. It's written by me, Dani, a writer, coach, and recovery advocate in San Francisco, CA.
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